Last Words

Purchase at alibris.com
( 4.5/5.0 ★ | 106 downloads )
-- Click the link to download --

https://click.linksynergy.com/link?id=*C/UgjGtUZ8&offerid=1494105.26
539780316122689&type=15&murl=https%3A%2F%2F2.zoppoz.workers.dev%3A443%2Fhttp%2Fwww.alibris.com%2Fsearch%2
Fbooks%2Fisbn%2F9780316122689
Last Words

ISBN: 9780316122689
Category: Media > Books
File Fomat: PDF, EPUB, DOC...
File Details: 17.2 MB
Language: English
Website: alibris.com
Short description: Good Size: 5x1x8;

DOWNLOAD: https://click.linksynergy.com/link?id=*C/UgjGtUZ8&
offerid=1494105.26539780316122689&type=15&murl=http%3A%2F%2F
www.alibris.com%2Fsearch%2Fbooks%2Fisbn%2F9780316122689
 Last Words

• Click the link: https://click.linksynergy.com/link?id=*C/UgjGtUZ8&offerid=1494105.2653978031612268

9&type=15&murl=https%3A%2F%2F2.zoppoz.workers.dev%3A443%2Fhttp%2Fwww.alibris.com%2Fsearch%2Fbooks%2Fisbn%2F9780316122689 to do
latest version of Last Words in multiple formats such as PDF, EPUB, and more.

• Don’t miss the chance to explore our extensive collection of high-quality resources, books, and guides on
our website. Visit us regularly to stay updated with new titles and gain access to even more valuable
materials.
.
the back of the Guards hill. The land round the saw-mills is divided
into garden allotments, let at easy rents to the neighbouring
cottagers, and the industrious attention paid by the allottees to the
delving, clearing, and cropping of their several parcels, is a pleasing
proof of the high estimation in which they hold the privileges thus
accorded them. I should have mentioned that Lady le Fleming has
devoted a field adjoining the church-yard to the same excellent
purpose.
Move on, and, as you pass the Saw-mills, you enter the vale of
Yewdale, on which, and on its charms, seeing that I have long ago
exhausted my vocabulary of praise, it were but repeating a thrice-
told tale to say much more respecting it. But, that you may not ride
up Yewdale “in solemn silence,” as, according to the newspapers,
they drink to dead men at public dinners, “I'll tell you a tale without
any flam” in connection with Yewdale and Cauldron Dub.
It is a story possessing a fair allowance of tragic incident, and in
some hands might be worked up into something worth while; but I
am a wretched story-teller, and regret exceedingly that I cannot
recapitulate its leading particulars in the racy and terse, aye, and
poetical, albeit broadly provincial phraseology of my rustic informant.
In good time here we are at the very fittest spot for the
commencement of my story, about a quarter of a mile above the
Saw-mills, where, by craning over the hedge to your right, you may
perceive, near to the verge of the precipitous bank of Yewdale Beck,
and a few yards from the road side, a long narrow mound which
seems to be formed of solid stone covered with moss, but which a
nearer inspection would shew to be composed of several blocks
fitted so closely together as to prove the mound to have had an
artificial, and not a natural origin. You observe it is somewhere
between three and four yards long. That singular accumulation of
lichen-clad rock has been known for centuries amongst the natives
of Yewdale and the adjacent valleys, by the romance-suggesting
designation of “Girt Will’s Grave.” How it came by that name, and
how Cauldron Dub and Yewdale Bridge came to be haunted, my task
is now to tell.

A GIGANTIC Some few hundred years ago, the inhabitants of

SQUATTER. these contiguous dales were startled from their
propriety, if they had any, by a report that one of the Troutbeck
giants had built himself a hut, and taken up his abode in the lonely
dell of “The Tarns,” above Yewdale Head. Of course you have read
the history and exploits of the famous Tom Hickathrift, and
remembering that he was raised at Troutbeck, you will not be much
surprised when I tell you that it was always famous for breeding a
race of extraordinary size and strength, for even in these our own
puny days, the biggest man in Westmorland is to be found in that
beautiful vale.
The excitement consequent upon the settlement of one of that
gigantic race in this vicinity soon died away, and the object of it, who
stood somewhere about nine feet six out of his clogs—if they were
in fashion then—and was broad in fair proportion, became known to
the neighbours as a capital labourer, ready for any such work as was
required in the rude and limited agricultural operations of the period
and locality—answered to the cognomen of “Girt (great) Will o’ t’
Tarns,” and, once or twice, did good service as a billman under the
Knight of Conistone, when he was called upon to muster his powers
to assist in repelling certain roving bands of Scots or Irish, who were
wont, now and again, to invade the wealthy plains of Low Furness.

MISTRESS AND The particular Knight, who was chief of the

MAID. Flemings at the period of the giant’s location at the
Tarns, was far advanced in the vale of years, and, in addition to
some six or eight gallant and stately sons, had

“One fair daughter, and no more,

The which he loved passing well.”
 And Eva le Fleming, called by the country people “the Lady Eva,”
was famed throughout the broad north for her beauty and
gentleness, her high-bred dignity and her humble virtues; but it is
not with her that my story has to do. She, like the mother of “the
gentle lady married to the Moor,” had a maid called Barbara, an
especial favourite with her mistress, and, in her own sphere, deemed
quite as beautiful. In fact, it was hinted that, when she happened to
be in attendance upon her lady on festive or devotional occasions,
the eyes of even knights and well-born squires were as often
directed to the maid as to the mistress, and seemed to express as
much admiration in one direction as the other. And when mounted
on the Lady Eva’s own palfrey, bedecked in its gayest trappings, she
rode, as she oftentimes did, to visit her parents at Skelwith, old and
young were struck with her beauty, and would turn, as she ambled
past, to gaze after her, and to wonder at the elegance of her figure,
the ease of her deportment, and the all-surpassing loveliness of her
features. Her lady, notwithstanding the disparity of their rank, loved
her as a sister, and it was whispered amongst her envious fellow-
servants, that her mistress’s fondness made her assume airs
unbecoming her station. True enough it was that she seemed
sufficiently haughty and scornful in her reception of the homage paid
to her charms by the young men of her own rank, and by many
above it. The only one to whom she showed the slightest courtesy
on these occasions was wild Dick Hawksley, the Knight’s falconer,
and he was also the only one who appeared to care no more for her
favours than for her frowns.

AN ABDUCTION. The Lady Eva, as well befits high-born dames, was

somewhat romantic in her tastes, and would often
row for hours upon the lake, and wander for miles through the
woods, or even upon the mountains, unattended, save by her
favourite bower-maiden. And one evening in autumn, after having
been confined for two whole days to the hall by heavy and incessant
rain, tired of playing chess with her father and battledore with her
younger brothers, or superintending the needlework of her maids,
and tempted by the brilliant moonlight and now unobscured skies,
she summoned Barbara, and set out upon a stroll by the lake side.
The pair were sauntering along a path cut through the dense
coppice, the lady leaning in condescending affection upon the
shoulder of her maiden, and listening to a recital of how, on her
return from some of her visits to her parents, she had been waylaid
by Great Will of the Tarns, and how, on a recent evening, he had
attempted to seize her rein, and would have stopped her, had she
not whipt the palfrey, and bounded past him. The lady was
expressing her indignation at this insolence, when a gigantic figure
sprang upon the pathway, and snatching up the screaming Barbara
with the same ease with which she herself would have lifted an
infant, vanished on the instant amongst the thick hazels.
The Lady Eva stood for a minute struck powerless with terror and
astonishment at this audacious outrage; but the sound of the
monster crashing his headlong course through the coppice, and the
half-stifled screams of his captive, soon recalled her suspended
faculties, and then

“Fair” Eva “through the hazel grove

Flew, like a startled cushat-dove,”

back to the hall, where, breathless with terror and exertion, she
gave the alarm that Barbara had been carried off by the Giant. There
A CHASE BUT NO was noisy and instantaneous commotion amongst
RESCUE. the carousing gentles at the upper, and the
loitering lackeys at the lower end of the hall. Dick Hawksley, and a
few more, darted off in immediate pursuit on foot, while several
rushed to the stables, in obedience to the calls of their young
masters, who were, one and all, loudly vociferating for their horses.
Scarce a minute passed, ere half a dozen le Flemings, attended by
as many mounted followers, were spurring like lightning through the
wood in the direction of Yewdale. They came in sight of the Giant
and his burthen as he neared Cauldron Dub, with the light-heeled
falconer close behind, calling loudly upon him to stay his flight; but
he held on with tremendous strides, till he reached the brow over
the pool, when, finding that the horsemen were close upon him, and
that it was hopeless to try to carry his prize farther, he stopped—
uttered one terrible shout of rage and disappointment—and whirled
his shrieking victim into the flooded beck, resuming his now
unincumbered flight with increased speed. Dick Hawksley rushed
over the bank a little lower down, and the horsemen, abandoning
the chase, galloped to the brink of the stream, which was high with
the recent rains. They saw the falconer plunge into the torrent, as
the bower maiden, yet buoyant with her light garments, was borne
rapidly down. They saw him seize her with one hand, and strike out
gallantly for the bank with the other, but the current was too strong
for him, encumbered as he was with the girl in his grasp. The
devoted pair were swept down the stream, at a rate that made the
spectators put their horses to a gallop to keep them in sight, even
while the exertions of the brave falconer sufficed to sustain their
heads above water, which was only till they came under the bridge,
where the water, pent in by the narrow arch, acquired four-fold
force, and there they heard him utter a hoarse cry of despair, and
the gallant Hawksley and the Lady Eva’s beauteous favourite were
SPEEDY seen no more, till their bodies were found, days
RETRIBUTION. after, on the shore far down the lake. One or two
of the horsemen continued to gallop down the side of the beck, in
the bootless hope of being able even yet to render them some aid,
but the most of them turned their horses’ heads, and went off once
more at their utmost speed in pursuit of the murderous Giant. He,
considering the chase at an end, had slackened his pace, and they
were not long in overtaking him. Great Will struck out manfully with
his club (time out of mind the giant’s favourite weapon) as they
rushed upon him, but they speedily surrounded him, and, amid a
storm of vengeful yells and bitter execrations, the Giant of the Tarns
was stretched upon the sward, “with the blood running like a little
brook” from a hundred wounds, for he was so frightfully slashed and
mangled by their swords, that—as my informant näively averred—
there was not so much whole skin left upon his huge body as would
have made a tobacco-pouch.
It will be apparent enough to the most obtuse intellect, that, after
such events as these, the localities where they occurred must, of
necessity, be haunted, and, as the ghosts of murderers, as well as of
murderees, if they be right orthodox apparitions, always appear to
be re-enacting the closing scene of their earthly career, it is scarcely
required of me to dilate farther upon the manner of their
appearance. Of course I do not expect, and certainly do not wish to
be called upon to prove the even down truth of every particular of
the story, with which I have been doing my little best to amuse you;
but the assured fact of the Dub and the Bridge being haunted, and
that by sundry most pertinacious spirits, I am ready to maintain
against all comers.
But here you are approaching the lovely secluded farm and
cottage of Holme Ground, and whenever I am sick of this world and
its vanities, which as yet, I am happy to say, maintain some hold
upon my affections, it is here that I should be satisfied to take up
my rest.

ROAD AND ROAD- You may remember that it was hereabouts you
SIDE. crossed the vale of Tilberthwaite,

“Paled in with many a mountain high,”

on a former ramble. On the present occasion, you hold the road to

your right, and a precious steep, rugged sample of a road it is; but
as you gradually surmount the ascent, you may take a retrospective
glance, now and then, at the beautiful vale, or rather dell, of
Tilberthwaite, and the mountains with which it is “paled in,” all of
these being surmounted by the massive Weatherlam, which is seen
to much advantage, and shews itself to be a magnificent hill from
this road.
 Travel onwards, with belts of plantations occupying all
conceivable, and some inconceivable inequalities of ground on your
left, and “mountains and moorlands, bleak, barren, and bare,” on
your right, till, as you approach Hodgeclose, you pass one or two
very awful-looking chasms, yawning in close proximity to the road.
These are slate-quarries, which have, for many years, been placed
upon the superannuated list. At Hodgeclose, you must turn from the
road, pass through the farm-yard and a wood-girdled field or two, to
inspect an adjacent slate-quarry, in which inspection you will find the
proprietor an intelligent and obliging cicerone. He will first conduct
you by a subterranean passage two hundred yards long, to the
principal quarry, where the men are busy boring and blasting, and
loading the carts with masses of slate metal, technically called clogs.
It is in truth a strange looking spot this same quarry, being about
eighty yards long and twenty wide, with perpendicular walls of living
rock rising to a height of, at least, fifty yards, fringed at the top by
low trees and bushes, the circumscribed portion of white clouds and
blue sky appearing, from below, to rest upon the tree tops. The only
exit is by the level through which you entered, though there is
another level branching off to the right, and leading to an enormous
dark cavern,

“Where, far within the darksome rift,

The wedge and lever ply their thrift.”

MOUNTAIN
HANDICRAFT. Its great extent is shewn by the candles of the
workmen at its farther extremity—its height, by a
chink in the roof, where a few stray rays of daylight faintly and
feebly struggle through.
Having explored the slate beds, you may proceed to the slate
sheds, where the men are engaged in riving and dressing the slate,
and, from the expertness of the workmen, a very interesting process
it is. The clogs, you perceive, are thrown down in heaps at the open
side of the shed, and are of various shapes and sizes, the average
size being that of a well-grown folio volume. One of these the
splitter seizes, and holding it adroitly on edge with his left hand, taps
one side of it with a hammer like a small pickaxe, with its points
flattened and sharpened, until he establishes a decided crack, which
he follows up, and repeating this process, divides the clog into
smooth slates, quite as rapidly as you could divide the leaves of any
gigantic folio. When riven to a proper degree of thinness, the slates
are laid alongside of a man who sits very commodiously upon a
prostrate beam of wood, into the upper side of which a long flat-
topped staple is fastened. On this staple he holds the undressed
slates, and chips them into shape as quickly as any young lady of
your acquaintance could clip muslin with her best scissors. They are
then laid aside, and classified according to their fineness, the finest
being called London—the second Country—the coarsest Tom—and a
very small quality for slating the walls of houses is called Peg.

A NOBLE Having thanked Mr Parker for his courtesy, and,

EXCAVATION. if you can afford it, left a small gratuity for the
men, you may proceed upon your way, which is a very pleasant one,
as ways go, winding through woods and fields into the valley you
traversed on your way to Wrynose. Then cross this same valley to
examine another slate-quarry belonging to Mr Marshall, in which you
will find a magnificent cavern, not dark, but quite as light as any part
of the world without, having an ample window near its roof; it is
nearly circular, about forty-five yards in diameter, and the same in
height, forming a grander dome than is possessed by any artificial
edifice I have yet beheld.
 CHAPTER XII.
Little Langdale—Blea Tarn—Great Langdale—Langdale Pikes—Wallend—
Mill-beck—Dungeon Ghyll—Chapel Stile—Langdale Church-yard—
Elterwater—Hackett—Colwith and Colwith Force—Tarn Hows—
Finale.
Quitting the slate quarries, you follow the road by which you
formerly travelled on your way to the classic Duddon, till you reach
the stream separating Lancashire from Westmorland. You now cross
this stream at the point where you approach it, and at once enter
Little Langdale, up which the road takes you past “the New Houses,”
Birk How, “Langden Jerry,” The Busk, and Langdale Tarn, all of which
have been noticed either collectively or separately, on a previous
occasion. After winding by a rough ascending road, half way round
the mountain range called Lingmoor, you arrive at Blea Tarn, which,
to quote the Professor, is “a lonely, and if in nature there be anything
of that character, a melancholy piece of water!” It is thus finely
described in Mr Wordsworth’s Excursion, as the abode of his Solitary:
 'Urn-like it is in shape—deep as an urn;
With rocks encompassed, save that to the south
Is one small opening, where a heath-clad ridge
Supplies a boundary less abrupt and close,
A quiet treeless nook with two green fields,
A liquid pool that glitters in the sun,
And one bare dwelling; one abode—no more!
It seems the home of poverty and toil,
Though not of want. The little fields made green
By husbandry of many thrifty years,
Pay cheerful tribute to the moorland house.
There crows the cock, single in his domain;
The small birds find in spring no thicket there
To shroud them; only from the neighbouring vales
The cuckoo, straggling up to the hill-top,
Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place!'

“BLEA-POND.” ‘What!’ methinks we hear a voice exclaim—‘Is that a

description of bare, dull, dreary, moorland Blea-Pond,
where a man and a Christian would die of mere blank vacancy, of
weary want of world, of eye and ear?’ Hush, critic, hush! forget you
that there are sermons in stones, and good in everything? In what
would the poet differ from the worthy man of prose, if his
imagination possessed not a beautifying and transmuting power over
the objects of the inanimate world?”
It is indisputable that the poet must possess something that may
be called “a transmuting power” of vision, for to the unpoetical
optics of any “worthy man of prose,” like you or me, Blea Tarn is
much more like a platter than “an urn.” Once upon a time, I—even I
myself—in a very sentimental mood, perpetrated a sonnet upon Blea
Tarn, and, if you can tolerate such enormity, here it is:
 It is the very home of loneliness
This lonely dell, with lonely hills around,
Whose hundred rills emit one lonely sound—
A hum which doth the lonely soul oppress,
When joined with the lone scene you look upon.
The lonely pool with murky shadows thrown
Across its waters; and, within the gloom
Of mountain shade, the lonely dwelling-place,
Upon whose lonely roof each flitting trace
Of sunbeam fades like smiles beside a tomb.
And were you long to linger there and muse
In chilling loneliness, 'twould make you shiver,
Submerge your brightest fancies in the blues,
Mar much enjoyment, and derange your liver.

PLAIN AND PIKES.

It is no longer, nor has it been, for many years, a
“treeless nook,” for the “one abode” is now shaded by a sycamore or
two, and the hill-side beyond the tarn is covered with Mr
Wordsworth’s most especial aversion, an extensive plantation of fine
larches, which were planted, I suppose, by Dr Watson, the
venerated Bishop of Llandaff, in the possession of whose
representatives the place still remains. For miles hereabouts the
scenery partakes largely of the Blea-tarn character, and were it not
for the house, the road, the little fields and the intruding larches,
there were nothing to indicate that the hand or foot of man has
been there. It is not until you are descending a steep hill towards
Wall-end, that the fertile meadows, the flourishing trees, the hedge-
rows and the homesteads of Great Langdale, and the magnificent
Pikes towering beyond them, neutralize the effect of the dreary
scene you are emerging from. But in introducing you to Great
Langdale, I am glad to resign my office to a much more efficient and
eloquent cicerone—so attend to him:—“Promise not to lift your eyes
from your ponies' ears, till we cry 'eyes forward'! We wish you to
enjoy the soul-uplifting emotion of instantaneous magnificence.
There, honest Jonathan, hold the gate open till the cavalry get
through; and now,——behold the Vale of Great Langdale! There is no
lake in that depth profound—the glittering sunshine hides a cloud of
rich enclosures, scattered over with single trees; and, immediately
below your feet, a stately sycamore-grove shrouding the ancient
dwelling of Wall-end. Ay, your dazzled eyes begin now to discern the
character of the vale, gradually forming itself into permanent order
out of the wavering confusion. That thread of silver is a stream!
Yonder seeming wreath of snow a waterfall! No castles are these
built by hands, but the battlements of the eternal cliffs! There you
behold the mountains, from their feet resting on the vale as on a
footstool, up to their crests in the clear blue sky! And what a vast
distance from field to cloud! You have been in Italy, and Spain, and
Switzerland,—say, then, saw ye ever mountains more sublime than
the Langdale Pikes?”

GHYLL AND FALL. After passing Wall-end, you are fairly upon the
floor of the vale of Langdale, and crossing its fertile
fields by a tolerable road, and the other branch of the Brathay by an
equally tolerable bridge, you follow the road rather down the vale,
till you reach the farm house of Mill-beck, where you must stable
your steed, whilst you scramble about a quarter of a mile up the fell
to look at Dungeon Ghyll. Arrived at the entrance of this famous
“rock-dungeon,” where Coleridge says “three wicked sextons’ souls
are pent,” and occasionally make a terrible rumpus with “bells of
rock and ropes of air,” the devil answering “to the tale with a merry
peal from Borrowdale,” you descend by a rude, but stout ladder into
the watercourse. After clambering over some rather impracticable
rocks, you obtain a full view of the fall, and declare it to be an ample
recompense for your journey, had it been five times as toilsome. A
perpendicular wall of solid rock rises on each side, scarcely three
yards apart, to the height of one hundred feet. At the inner
extremity of the chasm, about fifty yards from its external opening,
and directly opposite to you as you enter, the water rushes in one
clear unbroken fall, from a height of ninety feet, into a deep circular
basin, whence a lamb, which had been dashed over the fall without
injury, was rescued from drowning by Mr Wordsworth, to await the
legitimate fate of all lambs, they, like many of the human species,
“being destined to a drier death on shore.” The most curious feature
of Dungeon Ghyll is two huge rocks, which appear to have been
rolling down simultaneously from the Pikes above, and to have met
and jammed together across the top of the chasm, forming a bridge,
which it is a favourite feat with adventurous spirits to cross over, and
which, in its “contempt of danger and accommodation,” might
almost seem to have been placed there to gratify the peculiar taste
in bridges of the lamb’s benevolent preserver.

WET OR DRY? There are various opinions on the momentous

question of what is the best weather for visiting falls
such as this of Dungeon Ghyll. One eminent lover and describer of
mountain scenery, says:—“To our liking, a waterfall is best in a
rainless summer. After a flood, the noise is beyond all endurance.
You get stunned and stupified, till your head splits. Then you may
open your mouth like a barn door, and roar into a friend’s ear all in
vain a remark on the cataract. To him you are a dumb man. In two
minutes you are as completely drenched in spray, as if you had fallen
out of a boat—and descend to dinner with a tooth-ache that keeps
you in starvation in the presence of provender sufficient for a whole
bench of bishops. In dry weather, on the contrary, the waterfall is in
moderation; and instead of tumbling over the cliff in a perpetual peal
of thunder, why it slides and slidders merrily and musically away
down the green shelving rocks, and sinks into repose in many a dim
or lucid pool, amidst whose foam-bells is playing or asleep the
fearless Naiad. Deuce a headache have you—speak in a whisper, and
not a syllable of your excellent observation is lost; your coat is dry,
except that a few dew-drops have been shook over you from the
branches stirred by the sudden wing-clap of the cushat—and as for
tooth-ache interfering with dinner, you eat as if your tusks had been
just sharpened, and would not scruple to discuss nuts, upper- and
lower-jaw-work fashion, against the best crackers in the country.”
WATERPROOF I have the temerity to hold the opposite opinion
ZEAL. on this “momentous question.” Some idea of the
grounds on which I found that opinion, may be gathered from the
following rhyming epistle, in which, “long, long ago,” I essayed to
give a distant friend an account of a winter excursion to Dungeon
Ghyll:—
Of our wet ride to Dungeon Ghyll
A sketch, you say, would much delight you,
And though I lack descriptive skill,
A sketch I'll do my best to write you.
We took the way at high forenoon—
Three couples all on ponies mounted—
'Twas fair at first, but altered soon—
A change on which we’d scarcely counted;
For when we came to Yewdale head,
Thick clouds old Raven Crag were cloaking,
And as through Tilberthwaite we sped,
'Twas plain we’d catch a hearty soaking.
As Brathay beck with previous rains
Was flooded so we could not cross it—
We therefore wended round by lanes,
With mud and mire one clarty posset.
And after crossing Colwith Bridge,—
The narrow ways forbade all other
Course but jostling in the hedge,
Or following after one another,—
In single file through Fletcher’s wood
Away we rustled, splashed, and clattered—
The foremost steed threw up the mud,
Bespattering me, whilst mine bespattered
The next behind, and in this way
We kept up one continued spatter,
And helter-skelter, clothed with clay,
We galloped on through Elterwater.
And when we came to Chapel Stile,
The heavy rain our spirits daunted,
But after sheltering there awhile,
It slackened, and again we mounted.
And as we rode up Langdale flat,
The lanes for many a rood with water
Were flooded deep, we splashed through that,
A FAIR FINISH.And came out looking something better.
Because we kicked up such a spray—
Our steeds abating none their paces—
It washed off almost half the clay
That stuck upon our clothes and faces.
And when we reached the resting farm,
We tied our ponies in the stable;
And then, our stiffened limbs to warm,
Ran off as fast as we were able.
Right up the hill to Dungeon Ghyll
We scudded like so many rabbits;
The ladies all got many a fall
By tripping in their riding habits;
Till, straggling up the torrent’s course,
We neared the fall whose ceaseless thunder
Seemed roaring hoarse, behold the force
That cleft this mighty rock asunder.
I've said I lack descriptive skill,
And now I really wish I’d held it,
To tell of pealing Dungeon Ghyll
When winter’s snows and rains have swelled it.
We ventured up within the rent
Where the vexed element was dashing,
And came forth cleaner than we went,
Receiving there a further washing.
We then descended to the farm,
And round the grateless fire we sauntered,
Our toes and noses well to warm,
Then back to Chapel Stile we cantered.
We saw our steeds get corn and hay,
And then enquired about our dinners,
For riding in the rain all day
Had left us six wet hungry sinners.
And when for clothing dry we’d bawled,
And some brief time to dress devoted,
Les dames came forth dry gowned and shawled,
 The gentlemen dry breeched and coated.
They, in the hostess’ shawls and gowns—
We, in poor Isaac’s coats and breeches,
Were much like masquerading clowns
Hobnobbing Tam O'Shanter’s witches.
But ne'ertheless the fare was good,
The room was warm, the waiter handy,
And all (who would) washed down their food
With reeking draughts of “toddied brandy.”
Then round the hearth so cozily
We drew, mirth, song and chat combining;
And when our proper clothes were dry,
The moon and stars were brightly shining.
We cantered down by Skelwith Bridge,
And round by Borwick fast we wended,
Then scampering over High Cross’ ridge,
We to our own fair vale descended.
If e'er you pass o'er Wrynose hill,
Where three fair counties meet together,
Be sure to visit Dungeon Ghyll,
And visit it in rainy weather!

When you have had enough of Dungeon Ghyll, descend the

mountain side, return to Mill-beck, re-mount your pony, and canter
down the vale past pretty farm houses, green fields, and slate-
quarries, to Chapel Stile, where my esteemed friend, Mrs Tyson, the
youthful and blooming landlady, will unexceptionably administer to
your physical wants, which, no doubt, are becoming importunate,
whilst her husband will pay equal attention to the requirements of
your pony.

FROM GAY TO Having refreshed to your satisfaction in Mrs

GRAVE! Tyson's best parlour, where the furniture of ancient
oak bears such a polish as might tempt you to re-enact the story of
Narcissus, you may proceed to examine the church yard, for here,
again, the house of prayer and the house of refreshment are in
juxta-position. In this little mountain burial-place, you will find,
under a yew tree, a plain tombstone erected to the memory of a late
incumbent—the Rev. Owen Lloyd, son of Mr Charles Lloyd, of Old
Brathay, who was the early and life-long friend of Southey,
Coleridge, and Wordsworth—a participator, I believe, in the much-
ridiculed scheme of Pantisocrasy—an accomplished scholar, and an
elegant, though little known, writer. You may find a very interesting
sketch of his history and character in De Quincey’s papers on Lake
Society, and to that I must refer you. On the humble tombstone of
his excellent, but unhappy son, you may read the following epitaph,
which, I need not tell you, is by “the aged poet, whose residence is
the crowning honour of the district”:
 By playful smiles, (alas! too oft
A sad heart’s sunshine) by a soft
And gentle nature, and a free,
Yet modest hand of charity,
Through life was Owen Lloyd endeared
To old and young; and how revered
Had been that pious spirit, a tide
Of humble mourners testified,
When, after pains dispensed to prove
The measure of God’s chastening love,
Here, brought from far, his corse found rest,—
Fulfilment of his own request;—
Urged less for this yew’s shade, though he
Planted with such fond hope the tree,
Less for the love of stream and rock,
Dear as they were, than that his Flock,
When they no more their Pastor’s voice
Could hear to guide them in their choice
Through good and evil, help might have,
Admonished, from his silent grave,
Of righteousness, of sins forgiven,
For peace on earth and bliss in Heaven.

ELEGIAC
STANZAS. If post mortem poetical panegyric be a proof of
the affection with which the subject has been
regarded through life, (and why should it not?) Owen Lloyd must
have enjoyed no ordinary share of the love and esteem of his
neighbours and friends, for his early death is the subject, in addition
to Mr Wordsworth’s epitaph, of three other sets of elegiac verses,
viz., by Mr Hartley Coleridge, Mr Ball, of Glen Rotha, and Mr ——
Lloyd, his surviving brother. Mr Hartley Coleridge’s verses are
scarcely worthy of his name, though they certainly contain some
striking stanzas, as this,—referring to his school days:—
 “Fine wit he had, and knew not it was wit,
And native thoughts before he dreamed of thinking,
Odd sayings, too, for each occasion fit,
To oldest sights the newest fancies linking.”

And these,—to a later period of life, when the gloom that

darkened his latter days was appearing:—

“I traced with him the narrow winding path

Which he pursued when upland was his way,
And then I wondered what stern hand of wrath
Had smitten him that wont to be so gay.

“Then would he tell me of a woeful weight—

A weight laid on him by a bishop’s hand,
That late and early, early still and late,
He could not bear, and yet could not withstand.”

These must serve as a specimen of Hartley Coleridge's dozen

stanzas. Mr Ball’s are remarkable only as containing the following
tolerable Irishism:—

“The rock that meets the current’s way

May stillest rills arrest.”

BETTY YEWDALE.
His brother’s verses I have not seen, and having
devoted more time to this subject than you may approve of, you had
better now return to your inn—pay your moderate bill, and set out,
passing the Elterwater powder works, and through the straggling
village of that name—take a glance at the tarn with its reedy shores,
and pushing on, you pass, unseen, far up on the height to your right
hand, the farm houses called Hacket, formerly the residence of old
Betty Yewdale, the heroine of one of the best passages in the
“Excursion.” I allude to that in the fifth book, where the sage and
eloquent wanderer describes his having been benighted amongst the
hills—

——until a light
High in the gloom appeared, too high, methought,
For human habitation;——

But making for this light, he finds a matron

“Drawn from her cottage on that aëry height,

Bearing a lantern in her hand she stood,
Or paced the ground—to guide her husband home.”

As you have read “The Excursion,” or, if not, intend to correct that
sin of omission without further delay, I need not quote farther. But I
should tell you that the same Betty Yewdale also figures as the
heroine of a section of that strange book “The Doctor,” or rather, I
should say, she is the narrator of the chapter, for it was taken down
from her own lips, and in her own language, by “the Doctor's”
daughter, Miss Southey, and a friend. It is called “A true story of the
terrible knitters i’ Dent”—is by far the best specimen of our local
dialect that I know, and in truth to nature, interest of narrative, and
as a picture of manners, is infinitely superior to the only production
at all resembling it—the well-known “Borrowdale letter.” I must
recommend it to you as well worthy a careful perusal, giving you the
following short extract as a whet. She and her sister, I must premise,
had been sent from Langdale to Dent, when she was “between
sebben an’ eight year auld, and Sally twea year younger,” and tiring
of the mode of living and the incessant knitting at Dent, which are
most graphically described, they ran away. She gives a minute detail
of their three days’ journey, and continues:—“It was quite dark afore
we gat to Ammelside yat—our feet warr sair, an’ we warr naarly
dune for—an’ when we turnt round Windermer Watter heead t'waves
blasht sea dowly that we warr fairly heart-brossen. We sat down on
a cauld steean an’ grat sair—but when we hed hed our belly full o’
greeting, we gat up an’ dreed on agean—slaw enough, ye may be
sure, but we warr i’ kent rwoads.——We began ta be flayet at my
fadder an’ mudder wad be angert at us for running away. It was
tweea o'clock in t’ mwornin’ when we gat to our awn duir. I ca’d out
‘Fadder, fadder! Mudder, mudder!’ ower an’ ower agean. She hard
us, an’ sed ‘That’s our Betty voice!’ ‘Thou’s nowt but fancies, lig still,’
sed my fadder—but she waddent, an’ sea gat up an’ open’t duir, an’
thear warr we stannin’ dodderin’ an’ daized wi’ cauld, as nar deead
as maks nea matter. When she so us she was warr flay’t than we,—
she brast out a crying, an’ we grat, an’ my fadder grat an’ o', an’
they duddent flyte nor sed nowt tull us for running away.”

FORCE, FARMS, You soon arrive at Colwith, where you may stop
AND BIRCHES. to inspect the force. It is, in my opinion, one of the
finest forces in the country, possessing by far the largest body of
water, with a fall, or rather a succession of falls, of 152 feet, very
much broken and frothed up by jutting interruptions of rock. Its
immediate environs are prettily wooded, and it is seen to most
advantage from below. When you cross Colwith Bridge, you are
again in Lancashire, and in rather a dreary portion of that important
county. You have no houses for miles, except the two farms of
Arnside, which stand unseen in “dual loneliness” upon the wild moor
to the left, and those of Oxenfell over the heights on your right.
As you descend towards Yewdale by the alder-fringed brook, you
may notice a large enclosure of birches, which fully justify Mr
Wordsworth’s preference; for it is difficult to name a deciduous tree
that is prettier in all seasons than the birch, with its tremulous
foliage in summer, and its flea-coloured twigs and its grey-coloured
stem in winter. One cannot help regretting that the twigs of such a
handsome tree should come to such base uses at last!

A “FLASH” AND As you approach the head of Yewdale, the

ADIEU! scenery gradually assumes an aspect of the most
varied loveliness. When you enter the vale of Yewdale, take the
steep road to the left over Tarn Hows; but Mr De Quincey is here a
much better cicerone than I, and he says,—“Taking the left-hand
road, so as to make for Monk Conistone, and not for Church
Conistone, you ascend a pretty steep hill, from which, at a certain
point of the little gorge, or hawse (i. e. hals, neck or throat, viz., the
dip in any hill through which the road is led), the whole lake, of six
miles in length, and the beautiful foregrounds, all rush upon the eye
with the effect of a pantomimic surprize—not by a graduated
revelation, but by an instantaneous flash.”
You descend by the road winding through Mr Marshall's beautiful
grounds, until you reach the road from Ambleside. You are now very
near your excellent head quarters, and my ravings and your
ramblings are equally near a happy conclusion; so trusting you will
drink your first bumper after dinner to our next merry meeting, I bid
you, most affectionately, adieu.
FINIS.

GEORGE LEE, PRINTER, KENDAL.

Transcriber's Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations in hyphenation,

spelling and punctuation remain unchanged except where there is conflict with the index.
In the original the side notes appear at the head of each page. Most have been moved
to the beginning of a proximate paragraph. In cases where paragraphs are several pages
long, they remain embedded in the text.
The errata have been implemented.
The table of contents has been added by the transcriber.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD MAN; OR,
RAVINGS AND RAMBLINGS ROUND CONISTONE ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions

will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S.

copyright law means that no one owns a United States
copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy
and distribute it in the United States without permission and
without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the
General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and
distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the
PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if
you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the
trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the
Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is
very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such
as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and
printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in
the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright
law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially
commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
 PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the

free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this
work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase
“Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of
the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or
online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and

Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand,
agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual
property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree
to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease
using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for
obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™
electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms
of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only

be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by
people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.
There are a few things that you can do with most Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the
full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There
are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™
electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and
help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the
collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the
individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the
United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright
law in the United States and you are located in the United
States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying,
distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works
based on the work as long as all references to Project
Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will
support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for
keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the
work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement
by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full
Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge
with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also
govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most
countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside
the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to
the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying,
displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works
based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The
Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright
status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project

Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other

immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must
appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project
Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed,
viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United

States and most other parts of the world at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,
give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project
Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United
States, you will have to check the laws of the country
where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is

derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of
the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to
anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges.
If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of
paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use
of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth
in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is

posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and
distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through
1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder.
Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™
License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright
holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project

Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files
 containing a part of this work or any other work associated with
Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute

this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1
with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the
Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form,
including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if
you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project
Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or
other format used in the official version posted on the official
Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must,
at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy,
a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy
upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or
other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project
Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,

performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™
works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or

providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive
from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the
method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The
fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark,
but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty
 payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on
which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your
periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked
as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information
about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who

notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt
that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project
Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg™ works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of

any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in
the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90
days of receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project

Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different
terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain
permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3
below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend

considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on,
transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright
law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these
efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium
on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as,
but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data,
transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property
infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be
read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except

for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in
paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark,
and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic
work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for
damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE
THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT
EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE
THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY
DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE
TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL,
PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE
NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you

discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of
receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you
paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you
received the work from. If you received the work on a physical
medium, you must return the medium with your written
explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the
defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu
of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.
If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund
in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set

forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’,
WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR
IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied

warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this
agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this
agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the
maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable
state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of
this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the

Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the
Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any
volunteers associated with the production, promotion and
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless
from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that
arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you
do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project
Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or
deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect
you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission

of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new
computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of
volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the

assistance they need are critical to reaching Project
Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™
collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In
2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was
created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project
Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your
efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the
Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project

Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-
profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the
laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status
by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or
federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions
to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax
deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and
your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500

West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact
links and up to date contact information can be found at the
Foundation’s website and official page at
www.gutenberg.org/contact