 Part 6 of A Guide to the Lakes by Thomas West This small neat town is at present renowned for nothing so much as the lake it stands near and is sometimes called by its name the Lake of Keswick but more properly the Lake of Durwent. And I am inclined to think and hope to make it appear that the ancient name of Keswick is the Durwent town or the town of Durwent Water, but first of the lake itself. The whole extent of the lake is about three miles from north to south. The form is irregular, its greatest breadth exceeds not a mile and a half. The course of viewing this fairy enchanting lake is in the boat and from the banks. Mr Gray viewed it from the banks only and Mr Mason after trying both prefers Mr Gray's choice. And where the pleasure of rowing and sailing are out of the question it will in general be found the best on account of the near ground which the boat does not furnish. Yet every dimension of the lake appears more extended from its bosom than from its banks or other elevated station. I shall therefore point out the favorite stations around the lake that have often been verified. Station One, Copshoot Hill is remarkable for a general view. It is covered with a mockly mixture of young wood, has an easier scent to the top and from it the lake appears in great beauty. On the floor of a spacious amphitheater of the most picturesque mountains imaginable, an elegant sheet of water is spread out before you, shining like a mirror and transparent as crystal, variegated with islands that rise in the most pleasing forms above the watery plain, dressed in wood or clothed with softest verdure, the water shining round them. The effects all around are amazingly great, but no words can describe the surprising pleasure of this scene in a fine day when the sun plays upon the bosom of the lake and the surrounding mountains are illuminated by his revulgent rays and their rocky broken summits reflected inverted by the crystal surface of the water. Station Two, the next celebrated station is at a small distance, Crow Park, till of light a grove of oaks of immemorial growth, whose fall the bard of low's water bemoans in humble plaintive numbers thus. That ancient wood, where beasts did safely rest, and where the crow long time had built her nest, now falls a destined prey to savage hands, being doomed alas to visit distant lands. Ah, what avails thy boasted strength at last that braved the rage of many furious blasts, when now thy bodies spent with many a wound loud groans its last and thunders on the ground, whilst hills and dales and woods and rocks resound? Reader's Note, a poetical prospect of Keswick by Thomas Cooper, Curate of Loweswater, 1752. End of Reader's Note. This now shadeless pasture is a gentle eminence not too high on the very margin of the lake which it commands in all its extents, and looks full into the craggy pass of Borodale. Of this station Mr. Gray speaks. October 4th. I walked to Crow Park, now a rough pasture, once a glade of ancient oaks whose large roots still remain in the ground, but nothing has sprung from them. If one single tree had remained, this world would have been an unparalleled spot, and Smith judged right when he took his print of the lake from hence, for it is a gentle eminence not too high on the very margin of the water, and commands it from end to end, looking full into the gorge of Borodale. I prefer it even to Cockshoots Hill which lies beside it, and to which I walked in the afternoon. It is covered with young trees, both sown and planted, oak, spruce, scotch fir, etc., all which thrive wonderfully. There is an easier sense of the top, and the view far preferable to that on Castle Hill, because this is lower and nearer the lake, for I find all points that are much elevated, spoil the beauty of the valley, and make its parts, which are not large, look poor and diminutive. Station 3. A third station on this side will be found by keeping along the line of shore, till stable hills beyond the right, and wallow crag directly over you on the left. Then without the gate on the edge of the common, observe two huge fragments, a ferocious coloured rock, pitched into the side of the mountain in their descent. Here all that is great and pleasing on the lake, all that is grand and sublime in the environs, lie in a beautiful order and natural disposition. Looking down upon the lake, the four large islands appear distinctly over the peninsula of stable hills. The Lord's Island richly dressed in wood, a little to the left. Vickers Isle rises in a beautiful form, and a circular isle, Ramp's Home, is catched in the line between St. St. Herbert's Island, which traverses the lake in an oblique direction, and has a fine effect. These are the four most considerable islands on the lake. Under faux park, a round hill completely clothed in wood, two small isles interrupt the line of the shore, and charm the eye and the passage from the Vickers Isles to Ramp's Home. Another isle at above St. Herbert's Island has a similar effect. All idea of river or outlet is here excluded, over a neck of undulated land, finely scattered with trees. Distant water is just seen behind the Lord's Island. The white church of Crossthwaite is seen under Skidor, towering to the sky, the strongest possible background. The opposite shore is bounded by a range of hills, down to the entrance of Newland Vale, where Coasley Pike and Thornthwaite rise in Alpine pride, well done only by their supreme Lord Skidor. Their skirts descend in gentle slopes, and end in cultivated grounds. The whole of the western coast is beautiful beyond what words can express, and the north end exhibits what is most gentle and pleasing in landscape. The southern extremity of the lake is a violent contrast to all this. Falcon Crag, an immense rock, hangs over your head, and upwards a forest of broken pointed rocks in a semi-circular sweep, towering inward, form the most horrid amphitheater that's ever eye beheld in all the wild forms of convulsed nature. The immediate border of the lake is a sweet, variegated shore of meadow and pasture, up to the foot of the rocks. Under a border of hedgerow trees, low-door house is seen, under Hallowstone Crag, a sloping rock whose back is covered with soft vegetation. Beyond that, the awful craggy rocks that conceal the pass into Borodale, and at their feet a stripe of verdant meadows, through which the derwent serpentises to the lake in silence. The road is along Barrowside on the margin of the lake, open and narrow, yet safe. It soon enters a glade through which the lake is sweetly seen by turns. In approaching the ruins of Gouda Crag, which hangs towering forward, the mind recoils at the sight of huge fragments of crags piled up on both sides, through a thicket of rocks and wood. But there is nothing of the danger remaining that Mr Gray apprehended here, the road being carefully kept open. Proceed by the bridge of one arch over Park Gill, and another over Barrowbeck. Here Gouda Crag presents itself in all its terrible majesty of rock, trimmed with trees that hang from its numerous fishes. Above this, a towering gray rock rises majestically rude, and near it shut an oar, a spiral rock, not less in height, and hanging more forward over its base. Betwixt these, an awful chasm is formed, through which the waters of Watanlath are hurled. This is the Niagara of the lake, the renowned cataract of Lodore. To see this, ascend to an opening in the grove directly above the mill. It is the misfortune of this celebrated waterfall to fail entirely in a dry season. The wonderful scenes continue to the gorge of Borodale and Hire. Castle Crag, in the centre of this amphitheatre, threatens to block up the past it once defended. The village of Grange is under it, celebrated as well for its hospitality to Mr Gray, as for its sweet romantic sight. And to affirm that all Mr Gray says of the young farmer at Grange, is strictly applicable to the inhabitants of these mountainous regions in general, is but common justice done to the memory of repeated favours. On the summit of Castle Crag are the remains of a fort, and much freestone, both red and white, has been quarried out of the ruins. Vessels, large and small, are cut in the rock. A lead pan with an iron bow was lately taken up. Last year, two masses of smelted iron were found in the ruins, and probably were from the bloomery at the foot of the stake in Borodale. It is probably of Roman original to guard the pass and secure the treasure that they were acquainted with, contained in the bottom of these mountains. The Saxons and after them the Furnace monks maintained this fort for the same purpose. All Borodale was given to the monks of Furnace, probably by one of the Durwent family, and Adam the Durwent water, gave them free ingress and egress through all his lands. The Grange was the place where they laid up their grain and tithe, and also the salt they made at the Salt Spring, where are still some vestiges of the works remaining below Grange. Station 4 From the top of Castle Rock, or Crag, in Borodale, there is the most astonishing view of the lake and vale of Keswick, spread out to the north, in the most picturesque manner. From the pass of Borodale, every bend of the river till it joins the lake is distinctly seen. The lake itself, spotted with islands, the most extraordinary line of shore, varied with all the surprising accompaniments of rocks and woods, the village of Grange at the foot of the rock, and the white houses of Keswick, with Crossway Church at the lower end of the lake. Behind these, much cultivation, with a beautiful mixture of villages, houses, cots and farms, round the skirts of Skidor, which rises in the grandest manner from a verdant base and closes this scene in the noblest style of nature's true sublime. The area of the Castellum, from east to west, is about seventy yards, from south to north about forty yards. From the summit of this rock, the views are so singularly great and pleasing that they ought never to be omitted. The ascent is by one of the narrow paths cut in the side of the mountain for the descent of the slate that is quarried on its top. These quarries will in a short time sink at many feet below its present height, and destroy the last vestige of its ancient importance. The view to the north is already described. All the vale of Keswick, the lake, its environs, all displayed in the finest order, completely enclosed with mountains, that swell with distance, and constitute an excellent picture, pleasing and sublime. To the south, the view is in Borodale. The river is seen winding from the lake upward, through the rugged pass to where it divides and embraces a triangular veil, completely cut into enclosures of meadow, enameled with softest verdure, and fields waving with fruitful crops. The ample return to the laudable toil of the peaceful inhabitants. This truly secreted spot is completely surrounded by the most horrid romantic mountains in this region of wonders, and whoever omits this kudoi had seen nothing equal to it amongst the marvellous scenes. The views here taken in the glass in sunshine are amazingly fine. This picture is reversed from the summit of Latterig. Mr. Gray was so much intimidated with the accounts of Borodale that he proceeded no further than Grange. But no such difficulties are now to be met with. The road into Borodale is improved since his time, at least as far as is necessary for anyone to proceed to see what is curious. The road serpentises through the pass above Grange, and though upon the edge of a precipice that hangs over the river, it is safe by day. This river brings no mixture of mud from the mountains of Naked Rock, and runs in a channel of slate and granite clear as crystal. The water of all the lakes in these parts is clear, but the Derwent only is pelucid. The smallest pebble is seen at any depth, as in the open air. The rocky scenes in Borodale are most fantastic. The entrance rugged. One rock elbows out and turns the road directly against another. Bodar stone on the right is the very pass, a mountain of itself. The road winds round its base. Here rock riots over rock, and a mountain intersecting mountain form one grand semi-circular sweep of broken, pointed crags and rocky mountains, nodding to each other in gloomy majesty. Woods rest on their steep sides. Trees grow from rocks, and rocks appear like trees. Here the Derwent, rapid as the ron, rolls his crystal streams through all this labyrinth of embattled rocks. The scenes here are so sublimely terrible. The assembled, magnificent objects, so stupendously great, and the arrangements so extraordinary as must excite the most sensible feelings of wonder, astonishment and surprise. And at once impress the mind with reverential awe and admiration. The most gigantic mountains that form the outline of this tremendous landscape, and in close Borodale, are Eagle Crag, Glaramara, Bull Crag, and Sergeant Crag. On the front of the first, the bird of Jove, has his annual nest, which the Dale's men are careful to rob, not without hazard to the assailant, who is let down from the summit of this dreadful rock, by a rope of twenty fathoms or more, and is obliged to defend himself from the attacks of the parent's birds in the descent. The devastation made on the fold in the breeding season, by one eerie, is computed at a lame day, besides the carnage main on the ferry Natura. Glaramara is a mountain of perpendicular naked rock, immense in height, and much broken. It appears in the western canton and outline of the picture. Bull Crag and Sergeant Crag are in the centre, their rugged sides concealed with hanging woods. The road continues good to Rosthwaite, the first village in this romantic region. Here the rose divide, that on the right leads to the Wadmounds and to Ravenglass, that on the left to Hawkshead. Amidst these tremendous scenes of rocks and mountains, there is a peculiar circumstance of consolation to the traveller that distinguishes this from other mountainous tracks, where the hills are divided by bogs and mosses, through which it is often difficult to pick the way, which is that the mosses here, where any be, are on the tops of the mountains, and the passage over or around them is never very difficult. The inhabitants of the dales are served with fuel from the summits of the mountains, and the manner of procuring it is very singular. A man carries on his back a spledge to the top of the mountain, and conducts it down the most awful descents, placing himself before it to prevent its running amane. A narrow furrow is cut in the mountain side, which serves for a road to conduct the spledge, and pitch the conductor's healing. The spledge holds one half of what a horse can draw. The mountains here are separated by wooded glens, verdant dells and fertile veils, which form a pleasing contrast, and relieve the imagination with delightful ideas, that the inhabitants of these rude regions are far removed from the want of necessaries of life for themselves, their herds and flocks, during the exclusion months and the rest of the community, by winter's snows. About wrothsweeds in the centre of the dale fields wave with crops, and beddows are enamoured with flowery grass. The little delightful Eden is marked with every degree of industry by the laborious inhabitants, who partake nothing of the ferocity of the country they live in, for they are hospitable, civil and communicative, and readily and cheerfully give assistance to strangers who visit their realms. On missing the tract I was directed to observe, I have been surprised by the dailander from the top of a rock, waving me back and offering me a safe conduct through all the difficult parts, who blushed at the offer of a reward, such as the power of virtue on the minds of those that are least acquainted with society. The shepherds only are conversant in the traditional annals of the mountains, and with all the secrets of the mysterious reign of chaos and old night, and they only can give proper information, for others who live within the shadow of these mountains are ignorant of their names. Return to Keswick by Grange, and if the sun shines in the evening, the display of rock on the opposite shore, from Castle Rock to Wallow Crag, in such high colouring, is amazingly grand. The parts are the same as in the morning ride, the dispositions entirely new, the crystal surface of the lake, reflecting waving woods and rocks backed by the finest arrangement of lofty mountains, intersecting and rising above each other in great variety of forms, are scenes not to be equaled elsewhere. The whole ride down the western side is pleasant, the road is but indifferent. Whoever chooses an alpine ride of a very extraordinary nature may return through Borodale to Ambleside or Hawkshead. A guide will be necessary from Rossthwaite over the state, a mountain so called to Langdale Chapel. The ride is the wildest that can be imagined for the space of eight miles. Above the cultivated tract the dale narrows, but the skirts of the mountains are covered with sweetest verdure, and have once waved with aged wood. Many large roots still remain, with some scattered trees. Just where the road begins to ascend the steep mountain, called the stake of Borodale, are said to be the remains of a bloomery, close by the waterfall on the left, but no tradition relates to what time it was last worked. This I could never verify from any visible remains. The mineral was found in the mountains, and the wood used in smelting had covered their steep sides. The masses of iron found on Castle Craig were probably smelted here. Cataracts and waterfalls are bound on all sides. A succession of waterfalls will meet you in the ascent up the stake, and others will accompany you down the most dreadful descent into Langdale. The scenes on the Borodale side are in part silver and pastoral, on the side of Langdale, entirely rocky. The stake is a miniature of a very bad alpine road across a mountain, just not perpendicular, and about five miles over. The road makes many traverses so close that at every spletcher it seems almost to return into itself, and such as are advancing in different traverses seem to go different ways or to meet each other. In descending the stake on the Langdale side, a cataract accompanies you on the left, with all the horrors of a precipice. Langdale Pike, called Pike a Stickle and Steel Pike, is an inaccessible pyramidal rock that commands the whole. Here nature seems to have discharged all the useless load of matter and rock when form was impressed on chaos. Pavey Ark is a hanging rock, six hundred feet in height, and under it, Stickle Tarn, a large basin of water formed in the bosom of the rock that's paused down in a cataract at Milbeck. Below this, Whitegill Crag opens to the centre a dreadful yawning fissure. Below Langdale Chapel, the veil becomes more pleasing, the road good to Ambleside or Hawkshead, by Skellith Bridge. Mr Gray was much pleased with an evening view under Crow Park. In the evening, I walked alone down to the lake by the side of Crow Park, after sunset, and saw the solemn colouring of the night draw on, the last gleam of sunshine fading away on the hill-tops, the deep serene of the waters, and the long shadows of the mountains thrown across them till they nearly touched the hithermost shore. At a distance were heard the murmurs of many waterfalls, not audible in the daytime. I wished for the moon, but she was dark to me and silent, hid in her vacant interluna cave. Station 5 This view is seen to much greater advantage from the side of Swinside, a little before sunset, where both the lakes are in full view, with the whole extent of Rocky shore, on the upper lake, and flexures of the lower lake, with the whole extent of the veil, when the last beams of the sun rest on the purple summit of Skidore, and the deep shade of Wythops Wooded Browse is stretched over the lake. The effect is amazingly great. Station 6 From Swinside continue the walk by Faux Park. This is a sweet evening walk, and had the sun shone out, Mr Gray would have perceived his mistake in being here in the morning. October 5th I walked through the meadows and cornfields to the Derwent, and crossing it went up Howe Hill. It looks along Basinthwaite water, and sees at the same time the course of the river, and part of the upper lake, with a full view of Skidore. Then I took my way through Portingscale Village to the park, Faux Park, a hill so called, covered entirely with wood. It is all a mass of crumbling slate, passed round its foot between the trees and the edge of the water, and came to a peninsula that juts out into the lake, and looks along its both ways. In front rises Wallow Crag and Castle Hill, the town, the road to Penrith, Skidore and Saddleback. After dinner, walked up Penrith, Road etc. 7. Another select station for a morning view is on Lattrig, a soft green hill that interposes between the town and Skidore. The ascent is by Monks Hall, leaving Ormothwaite on the left, and following the mountain road, about due east till you approach the gate in the stone wall enclosure. Then slant the hill to the right, looking towards Keswick, till you gain the brow of the hill, which exhibits a fine terrace of verdant turf, smooth as velvet. Below you rolls the greeter, and in its course visits the town before it joins the Derwent, where it issues from the lake, and then their united streams are seen meandering through the Vale, till they are met by the floods of Batonthwaite under the verdant skirts of withered brows. The prospect of the south is the reverse of that from Castle Crag. The view is full into the rocky jaws of Borodale, through which the Derwent is seen pouring his crystal stream, that winding through some verdant meadows, which skirts the rocky coast, joins the lake at Lodore. The lake itself is seen in its full extent, embracing on all sides variety of shore, its bosom spotted with diversity of islands. The Castle Crag in Borodale stands first of all the forest of embattled rocks, whose forked heads reared to the sky, shining the sun like spheres of burnished steel, and in the rear, Langdale Pike, advancing to the clouds his cone-like head, overlooks them all. What charms the eye in wandering over the Vale is that not one straight line of ends. The roads all serpentise round the mountains, and the hedges wave with the enclosures, all are thrown into some path of beauty or line of nature. To describe every picturesque view that this region of landscape presents would be endless labour, and did language furnish expression to convey ideas of the innumerable changes in the many grand constituent objects in these magnificent scenes, the imagination would be fatigued with the detail, and description weakened by redundancy. It is more pleasing to speculative curiosity to play upon what it wishes not to be informed of, the difference among such scenes as approached the nearest in likeness, and the agreement between such as appear most discordant. This is the sport of fancy or the result of taste and judgement from self-information, and has the greatest effect on the mind. The province of the guide is to point out the station, and leave to the company the enjoyment of reflection and pleasures of the imagination. Return to the gate and enter the enclosure. Turn as soon as you can to the right, having the wall at some distance, till you arrive at the brink of a green precipice. There you will be entertained with the noise of the greeter, roaring through a craggy channel with rapid course, that in a run of two miles exhibits an uncommon appearance, forming twelve or more of the finest bends and serpentine curves that ever fancy penciled. The point for viewing this uncommon scene is directly over the Alpine bridge, which hangs gracefully over the river. The town of Keswick appears nowhere to greater advantage than from this station. Helvelyn in front overlooks a vast range of varied hills whose rocky sides are rent with many fishes. The paths of so many roaring rills and cataracts that echo through the veils and swell the general torrents. To the east Crossfell is discerned like a cloud of blue mist hanging over the horizon. In the middle space, Melfell, a green pyramidal hill, is a singular figure. The eye wandering over Castle Rigg will discover the druid temple on the southern side of the Penrith Road. Return to the path that leads down the ridge of the hill to the east. Arrive at a gate that opens on a crossroad. Descent to the right, along the precipitous bank of a brawling brook, Glen de Reterebeck, that is heard tumbling from the mountain, concealed by woods that hang on the steep banks. In the course of the descent remark the Threstskild Pike, browned with storms and rents by a dreadful wedge-like rock that tends to the centre. There are many pastoral cocks and rural seats scattered round the cultivated skirts of the mountains of Skidor and Saddleback. On this side, sweetly placed and picturesque, the northern side is less suspittable, being more precipitous and much concealed in shade. From the bridge, the road leads to Threstskild and falls into the Penrith Road four miles from Keswick. The last brook, Glen de Reterebeck, divides Skidor from Saddleback, called here Threstskild Fell. From the front of Mr Wren's house, the eye will be delighted with the Vale of St John, sweetly spread out in rural beauty, between two ridges of hills, loth weight and naddle fells, which in appearance look just behind the castle rocks. These have the show of magnificent ruins in the centre point of view. A river is seen on both sides of the Vale, lengthening its course in meanders till it meets Threstskild Water or Glen de Reterebeck at Newbridge, where it takes the name of Greta. This picture is improved at the brow of the hill on the western side of the house. Here the Greta is seen from the bridge, running under the hill where you stand, and on the right comes forth in a fine stream in a deep channel between steep wooded banks. In a field on the left near the second mile post stands conspicuous the wide circus of rude stones, the awful remains of the barbarous superstition of ancient times. Mr Pennant has an excellent drawing of these druidical remains. Station 8. Another station remains, and which ought to be an evening one in the vicarage garden. Mr Gray took it in his glass from the horsing stone, and speaks of it thus. From hence I got to the parsonage a little before sunset, and saw in my glass a picture that if I could transmit to you and fix it in all the softness of its living colours, would fairly sell for a thousand pounds. This is the sweetest scene I can yet discover in point of pastoral beauty, the rest are in a sublimer style. The leading parts of this picture are, over a rich cultivated foreground, the town of Keswick, seen under a hill, divided by grass enclosures, its summit crowned with wood. More to the east, castle rigs sweetly laid out, and over it sweeps and curves the road to Ambleside. Behind that, the range of fast mountains descending from Helvellen. On the western side, the chaos of mountains heaped on mountains, that secretes the veil of Newland. Over these, causey pike presides. Leaving these, the eye meets a well-wooded hill on the margin of the lake, shining in all the beauties of foliage, set off with all the advantage of form. A noble expanse of water, broke just in the centre by a large island dressed in wood, another cultivated and fringed with trees, and a third with a hut upon it, stripped of its late ornamental trees, by the unfeeling hand of Averus. On the eastern side, a bold shore, steep and wooded to the water's edge. Above these, rise daring rocks in every horrid shape. A strange mixture of wood and rocks succeeds to the southern extremity of the lake, where the grand pyramidal castle crag commands the whole. The western shore is indented with wooded promontories down to Faux Park, the hill first described on the lower margin of the lake. The mountains all round rise immediately from the lake, but those that form the outline to the south are much broken and picturesque. These are the parts of the scene Mr Gray says is the sweetest he ever saw in point of pastoral beauty. But whoever takes this view from Ormathwaite, in a field on the western side of the house, will be convinced of Mr Gray's loss in want of information. The very spot he stood upon is in the centre of the foreground and is a principal object in the pastoral part of the picture he praises so highly. Sailing round the lake opens a new field of landscape. Mr Gray neglected it and Mr Mason thinks he judged well. Messers Young, Hutchinson and Pennant tried it and admired it. Dr Brown prefers sailing and landing on every promontory and anchoring in every bay. The transparent beauty of the lake is only seen in the boats and it is very surprising. The bottom resembles a mosaic pavement of party-coloured stone. The fragments of spar at the depth of seven yards shine like diamonds or glitter in diversity of colour, and such is the purity of the lake that no mud or ooze defiles its bottom. Mr Pennant navigated the lake and his description is more compressed than any other and gives a distinct idea of appearances from it. The views on every side are very different. Here all the possible variety of alpine scenery is exhibited, with all the horror of precipice, broken crag, overhanging rock or insulated pyramidal hills, contrasted with others whose smooth and verdant sides swelling into immense aerial heights, at once please and surprise the eye. The two extremities of the lake afford most discordant prospects. The southern is a composition of all that is horrible, an immense chasm opens whose entrance is divided by a rude conic hill, once topped with a castle, the habitation of the tyrant of the rocks. Beyond, a series of broken mountainous crags, now patched with snow, soar one above the other, foreshadowing the dark winding deep of Borodale. In the recesses are lodged variety of minerals, etc. But the opposite or northern view is in all respects a strong and beautiful contrast. Skidor shows its vast base, and bounding all that part of the veil rises gently to a height that sinks the neighbouring hills, opens a pleasing front, smooth and verdant, smiling over the country like a gentle generous lord, while the fells of Borodale frown on its like a hardened tyrant. Each boundary of the lake seems to take part with the extremities, and emulates their appearance. The southern varies in rocks of different forms, from the tremendous precipice of Lady's Leap, the broken front of Falcon's Nest, to the more distant concave curvature of Lodor, an extent of precipitous rock with trees vegetating from their numerous fishes, and the foam of a cataract precipitating amidst. The entrance into Borodale divides the scene, and the northern side alters into milder forms. A salt spring, once the property of the monks of Furnace, triggers along the shore. Hills, the resort of shepherds, with downy fronts and lofty summits, succeed with wood-clothing their bases to the water's edge. Not far from hence the environs appear to the navigator of the lake to the greatest advantage, for on every side, mountains close the prospect, and form an amphitheatre almost matchless. The aisles that decorate this water are finely disposed and very distinct, rise with gentle and regular curvatures above the surface, consist of verdant turf, or are planted with various trees. The principle is the Lord's Island, above five acres, where the Ratcliffe family had some time its residence, and from this lake took the title of Durwent water. St Herbert's Isle was noted for the residence of that saint, the bosom friend of St Cuthbert, who wished and obtained his desire of departing this life, on the same day, hour and minute, with that holy man. The water of Durwent water is subject to violent agitations, and often without any apparent cause, as was the case this day. The weather was calm, yet the waves ran a great height, and the boat was tossed violently, with what is called a bottom wind. Dr. Brown recommends as the compliments of the tour of this lake, a walk by still moonlight, at which time the distant waterfalls are heard in all their variety of sound. Among these enchanting dales opens a scene of such delicate repose and solemnity as exceeds all description. An expedition of this kind depends upon the choice of time in making the tour. It is better a little before than after the full moon. If the evening be still, the voice of waterfalls are re-echoed from every rock and cavern in all their beauty of sound. The setting sun tips the mountaintops with golden rays, and the rising moon guilds all with her silver beams. The surface of the lake that in the day appears blue as glass or clear as crystal, reflecting the azure sky, the deep green woods, or silver coloured rocks, is now a sable mirror studded with the reflected gems of the starry heavens. A plane on which are penciled by the silver moon, the faint outlines and shadows of the hills behind which she labours. All is in faint light, grave shade or solemn darkness that increases the vastness of objects and spreads with solemn horror the whole scene that strikes the mind of the beholder with a reverential whore and pleasing melancholy, an effect that nature can only produce and art but humbly imitate. The characteristic of this lake is that it retains its form viewed from any point and never assumes the appearance of a river. This is owing to the proportion of its dimensions. The fish here are trout, perch, pike and eel. End of Part 6. Part 7 of A Guide to the Lakes by Thomas West This Libyvox recording is in the public domain. Having seen the glory of Keswick, the beauties of the lake and wonders of the environs, there remains a pleasant ride to Hughes Bridge and visit the lake of Basinthwaite water. Messrs Gray and Pennant took the ride but did not see the beauties of the lake either for want of time or proper information. Mr Pennant says, pass along the Vale of Keswick and keep above Basinthwaite water at a small cultivated distance from it. This lake is a fine expanse of four miles in length bounded on one side by high hills, wooded in many places to their bottoms, on the other side by fields and the skirts of Skidor. From Mr Speddings of Armathwaite at the low extremity of the lake, you have a fine view of the whole. Mr Gray allowed himself more time for particulars. October 6th went in a shares eight miles along the east side of Basinthwaite water to Hughes Bridge, pronounced Hughes Bridge. It runs directly along the foot of Skidor. Opposite to Whidhope Brouse, closed to the top with wood, a very beautiful view opens down to the lake which is narrower and longer than that of Keswick, less broken into bays and without islands. At the foot of it, a few paces from the brink, gently sloping upwards, stands Armathwaite in a thick grove of Scotch firs, commanding a noble view directly up the lake. At a small distance behind this, a ridge of cultivated hills, on which, according to the Keswick proverb, the sun always shines. The inhabitants here, on the contrary, call the Vale of Durwentwater their devil's chamber pot, and pronounce the name of Skidor Fel, which terminates here with a sort of terror and aversion. Armathwaite House is a modern fabric, not large and built of dark red stone. The singular beauties of this lake remain yet unnoticed, vis the grand sinuosity of three noble bays. Station 1 From Armathwaite, the lower bay is in full display, a fine expanse of water, spreading itself both ways behind a circular peninsula, Castle Howe, that swells in the middle and is crowned with wood. In former times, it has been surrounded by water, from the lake on one side, and the assistance of a brook that descends from Embleton on the other. The accessible parts have been defended by trenches, one above another. The upper part has been occupied with building, the vestiges of ruins are visible, and, like other such places in this region, were probably occupied by the first inhabitants, as places of difficult access, and of easy defence. From the bottom of the bay, some waving enclosures rise to the side of a green hill, and some scattered houses are seen, at the upper end of a fine slope of enclosures. The banks of the lake are fringed with trees, and under them the crystal water is caught in a pleasing manner. At the north-west corner the derwent issues from the lake, and is spanned by a handsome stone bridge of three arches. The whole western boundary is the noble range of wooded hills, the withered brows. On the eastern shore the lake retires behind a peninsula that rushes far into the water, and on its extreme point a solitary oak, waving to every wind, is most picturesque. This is Scaerness. The coast upward is a fine cultivated track to the skirts of Skidor, which raises here in awful majesty his purple front. Far to the south, Wallow Crag, with all the range of rock and broken craggy mountains in Borodale, in fine perspective, and on their outline the spiral point of Langdale Pike appears blue as glass. The deep green woods of Faux Park, and golden fronts of Swinside, form a pleasing termination. Station 2 Return to the road by Scaerness, and descend from the house to the oak tree on the extremity of the promontory. The lake is here narrowest, but immediately spreading itself both ways, forms two semi-circular bays. That on the right is a mile across, the bay on the left is smaller. The shore on both sides finally variegated with low wood and scattered bushes, especially the peninsula itself. The upper bay is perfectly circular and finely wooded. In front, wither, brows rise swift from the water's edge. The extremity of some enclosures are picturesque, seen just over the wood, with part of a cottage. The village of Wither lies behind it in an aerial site. A grass enclosure scooped in the bosom of the hanging wood, and under it, a cot, on the very brink of the lake, stands sweetly. The views downward are fine, the banks high and woody to the bridge, of which two arches are in sight. Behind it, a white house is charmingly placed. More to the right, at the head of a gentle slope in the very centre of view, stands Armathwaite, winged with groves, and behind at a small distance are deep hanging woods, and over them, spreading far to the right and left, a great reach of cultivated grounds. This termination is rich and pleasing to the eye. The view to the south is, as on the upper leg, much softened by distance. In the afternoon, and sun shining, the appearance of the silver grey rocks glistening through the green woods that hang on their fissures is most elegant. Behind, an appendix of skidor rises in rude form, and over it, the chief of mountains frowns in Alpine Majesty. This view is well seen from the house of Skaerness. Station 3 The next remarkable promontory is Bradness, a round green hill that spreading itself into the lake, forms a bay with bonus to the south. The best general view of the lake is from the crown of this hill, behind the farmhouse. Here you look over three bays finely formed. Nothing can be imagined more elegant than the sinuosity of this side, contrasted with the steep shore and lofty woods of the opposite. The view upwards is not less charming, indented and wooded to the water's edge. If these views are taken, beginning with Bradness, then from Skaerness take the road to Basinthwate Halls, a view houses so called. And from the road on the north side of the village, called Rakes, you have a very fine view of a rich cultivated tract stretching along the banks of the lake, and spreading itself upwards to the skirts of Skidor. The elevation is such that every object is seen in full dimensions, and every beauty distinctly marked. The lake appears in its full magnitude, shaded by the bold wooded shore on the west, and graced by the sweet spreading veil on the east that terminates in a bold style under the surrounding mountains. The sloping grounds of the bridge is charming, and the far-extended veils of Embelton and Issel lie in fine perspective. The river Durwent has his winding course through the latter. Antiquities Kermot is about two miles further to the north, on the great road to Old Carlyle and Wygton. It is a green high crowned hill, and on its skirt, just by the roadside, are the manifest vestiges of a square encampment, enclosed with a double fos extending from east to west 120 paces, and from south to north 100 paces. It is subdivided into several cantonments, and the road from Keswick to Old Carlyle has crossed it at right angles. Part of the agga is visible, where it issues from the north side of the camp, till where it falls in, with the line of the present road. It is distant about 10 miles from Keswick, and as much from Old Carlyle, and about 2 miles west of Ayaby. Camden proposes Ayaby for the Arbia of the Romans, where the Beccarii to Grinences were garrisoned, but advance is nothing in favour of his opinion. The situation is such as the Romans never made choice of for a camp or garrison, and there remains no vestiges of either, by its being in a deep glen among surrounding hills. Where there is no pass to guard or country to protect, a body of men could be of no use. On the northern extremity of the said hill of Ker Mott, are the remains of a beacon, and near it are the vestiges of a square encampment, enclosed with a fos and rampart of 60 feet by 70. This camp is in full view of Blatum Bulgi, Bones and Olinacum, Old Carlyle, and commanding the whole extent of the Solway Frith, would receive the first notice from any frontier station, where the Caledonians made the attempt across the Frith, or had actually broke in upon the province. The notice would be communicated by the beacon on Ker Mott to the garrison at Keswick, by the watch on Castle Craig in Borodale. The garrison at Keswick would have the care of the beacon on top of Skidore, the mountain being of the easiest access on that side. By this means the alarm would soon become general, and the invaders were either terrified into flight, or the whole country was in arms to oppose them. Whether these camps are the Arbia, I pretend not to say, but that they were of use to the Romans is evident, and what the Britons thought of them is recorded in the name they conferred on the hill, where they are situated. The larger camp has no advantage of sight, and is but ill supplied with water. The ground is of a spongy nature, and retains wet long, and therefore could only be occupied in the summer months. They seemed to have the same relation to Old Carlyle and Keswick, as the camp at Whitbarrow has to Old Penrith and Keswick. From Kermot, descent of Hughes Bridge, and return to Keswick up the western side of the lake. Every lover of landscape should take this ride in the afternoon, and if the sun shines, it is pleasant and fine. The road branches off from the great road to Cockermouth, a little below the bridge, and leads through the wood and round Castle Howe. In some places it rises above the lake a considerable height, and the water is seen at intervals through a screen of low wood that decks the banks of the lake, which is sometimes entirely concealed, and again suddenly caught at breaks in the wood. The road descends to the level of the water, and presents you with a variety of surprising views in different styles that show themselves in an agreeable succession as the eye wanders in amazement along the lake. 4. At Beck wither, the lake spreads out in a great expanse of water, its outlet concealed by Castle Howe. The immediate shore is lined with rocks that range along banks completely dressed in low wood, and over them wither brows rise almost perpendicular. The opposite shore is much variegated, and deep embayed by the bold promontories of Skaerness, Bones and Bradness. Just opposite to you, a little removed from the margin of the lake, and under a range of wood, see the solitary church of Bassenthoate. Its backguard is gloomy Uluck, a descendant hill of parent Skidore, robed in purple heath, trimmed with soft verdure. The whole cultivated track between the mountains and the lake is seen here in all its beauty, and Skidore appears nowhere of such majestic height as from this point, magnified by the accompaniment of lesser hills that surround his base. Over the northern extremity of this expanse of water, the ground rises in an easy slope, and in the point of beauty, Armathwaite is seated, Queen of the Lake, on which she smiles in graceful beauty and elegant ease. On each hand are hanging woods. The space between confesses much cultivation, divided by enclosures, waving up to a farm seen under the skirts of Kermot, the crown-topped hill, that closes this scene with the most elegant form and in the sweetest manner possible. If the sun shines, you may be entertained here for hours, with pleasing variety of landscape. All the views up the lake are in a style great and sublime. They are seen in the bosom of the lake and by reflection softened with pleasing tints and rich colouring. The magnitude of objects is preserved, or but little diminished by the convexity of the watery mirror, but to the glass is reserved the finished picture in highest colouring and just perspective. As you emerge from the wood at the gates leading to the open space, there is a magnificent bird's eye view, Keswick in the centre of a grand amphitheatre of mountains. Proceeding along the banks of the lake, the road leads through Thornthwaite and Portinscale to Keswick, a morning ride up the Vale of Newland to Buttermere etc. End of Part 7 Part 8 of A Guide to the Lakes by Thomas West This Librivox recording is in the public domain. A morning ride up the Vale of Newland to Buttermere etc. This ride remains hitherto unnoticed, though one of the most pleasing and surprising in the environs of Keswick. Company who visit the Vale of Keswick and view the lake from Castle Rig, Lattrig, Swinside and the Vicarage, imagine inaccessible mountains only remain beyond the line of this amazing tract. But whoever takes the ride up Newland Vale will be agreeably surprised with some of the finest solemn pastoral scenes they have yet beheld. An arrangement of vast mountains entirely new, both in form and colouring of rock, vast hollow craters scooped in their bosoms, once the seeming seats of raging liquid fire, at present overflowing with purest water that foams down the craggy brows in impetuous torrents. Woods skirt their base, and lakes lie at their feet clear as the door went. The softer parts of these scenes are verdant hills, patched with wood, spotted with variety of rock and pastured with herds and flocks. The ride is along Swinside, and having turned the brow of the hill, and passed the first houses through which the road leads. Observe at the gate on the right a view down a narrow vale, pleasing in a high degree. The road winds through a glade, along the side of a rapid gurgling brook that ripples down a stony channel. It's water clear as crystal. At the hedgerow tree, under rolling end, a brawny mountain, turn and have a new and pleasing view of the Vale of Keswick. The road has a gentler scent and the rivulet is heard murmuring below. At the upper end of the cultivated part of the Vale, a green pyramidal hill, divided into waving enclosures, looks down the Vale upon Keswick, etc. The verdant hills on each side terminate in awful rude mountains that tower to the skies in a variety of grotesque forms, and on their murky furrowed sides hang many torrents. Above Gascadale, the last houses in Newland, no traces of human industry appears. All is naked, solitude and simple nature in a variety of fantastic forms. The Vale now becomes a del, the road is a path. The lower parts are pastured with a motley herd. The middle tract, the flocks assume, the upper regions, to man inaccessible, are abandoned to the birds of Jove. Here untamed nature holds her reign in solemn silence amidst the gloom and grandeur of dreary solitude. The morning sun, beaming on the blue and yellow mountain sides, produces effects of light and shade, the most charming that ever a son of Appellese or genius of Raphael imagined. In approaching the head of Newland Hawes on the left, a mountain of purple-coloured rock presents a thousand gaping chasms excavated by torrents that roaring fall into a basin formed in the bosom of the mountain and then precipitating over a wall of rock become a brook below. In front is a vast rocky mountain, the barrier of the del that opposes itself to all further access. Among the variety of waterfalls that distinguish this awful boundary of rock, one catches the eye at a distance that exceeds the boasted low door, as much as Causey Pike does, Castle Rig, in height of rock and unity of fall, whilst the beholder is free from all anxiety of mind in the approach. Not one pebble or grain of sand offends, but all is nature in her sweetest trim of verdant turf spread out to please her voters. Whoever would enjoy with ease and safety alpine views and pastoral scenes in the sublime style may have them in this morning ride. The road or rather tract becomes less agreeable for a few routes, not for many difficulty in the finest mountain turf, where roads may be made at the least expense, but from the dullness of the dalesmen who habituate themselves to tread in the tract made by their flocks. It will not be labour lost to walk a few routes and see a new creation of mountains, as unlike what are left behind as the Andes are to the Alps. The contrast is really striking and appear at once on the summit of the hill. On the right at the head of a deep green dell, a naked, furrowed mountain of an orange hue, has a strange appearance amongst his verdant neighbours, and sinks by his height, Skidor itself. Descend the tract on the left and soon have in sight the highest possible contrast in nature in sublime alpine scenery. Four spiral towering mountains, dark, done and gloomy at Noonday, rise immediately from the western extremity of the deep narrow dell and hang over Buttermere. The most southern is by the dalesmen from its form called Hayrick. The more pyramidal, high crag, the third, high steel, and the fourth from the ferruginous colour, red pike. Between the second and third, there is a large crater that from the parched colour of the conical mountains, in whose bosom it is formed, appears to have been the focus of a volcano in some distant period of time, and the cones produced by explosion. At present it is the reservoir that feeds the roaring cataract you see in the descent to Buttermere. Here all is barrenness, solitude and silence, only interrupted with the murmurs of a rill that runs unseen in the narrow bottom of a deep dell. The smooth, verdant sides of the vast hills on the right have many furrows engraven in their sides by the winter rains, and the sable mountains in front present all the horrors of cloven rock, broken cliff and mountain streams, tumbling headlong. Some traces of industry obtruding themselves at the foot of the glen disturb the solemn solitude with which the eye and mind have been delighted, and point out your return to society, and that you approach the village of Buttermere, which is situated betwixt the lakes, and consists of sixteen houses. The chapel here is very small, the stipend not large, and though twice augmented with the queen's bounty, exceeds not twenty pounds per annum. This is one of the cures Mr. Pennant mentions, but the perquisites of the clog shoes, hardenfark, wittle gate, and goof gate, the present incumbent does not enjoy. The horrid dark mountains above described, scowl over the village, and the cataract from the crater thunders down their sides. The life of the inhabitants is purely pastoral. A few hands are employed in the slate quarries. The women spin woolen yarn and drink tea. Above the village you have a view of the upper lake, two miles in length, and a much under one in breadth. It is terminated on the western side by the ferruginous mountains already described. A stripe of cultivated ground adorns the eastern shore. A group of houses, gate scarf, is seated on the southern extremity, under the most extraordinary amphitheatre of mountainous rock that ever I beheld. Honey star crag, rising to an immense height, flanked by two conic mountains, fleet width on the east and scarf on the western side. A hundred mountain torrents form a never failing cataract that down the centre of the rock, fall foaming headlong with a thundering noise and form the lake. Mr. Gray's account of Barrowside and his relation of Borodale are hyperbolis, the sport of fancy that he was pleased to indulge himself in. A person that has crossed the Alps or Apenines will meet with only miniatures here of the huge rocks and precipices, the vast hills and snow-topped mountains he saw there. And though he may observe much similarity in the style, there is none in the danger. Skiddo, Helvellen, and Cachidicam are but dwarfs when compared with Mount Maudit above the lake of Geneva and the guardian mountains of the Rhône. Here the rocky scenes and mountain landscape are diversified and contrasted with all that aggrandises the subject in the most sublime style and constitutes a picture the most enchanting of any in these parts. If the roads in some places are narrow and difficult they are at least safe. No villainous banditi haunt the mountains. Innocent people live in the Dells. Every cottager is narrative of all he knows and mountain virtue and pastoral hospitality are found at every farm. This constitutes a pleasing difference betwixt travelling here and on the continent, where every inholder is an extortioner and every voiturine an imposing rogue. The space betwixt the lakes is under a mile of pasture and meadow ground. The lower lake, called Crummock Water, soon opens after you leave the village and pass through an oaken grove. A fine expanse of water sweeps away to the right under a rocky promontory, random knot or butter mere horse. The road serpentises round the rock and under a rugged pyramidal craggy mountain. From the crest of this rock the whole extent of the lake is discovered. On the western side the mountains rise immediately from the water's edge, bold and abrupt. Just in front between Bleed Crag and Wellbreak, two spiral hills. The horse resounding noise of a waterfall is heard across the lake, concealed within the bosom of the cliff through which it has forced its way, and, when viewed from the foot of the fall, is a most astonishing phenomenon. This lake is beautified with three small aisles. One of rock lies just before you. The whole eastern shore is diversified with bays, the banks with scattered trees and a few enclosures, terminated by a hanging wood. At the foot of the lake a high crowned hill pushes forward, fringed with trees and sweetly laid out with enclosures, and above it, on a cultivated slope, is the Chapel of Lowe's Water. Surrounded with scattered farms behind all, Lowe fell, swells his verdant front, a sweet contrast to his murky neighbours, and a pleasing termination seen from the top of this rock or from the bosom of the lake. The chain of pyramidal mountains on each side of this narrow veil are extremely picturesque. They rise from distinct bases and swell into the most grotesque forms, and burst into rocky heads, serrated here and broken there. These lakes are of a much greater depth than Durwent, and may be the only reason why they hold char, and the other does not. The char in the summer months retire to the deeps, probably to avoid the heat. The water here is clear, but not so transparent as the Durwent. The outlet is at the northeast corner by the River Cocker, over which is a handsome stone bridge of four arches. This lake is four miles in length, and almost half a mile over in some places. End of Part 8. Part 9 of A Guide to the Lakes by Thomas West This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Loweswater. Proceed from the bridge by high cross to the lake of Loweswater. Having passed through a gate that leads to the common, the lake spreads out before you, a mile in length and of equal breadth, about a quarter of a mile. The extremities are rivals in beauty of hanging woods, little groves, and waving enclosures, with farms seated in the sweetest points of view. The south end is overlooked by lofty melbreak, at whose foot a white house, within some grass enclosures, under a few trees, stands in the point of beauty. The eastern shore is open and indented with small bays. The opposite side is more pleasing. Carling Knot presents a broad pyramidal front of swift descent, covered with soft vegetation, and sprinkled with many aged solitary thorns. On each side, the outline waves upward in the finest manner, terminating in a cone of grey rock, patched with verdure. This lake, in opposition to all the other lakes, and the fall of the mountains, has its course from north to south, and under melbreak, falls into the Kramuk water. This lake is of no great depth, and without char, but it abounds as all the others do, in fine trout, etc. An evening view of both lakes is from the side of melbreak, at the gate under the copies of oak, in the road to Ennerdale. Nothing exceeds in composition the parts of this landscape. They are all great and lie in fine order of perspective. If the view is taken from the round knoll at the lower end of the lake, the appearance of the mountains that bound it is astonishing. Melbreak on the right, and a grassmere on the left, are in the points of distance on the near foreground of this landscape, and betwixt them a stupendous amphitheater of mountains, their heads all broken and dissimilar, and of different hues. Their bases are skirted with wood, or clothed with verdure. In the centre point of this amphitheater is a huge, pyramidal broken rock that seems with its figure to change place as you move across the foreground, and gives much variety to the scenes, and changes the picture at every pace. The picturesque views here are many, the scenes, some mixed, others purely sublime, all surprised and pleased. The genius of the greatest adepts in landscape might here improve in taste and judgment, and the most enthusiastic ardour for pastoral poetry and painting will here find an inexhaustible source of studies and magical scenes. When the rows to Ennerdale and Westwater are improved, they may be taken in this morning ride. Smith's views of them are the truest likenesses. From the bridge at the foot of the lake ascend the road to Brackenthwaite. At the hedge alehouse, Scale Hill, take a guide to the top of the rock, above Mr. Bertie's woods, and have a view of crumbic water entirely new. The river Cocker is seen winding through a beautiful and rich cultivated veil, spreading far to the north, variegated with woods, groves, and hanging grounds in every pleasing variety. The most singular object in this veil of Lawton and Brackenthwaite is a high crown-topped rock that divides the veil, and raises a broken, craggy head overhanging woods that skirt the sloping sides, cut into waving enclosures, varied with groves and patches of coppice wood. To the west a part of Loweswater Lake is seen, under a fringe of trees at High Cross. Behind you, awful Grasmere, the skidor of the veil, frowns in all the majesty of furrowed rock, cut almost perpendicular to the centre by the waterfall of ages. The swell of a cataract is heard, but entirely concealed within the gloomy recess of a rocky dell, formed by the rival mountains, Grasmere and Silverside, whose purple dress is variegated with silver-gray rock. At their feet lie the mighty ruins, brought down from the mountains by the memorable waterspout that deluged all the veil in September 1760. After this, the mountains become humble hills, and terminate the sweet veil that stretches from the feet of black crag and carline knot, spreading itself into a country watered by the cocker. The ride down the veil is pleasant, all the scenes are smiling rich and rural. Every daylander appears to be a man of taste, every village, house and cot is placed in the choice's sight, and decorated in the finest manner and style of natural elegance. Not one formal avenue or straight-lined hedge or square fish pond offends the eye in all this charming veil. The variety of situation gives diversity of views, and a succession of pleasing objects creates the desire of seeing. The back view is under a wooded hill, near the fifth mile post, and is fine. Here return up the great road to Keswick. From Keswick to Penrith, seventeen miles of excellently good road through an open wild country. Antiquities. Upon Hutton Moor and on the north side of the great road, may be traced the path of the Roman road that leads from old Penrith or Plumpton Wall, in a line almost due west to Keswick. Upon the moor are the traces of a large encampment that the road traverses, and a little beyond the eighth mile post on the left at Whitsbarrow are strong vestiges of a square encampment. The Roman road beyond that is met in the enclosed fields of Whitsbarrow, and is known by the farmers from the opposition they meet with in plowing across it. After that it is found entire on the common called Greystock Low Moor, and last summer they have formed a new road on the edge of it. It proceeds in a right line to Greystock town, where it makes a flexure to the left, and so continues in a line to Blenco, and is found in a plowed field about two hundred yards to the north of Little Blenco, pointing its coach gate, and from thence it passes on the north side of Kelbarrow, and through Cow Close, and was discovered in making the new term pike road from Penrith to Cockermouth, which it crossed near the toll gate. From thence it stretches over Whitrig in a right line, and is visible on the edge of the wood at Fairbank, and in the lane called Low Street. From thence it points through enclosed land to the south end of the station called Plumpton Wall and Old Penrith. It crossed the Brook Pettarol at Topin Home. In the year 1772 near Little Blenco, in removing a heap of stones, two urns were taken up, about two feet and a half high, made of very coarse earth, and crusted on both sides with a brown clay. The top remarkably wide, and covered with a red flat stone. Besides the ashes and bones, each urn had a small cup within it of a fine clay in shape of a teacup. One was pierced in the centre of the bottom part, the place where they were taken up is called Lodden Howe, within twenty yards of the road between Penrith and Skelton, and about two hundred yards from the Roman road, and four miles from the station. On the banks of the Pettarol, a few routes from the south corner of the station, an altar was lately found. Its height, three feet four inches, and near sixteen inches square. It had been thrown down from the upper ground, and the corners broke off in the fall. The front has been filled with an inscription, the letters short and square, but not one word legible. On the right hand side is the patterer, with a handle, and underneath the cessespiter. On the opposite side is the ampula, and from its lip a serpent or viper descends in waves. The back part is rude, as if intended to stand against a wall. The emblems are in excellent preservation. The castrum is 168 paces from south to north, by 110 within the Foss, which was also surrounded with a stone wall. The stones have been removed to the fence wall on the roadside, and being in Plumpton is called Plumpton Wall. The station is a vast heap of ruins, of stone building, the walls of great thickness and cemented. The town has surrounded the station, except on the side of the peterole, but whether the station took its name from the river, as being upon its banks, and was called the Petriana, or whether the station gave name to the river, which is the least probable, let him who can determine. The station is 12 miles and three quarters from Carlyle, five and a quarter from Penrith, about seven from Broome Castle, and about eighteen from Keswick, where an intermediate station must have been between Ambleside and Moorsby, and between Old Penrith and Moorsby, having Kermot between it and Old Carlyle, and Papcastle between it and Moorsby. The summer station would be on Castle Hill, and the winter station on the area of the present town of Keswick, or on some convenient place betwixt the conflicts of the river's greeter and derwent, and it is more probable that the derwentione of the Corografia was here than its Papcastle, which comes better in for the Pampukalia of the same Corografia. A station here would be an efficacious check on any body of the enemy that might cross the estuaries, above or below Boulness, and pass the watch there, and the garrisons at Old Carlyle, Ellenborough, Papcastle and Moorsby, for it was impossible for any body of men to proceed to the south but by Borodale or Dunmayle Rays, and a garrison at Keswick commanded both these passes. The watch at Kermot would give the alarm to that on Castle Craig in the pass of Borodale, and the sentinel on Castlehead that overlooks Keswick would communicate the same to the garrison there, so it is apparently impossible that any body of men could pass that way, but if they attempted a route on the northern side of Skidore and over Huttonmore to Patadale, the watch at Kermot was in sight, both of Old Carlyle and Keswick, and the garrison of the latter might either pursue or give notice to Whitbarrow and Ambleside to meet them in the pass at the head of Patadale called Kirkston, which is so steep and narrow and crowded with rocks that a few veteran troops would easily stop the career of a tumultuous crowd, who falling back upon each other would increase their destruction in flying down a precipitous pass. If they made good the pass and turned to the east before the Romans arrived, they would in that case be harassed in the rear, till they arrived at Kendall where the watchmen from Watercrook would be ready to receive them, and then they would be attacked in front and rear. That the Romans have had engagements at Kirkston Pass is evident from the Roman arms that were lately found in the adjoining moss. There are also many heaps of stones collected, which have the appearance of barrows. These are the only passes amongst the mountains that a body of Caledonians could attempt in their way to the south, and these could not be secured without a station at Keswick, and that could not be more advantageously placed than where the town stands on the meeting of the roads from the surrounding stations, all about an equal distance, and at such a distance as rendered a station here necessary, and the several Castellums on Castle Craig and Castle Hill in Castellet, useful in giving notice and guarding these important posts. That no vestige is now visible of a station ever being here, nor any notice of it taken by Camden, Horsley and others, nor even a traditional record of its existence, are seeming difficulties which put the negative on what has been advanced. That no vestiges remain only proves that the place had been defaced at an early period, when no care was taken to preserve the memory of such remains, and that the town occupies the whole area of the station, and that the station had been placed within the site of the town, probably in the lower part facing the pass of the Greta. In the wheel of the Greta a meadow peninsulated by the river just below the town and called the goatsfield, there are vestiges of a fos, but too imperfect to draw a conclusion from, in favour of the station. The ground round the town is very fertile, and has been long enough cultivated to destroy any remains. What have been accidentally discovered are gone into oblivion, and no change happening in the town itself to occasion new discoveries, the memory of what has been is fled with time. If Camden visited Keswick, he was satisfied with the then present state of the little town, which King Edward I made a market. The face of the country only drew his attention. That Horsley never visited these parts is evident, from his mistaken account of the road from Plumpton Wall to Keswick, which he says passed through Greystock Park. This had he but seen the face of the country he could never have imagined. His mistake and Camden's silence give occasion to a regular survey of the said road, and finding the military roads from Papcastle, Ellenborough, Moorsby, Ambleside and Plumpton, all coincide at Keswick, and for the other reasons already assigned, it's appeared evident that the station must be somewhere near. The Castle Hill above Keswick is a faithful record of the existence of a station in this country. Here was the seat of the ancient lords of the Manor of Dewowentwater, probably raised on the ruins of the Roman fortress. But after the heiress of that family was married to Ratcliffs, the family seat was removed into Northumberland, and the castle went to ruins. And with the stones thereof, the Ratcliffs built a house of pleasure in one of the islands in Dewowentwater. The name Castle Hill, being more ancient than the last direction, is still retained. At Ambleside, when I inquired for the Roman station a few years ago, no one could inform me. But upon one person, considering the description I gave of it, answered, it is the castle. The station at Plumpton is called by the same name, and at Kendall, the castellan that overlooks the station, is also called the Castle Steads. So here the Castle Hill is the place of the summer station, but being a fruitful tract and much ploughed, I have not been able to trace any appearance of a fosso or vallum, and therefore the whole of this conjecture must rest upon the necessity, or at least on the expediency of a station here. Since the writing of the above, in a field below the town, an urn with other remains were found by the plough and said to be Roman. End of Part 9 Part 10 of A Guide to the Lakes, by Thomas West This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Ulswater Those who do not choose to go as far as Penrith may, near the eighth mile post, turn off to the right. Melfel, around Green Hill, will be on the left to Matadale, and into Gowbarrow Park, which brings them upon Ulswater, about the middle part of it, where it is seen to great advantage. But here it must be observed that some of the greatest beauties of the lake and sweetest scenes are entirely lost by this route. Dunmallet, the greatest ornament of the lake, with the whole of the first great bend, remain unseen, and much of the dignity of the lake is thereby destroyed. It is therefore better to ride on to the gate on the right that leads to Dacre, and over Dacre Common, to the foot of Dunmallet. By this course every part of the lake will be viewed to the greatest advantage. Mr Gray's choice of visiting this lake was from Penrith, up the Vale of Eamon. A great autumnal day, went to see Ulswater, five miles distant. Soon left Keswick Road and turn to the left, through shady lanes along the Vale of Eamon, which runs rapidly on near the way, rippling over the stones. To the right, Dale Main, a large fabric of pale red stone, with nine windows in front and seven on the side. Farther on, Hutton St. John, a castle-like old mansion of Mr Huddleston's. Approached on Dunmallet, a fine pointed hill, covered with wood, began to mount the hill, and with some toil gained the summit. From hence saw the lake opening directly at my feet, majestic in its calmness, clear and smooth as a blue mirror, with winding shores and low points of land, covered with green enclosures, white farmhouses looking out among the trees, and cattle feeding. The water is almost everywhere bordered with cultivated lands, gently sloping upwards from a mile to a quarter of a mile in breadth, so they reach the feet of the mountains, which rise very rude and awful with their broken tops on either hand. Directly in front, at better than three miles distance, Place Fell, one of the bravest among them, pushes its bold broad breast into the midst of the lake, and forces it to alter its course, forming first a large bay to the left, and then bending to the right. Descended Dunmallet by a side avenue, only not perpendicular, and came to Barton Bridge over the Eamon, then walked through a path in the wood round the bottom of the hill. Came forth where the Eamon issues out of the lake, and continued my way along the western shore, close to the water, and generally on a level with it. It is nine miles long, and its widest under a mile in breadth. After extending itself three miles and a half in a line to the southwest, it turns at the foot of Place Fell, almost due west, and is here not twice the breadth of the Thames at London. It is soon again interrupted by the roots of Helvelyn, a lofty and very rugged mountain, and spreading again turns off to the southeast, and is lost among the deep recesses of hills. To this second turning I pursued my way about four miles along its borders, beyond a village scattered among trees, and called Water Millock. Here Mr Gray leaves us, and the greatest part of the lake unseen, and the most picturesque parts undescribed. The last bend of the lake is spotted with rocky aisles, deeply indented, with wooded promontories on one side, and rocks on the other. Antiquities. Before you quit the top of Dunmallet, observe the vestiges of its former importance, an area of 110 paces by 37, surrounded with a fos still visible. Stones of the ramparts still peep through the grass. The well that supplied the guard kept here was but lately filled up with stones. This fort must have been of much consequence in guarding the lake, and commanding the pass, and a maintaining a connection between the garrisons of Ambleside and Broom, being five or six miles distant from the latter, and nineteen from the former. There are strong vestiges of a square fort on Sulbifell, which communicates with this and the camp at Whitbarrow. Opposite to Water Millock, a cataract descends the front of Swarthfell in Martindale Forest. At Skilling Nab, a bold promontory, the lake is contracted to a span, but soon spreads itself again both ways, forming a variety of sweet bays and promontories. After a reach of three miles, its winds with a grand sweep round the smoothest breast of Place Fell, and making a turn directly south, advances with equal breadth towards Patadale. The western shore is various. Drawing near the second bend, the mountains strangely intersect each other. Behind many wooded hills rises Stone Cross Pike, and overall, steep hellbellen shows his sovereign head. On the western side, Eucrag, a noble pile of rock, front Place Fell, where it weeps in a cataract of the lake. Gowbarrow Park opens with a grand amphitheatre of shining rock, the floor of which is spread with a soft green pasture, one shaded with ancient oaks, to which many decayed roots bear witness. Scattered thorns, trees and bushes vary the ground, pastured with flocks, herds of cattle and fallow deer. The road winds along the margin of the lake, clear as a mirror, at every turn renewing scenes the finest that can be imagined. At the upper end of Gowbarrow Park, the last bend of the lake, which is by much the finest, opens, scattered with small rocky islands. The shores are bold, rocky, wooded and much embayed. Past Newbridge, the road winds up a steep rock, having the lake underneath you on the left. From the top, have a view under the trees both up and down the lake. Martindale Fell, a naked grey rock on the opposite shore, rises abruptly from the water to an alpine height. The effect is astonishing. The rock you stand upon hangs over the lake, blue and unfathomable to the eye. An island in the middle space has a beautiful effect. This is the most romantic, pleasing and terrible situation upon the lake, especially if the wind blows the surges of the water against the rock below you. The shores on both sides upward are very pleasing, and the little decorating aisles are scattered in the most exquisite taste and delightful order. The ride along the banks since the repair of the road is charming. The upper end terminates in sweet meadows surrounded on the right by towering rocky hills, broken and wooded. Martindale Fell is the opposite boundary, skirted here with hanging enclosures, cots and farms. The principal feeders of the lake are Griesdale Beck on the western corner, and Goldrill Beck, which descends from Kirkston Fell. They enter the lake in a freer manner than the feeder of Durwent does, and make a much finer appearance where they join the lake. From the bridge in Patadale, Goldrill Beck serpentises sweetly through the meadows, and falls easily into the lake, about the middle of the veil. Glencann Beck, descending from Helvellen, joins the lake at Aerie Bridge. There is, from the top of the rock above the inn, a very charming view of the last bend of the lake, which constitutes one of the finest landscapes on it, and takes in just enough for a delightful picture. The nearest foreground is a fall of enclosures, a rocky wooded mountain that hangs over Patadale House. Martindale Fell is in the point of distance on the right, steep rocks and shaggy woods hanging from their sides on the left. Gaubarro Park rises in a fine style from the water edge for the background, and a noble reach of water, beautifully spotted with rocky aisles, charmingly disposed with perpetual change of rocky shore, fill the middle space of this beautiful picture. This lake is of a depth sufficient for breeding char, and abounds with variety of other fish. Trout of thirty pounds weight and upwards are said to be taken here. The water of the lake is very clear, but has nothing of the transparency of Durwent, and is inferior to Buttermere and Crumbock Water also in this respect. The stones in the bottom and along the shores are coated with mud. Mr. Gray observed in viewing this lake the same order as at Keswick, along its banks and facing the mountains. From the parity of reason that the idea of magnitude and magnificence are there by increased as much as possible, with advantage of foreground, and every object viewed this way appears much higher than when seen from an elevated station, which depresses the dimension on which the idea of magnitude and magnificence depend. This lake viewed from any height except gun mallet loses much of its dignity as a lake, from the number of its flexures and juttings out of promontries, but it regains the appearance of a magnificent river engulfed in rocks. The bold winding hills, the intersecting mountains, the pyramidal cliffs, the bulging broken rugged rocks, the hanging woods, the easy waterfalls in some places, and in others the tumbling roaring cataract are parts of the sublimer scenes in this surprising veil. The cultivated spots wave upward from the water in beautiful slopes, intersected by hedges, waving with trees in the most picturesque manner. Mansions, cottages and farms, placed in sweetest points, are the rural parts. And altogether form the most delightful charming scenes. The accompaniments of this lake are disposed in the most picturesque order, bending round its margin and spreading upwards in craggy rocks and mountains, irregular in height and shape and broken top, yet much inferior in sublime heights and horrible grandeur to the environs of Keswick and the dreadful rocks in Borodale. But in this opinion we have Mr. Cumberland against us, who, having visited and seen the other lakes, in dark unfavourable weather, when nothing could be seen, besides weeping rocks, flooded roads and watery plains, darkened by sable clouds that hovered over them motionless, and concealed their variegated shores, entertained an unfavourable idea of them, and being more fortunate in a fine day, in that part of the tour, where he visited Oldswater, he attuned his lyre in honour of this enchanting lake, and sung its charms in preference, not only to Windermere, Grasmere and the Vale of Keswick, but raises it above the pride of Lomond and the marvellous Kilani. Mr. Cumberland in that sweet ode represents himself upon the banks of the lake of Oldswater, bemoaning himself and the hardness of his fate, when the sun beaming forth blessed him with a full display of all the beauties of this enchanting lake. In gratitude for so special a favour, in a true poetic rapture, he dedicates the charming odes of the God of Day, whose partiality to the lake of Patadale he gratefully indulges, in the following harmonious numbers. Me turbid skies and threatening clouds await, emblems alas of my ignoble fate, but see the embattled vapours break, disperse and fly, posting like couriers down the sky. The grey rock glitters in the glassy lake, and now the mountain tops are seen, frowning amidst the blue serene. The variegated groves appear, decked in the colours of the waning year, and, as new beauties they unfold, dip their skirts in beaming gold. The savage wyburn, now I hail, delicious grassmere's calm retreat and stately windermere I greet, and Keswick's sweet fantastic veil, but let her maids yield to thee and lowly bend the subject knee. Imperial lake of Patricksdale, for neither Scottish Lomond's pride, nor smooth Kilarn is silver-tide, nor aught that learned Pusan drew, or dashing Rosa flung upon my view, shall shake thy sovereign undisturbed right, great scene of wonder and sublime delight. Hail to thy beams, O sun, for this display, what glorious orb can I repay, the thanks of an unprostituted muse. The navigators of this lake find much amusement by discharging guns or small cannon at certain stations. The report is reverberated from rock to rock, promontory cavern and hill, with a variety of sound, dying away upon the ear, and again returning like peels of thunder, re-echoed seven times distinctly. Opposite to Watermilk is one of those stations. The higher end of the lake is fourteen miles from Penrith, and ten from Ambleside, good turnpike road. Only at Staybarrow Crag, the road is cut into the rock that awfully overhangs it, and is too narrow. Above Goldrill Bridge, the veil becomes narrow and poor, the mountain steep, naked and rocky. Much blue slate of an excellent kind is excavated out of their bowels. The ascent from the lake to the top of Kirkston is easy. There are many waterfalls from the mountains on both sides. From the top of Kirkston to Ambleside, the descent is quick. Some remarkable stones near the gorge of the pass are called High Truff. The only lake that remains to be visited in this course is Haweswater. End of Part 10. Part 11 of A Guide to the Lakes by Thomas West This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Haweswater This is a pretty morning ride from Penrith, or it may be taken in the way to Shapp, or from Shapp and return to Kendall. There is also a road from Pooley Bridge over the mountain to Ponton Vale, a beautiful secreted valley. Ascending the road from Pooley Bridge to the south, from the brow of the common, you have a grand general view of Haweswater, with all its winding shore and accompaniments of woods, rocks and mountains, bays and promontries, with all the flexures of shore to the entrance of Patadale. To the northeast, you look down on Pooley Bridge, and the winding of the river guides the eye to a beautiful valley, much ornamented with plantations, in the midst of which, Dale Main is seated, Queen of the Vale of Eamon. Turning south, preceded by White Rays, a large carn of stones, and near it, the remains of a small circus. Ten stones are still erect. A little further on are the vestiges of a larger circus of 22 paces by 25. All the stones, except the pillar, are removed. It stands on the south side of the circus. The place is called Dovac Moor. Here, the Vale of Ponton opens sweetly to the view, ascending to the south, and spreading upwards in a variety of dale and a beauty. At the bridge, the road turns to the right, and soon brings you upon Haweswater. Mr Young is the first that says anything pretty of this sweet but unfrequented lake. The approach to the lake is very picturesque. You pass between two high ridges of mountains. The banks finally spread with enclosures. Upon the right, two small beautiful hills, one of them covered with wood. They are most pleasingly elegant. The lake is a small one about three miles long, half a mile over in some places, and a quarter in others. Almost divided in the middle by a promontory of enclosures, joined only by a straight, so that it consists of two sheets of water. The upper end of it is fine, quite enclosed with bold steep, craggy rocks and mountains. And in the center of the end, a few little enclosures at their feet, waving upward in a very beautiful manner. The south side of the lake is a noble ridge of mountains, very bold and prominent down to the water's edge. They bulge out in the center in a fine, bold, pendants' broad head, that is venerably magnificent. And the view of the first sheet of the lake, losing itself in the second, among hills, rocks, woods, etc., is picturesque. The opposite shore consists of enclosures, rising one above another, and crowned with craggy rocks. The narrowest part by report is fifty fathom deep, and a man can throw a stone across it. The way it falls or falls is a fine cataract on the right, and opposite to it, the first sheet of water is lost among the rocks and wood in a beautiful manner. Bleak how crag, a ruinous rock, and over it, castle crag, a staring shattered rock, have a formidable appearance, and above all, kidsy pike, on whose summits the clouds weep into a crater of rock that is never dry. On the eastern side, a front of prominent rock bulges out in a solemn naked mass, and a waving cataract descends the furrow side of a soft green hill. The contrast is fine. At Bleak how crag, there is a fine back view. Above the chapel, all is hopeless waste and desolation. The little veil contracts into a glen, strewed with the precipitated ruins of mouldering mountains, and the destruction of waterfalls. Kendall is fourteen miles from the chapel, and whoever chooses an alpine ride may proceed to it up this veil. From the chapel to the top of the mountain, three miles. The descent into Longsleydale is as much more. In approaching the mountain, heart of fells scowls forward in all the terrific grandeur of hanging rock. As you approach it, a yawning chasm appears to divide it upwards from the base, and within it is heard the hoarse noise of engulfed waters. The harmony of cataracts and waterfalls on all sides add much to the solemnity of the tremendous scenes. The path soon becomes winding, steep and narrow, and is the only possible one across the mountain. Our roaring cataract on the left accompanies you during the ascent. On the summit of the mountain, you soon come in sight of Longsleydale, Lancaster Sands, etc., and will presently be accompanied with a cataract on the right in the course of the descent. The road traverses the mountain, as on the other side, but is much better made, and wider on account of the slate, taken from the sides of these mountains, and carried to Kendall, etc. The waterfalls on the right are extremely curious. You enter Longsleydale between two shattered rocky mountains. That on the left Crowbarrow is not less terrible to look up at when under it than any rock in Barrowside or Borrowdale, and has covered a much larger space with ruins. Here is all the possible variety of waterfalls and cataracts. The most remarkable is on the left. Over a most tremendous wall of rock, a mountain torrent in one unbroken sheet leaps headlong one hundred yards and bore. The whole vale is narrow, the hills rise swift on each hand, their brows are wooded, their feet covered with grass are cultivated, their summits broken. The road along the vale is tolerable, and joins the great road at Wachiate, about four miles from Kendall. Hawswater may be taken first in the morning, and then cross the mountain by the road to Pooley Bridge for Owlswater, and return in the evening to Penrith. So much is already said of this sweet town that nothing remains new to be added here. The situation is pleasant, open to the south. It is tolerably well built, and rather a gentile than a trading town. The townspeople are civil, the inns comodious and well served. The company are polite and communicative to strangers. Beside the few resident families, the life of this town is, there being a thoroughfare for travellers. For although it is besieged in the midst of a rich and fruitful country, no manufacturers have been induced to fix here. Before the interest of the sister kingdoms became one, Penrith was a place of uncertain tranquility, and too precarious for the repose of trade and manual industry, being better circumstances for a place of arms and military exercise. Yet since the happy change of spirit, no more than one branch of tanning, and a small manufacture of checks have taken place. This must be owing to want of attention in the people of property, or of industry and the inhabitants. The latter is not to be supposed, for the spirit of agriculture introduced by the gentleman of the environs is in as flourishing away amongst the farmers of this neighbourhood as in other parts of the kingdom. The superfluities of the market are bought up for Kendall, where much of that is wanting, which super abounds here. The most remarkable objects here are the beacon on the summit of the hill above the town, and the awful remains of a royal fortress on the crest of rising ground that commands the town. It is supposed to be an erection of Henry VI, out of the ruins of a much more ancient structure called Mabra, but this is not very probable, since stones are easier quarried here than they could be got there. But as popular records have always some fact to rest upon and truth in the bottom, so some facings and other principal stones being taken from Mabra give rise to the tradition. There might also have been a stronghold here in the time of the Romans. At present the buildings are ruins in the last stage. One stone arched vault remains, that from its situation has been the keep no longer terrible since the border service ceased, and the mutual intercourse of trade and alliance happily taken place of national reprisals and family feuds. The antiquity of this town is supposed to be found in its name, being a British derivation from Pen and Rud, signifying in that language a red head or hill, and such as the colour of the hill above the town and the ground and stones around it. But with respect to situation, it may as well be derived from Pen, the head, and Rin, a promontory, and so be referred to the Beacon Hill. But it may be judged a more honourable etymon to derive the name from Pen and Rid, Rid of Ridau, to make free, and that on account of special service of fidelity to the Roman government. The Britons of this town were emancipated from the abject slavery that the nation in general was subjected to by their tyrannical masters, and on that occasion the town was made free, and the inhabitants were honoured with the title of principal freemen, which they translated into their own language by Penrith, and was pronounced by the Britons as by the Welsh at this day, Penrith. It has been the happiness of this town to remain a royal franchise through all the ages of feudal servitude, at least since the reign of Edward I, without the encumbrance of a charter, and is peaceably governed by the steward of the honours and a free jury. The honours of both town and castle belong to the truly noble Duke of Portland. In the churchyard are some sepulchral monuments, which have long been the subject of antiquarian speculation not yet decided. Thus much is evident that the pillars are of one stone, formed like the ancient spears, the shafts round for about seven feet high. Above that they appear to be square, and to have terminated in a point. They are about ten feet high, stand parallel with the church, distant from each other fifteen feet. The space between is enclosed with circular stones by some conjecture to represent bores. There remains visible on the upper part of the pillars some ornamental work, but no inscription or figures appear at present, and the stones are so much fretted by time that it rests upon mere conjecture to affirm that there ever were any such. They probably mark the tomb of some great man or family before the custom was introduced of interring within churches, and are probably British or must be Saxon. There are many pleasing rides in the environs of Penrith. Most of them lead to curious remains or ancient monuments or modern improvements. In Winfield Park are the counters pillar, the white heart tree, and the three brother tree. The first is a filial tribute of Anne Countess Dowager of Pembroke to the memory of her pious mother Mary Countess Dowager of Cumberland. The others are the remains of aged oaks that have long outlived their own strength. One of them is upwards of nine yards in circumference. Broomcastle is an awful ruin, the Bravoniacum of the Romans, and since that the Bullock of Westmoreland on that side, and the pride of its oils for many descents. In a gallery overhead is a stone with a Roman sepulchral inscription much defaced. At Little Salkeld is the largest druidical circle in the northern parts. Near Emont's bridge is Arthur's round table, and at a small distance from it is Mabura, both of remote antiquity and doubtful use. The first may be presumed to have been a place of public exhibition for martial exercises, and the latter has the conditions of a British fort. But the rude pillar inclines some to believe it the remains of a druid temple. It is entirely formed of loose stones and pebbles, collected from the adjacent rivers and fields. That the heights as once being great may be collected from the vast breadth of the base, increased by the fall of stones from the top. It encloses a circular area of eighty yards or more, and near the middle stands a red stone, upwards of three yards high. The entrance is on the eastern side, and opens to a sweet viewer Broom House, to which the rude pillar, when whitened, and of this Mr Broom is very careful, is a fine obelisk. If the name of this very extraordinary monument was Brain Gwyn, then Mr Penance from Rowland has pointed out the use of a supreme consistory of druidical administration as the British name imports. But if the present name be a Saxon corruption of the ancient name, which probably was Mephidion, by the Saxons pronounced Mabirion or Mabir, and to bring it still nearer to their own language, Mabura, then this conjecture being admitted, it will signify a place of study and contemplation. Such places the druids had, and with the public schools destined for the colloquial instruction of pupils, in the mysteries of religion, and the arcana of civil government. Druidical remains are frequent in this neighbourhood. Many of them are analogous, but Mabura is such a stupendous construction, that it must have been designed for some extraordinary use. From the beacon the views are many, all extensive and vast. The eye is in the centre of a plain enclosed with a circle of stupendous mountains, of various forms, and awful heights. The plain itself is adorned with many ancient towns, and more ancient castles, stations, and castellums, where the Roman eagle long displayed her wings. But in these more happy days is possessed by a happier people, who enjoy with freedom their pleasant seats and charming mansions, that meet the eye, whichever way the head is turned, marked with all the refinements of liberal taste and flourishing industry. Hawswater may be conveniently visited from Penrith, returning from it by the ruins of Shab or Hep Abbey to Shab. The remains of this abbey are inconsiderable, yet picturesque. A square tower with piked windows is the chief part of the ruins, and does honour to the reign of King John when it was built, for cannons of the pre-monstrotensian order, that had been first placed near Preston Patrick in Kendall, by Thomas, son of Goss Patrick. This abbey was dedicated by the first founder to St. Mary Magdalene, and he endowed it with a large portion of his lands in Preston in Kendall. His son translated it to Magdalene Vale near Shab, and further endowed it with the lands of Carle or Carlawath. Robert de Vetteripont, Vipont, First Lord of Westmoreland, confirmed the precedent grants, and added to that of Matilda his mother, and Ive his brother, the tithes of all his mills, and of game killed in his lands in Westmoreland. This grant is dated on Saturday, April 24th, 13th of King John. From this sequestered spot, continue the route to the village of Shab, a proper place for refreshments before you face Shab fells, a dreary melancholy tract of 12 miles. On the east side of the road, soon after you leave the village, observe a double range of huge granites, pitched in the ground, and at some distance from each other, leading to circles of small stones, and increasing the space between the rows as they approach the circles, where the avenue is about 27 paces wide. They are supposed to have run quite through the village, and terminated in a point. It has long embarrassed the antiquaries, what to call this very uncommon monument of ancient chronology. Mr. Penent has given a plausible explanation of it from Olias Magnus, and supposes them to be the recording stones of a Danish victory obtained on the spot, and the stony circles to be the graceful tribute to the memory of consanguinous heroes slain in the action. There is as a small distance to the east from these stones, a spring, called Shab's spore, in smell and taste like that of Harrogate, much frequented by the people of the country, for score-beautic complaints and eruptions of the skin. Leaving behind you this gloomy region of black moors and shapeless mountains, approach a charming vale, which Mr. Young, in his elegant manner, describes thus. After crossing this dreary tract, the first appearance of a good country is most exquisitely fine. About three miles from Kendall, you at once look down from off this desolate country, upon one of the finest landscapes in the world. A noble range of fertile enclosures, richly enamoured with most beautiful verdure, and coming to the brow of the hill, have a most elegant picture view of a variegated tract of waving enclosures, spreading over hills and hanging to the eye in the most picturesque and pleasing manner that fancy can conceive. Three hills in particular are overlooked, cut into enclosures in a charming style, of themselves forming a most elegant landscape, and worthy the imitation of those who would give the embellishments of art to the simplicity of nature. The station from whence this description is taken is about the midway between the third and fourth milestone on the top of a rock on the east side of the road, called Stone Crag, which cannot be mistaken. The three hills referred to in the description are on the near ground of the landscape. There are many beautiful hills and knolls scattered about the valley, some cultivated, others covered with wood or shining in the softest verdure. But the most remarkable for picturesque form is an oval green hill, crowned with the ruins of a castle. It divides the valley and overlooks a town hanging on the side of a steep mountain. This is Kendall. End of part 12