At Buttermere you may leave your horses, and walk about a mile to Scale Force, a very lofty curious waterfall. In your way thither you will have a fine view of Crommack Water, and the noble mountains around it. Return to Buttermere, and ride through Newlands Vale back to Keswick.
When you get to the top of the ascent from Buttermere towards Newlands, look behind you, and you will see a prospect that will delight you. On the descent into Newlands Vale on the right, is a very fine mountain torrent. A carriage can go only a small part of this beautiful ride, namely, to the head of Borrowdale, and back again to Keswick.
Drive on the Cockermouth road to Scale Hill; and if you have not seen Buttermere nor Scale Force on horseback, procure a boat to carry you up Crommack Water, to the landing-place near Scale Force. When you have seen that fall, cross the lake to Buttermere, and afterwards return in the boat to Scale Hill, where you left your carriage. From Scale Hill, see also a small lake near Crommack Water, called Lowes Water; it is very pretty. The view of Lorton Vale, near Scale Hill, is very beautiful, particularly if the sun should be shining upon it.
It is a matter to boast of, that of climbing to the top of Skiddaw; but the view from it is hardly worth the fatigue of obtaining it, even in a clear day. On the summit of Skiddaw, to which travellers climb, is a long and broad bed of very large loose pieces of slate. Upon each of the points on this summit of Skiddaw is a huge heap of these slate flakes; one heap is called My Lord, the other My Lady. A dreamer of dreams, not many years since, dreamed that a great treasure was hid under My Lord; the man secretly mounted Skiddaw, removed the slate heap piece by piece; but whether a treasure rewarded him for his labour I never could learn.
Mr. Pocklington has a house well situated on the side of Derwent Water, near Lodore Fall, and he has a very pretty fall of a beck (that is, a small stream) through the wood behind his house; but were I a nymph of Derwent Water, I should, like Niöbe, weep myself to a statue, for the injury committed on taste and nature, by the other erections of that gentleman on one of the islands, and on the banks of this charming lake; for, alas! Mr. Pocklington's slime[1] may be traced in every part of Keswick Vale. It is a pity he has no friend to advise him to blow to atoms every thing he has constructed and planned; and nature, on the ruins, will soon restore its pristine beauty.—Look at Herbert's Island, lately improved by the Rev. Mr. Wilkinson, and you will find taste and nature hand in hand.
Go to Ouse Bridge, at the foot of Bassenthwaite. The views from Ormathwaite and the Vicarage, over the lake to Borrowdale, are enchanting. The walk by the river Greeta, from the lake, towards St. John's Vale, is charming.
If you have time, and can ride on horseback, by all means see Innerdale (before mentioned), and Wast Water. Also ride entirely round Derwent Water; every step you take in that ride will afford you pleasure. About ten o'clock in the morning is the most favourable time to ride on the east side of the lake; the evening, on the west of it; the reason is obvious. An hour or two before noon the reflections of the surrounding objects in the clear lake are more beautiful than can be imagined. The ride from the village of Grange, on the sides
of the mountains on the west shore of the lake, and through Lord William Gordon's woods round to Keswick, is delightful, in a fine evening, when the setting sun gilds the opposite mountains, crags, and woods.
The glow of colouring peculiar to such scenery as is about the Cumberland and Westmoreland Lakes, must be seen to be understood, for it cannot be described by a pen; and no pencil, that I have ever seen, has produced the genuine tint and style of that country, in any degree equal to the drawings of my friend the Rev. Mr. Wilkinson, of Ormathwaite; who has, in his representations, exhibited the character of the Lakes in as great perfection as is possible for imitation to attain.
The prospect during the whole descent of the Cockermouth road into Keswick (which you will have when you return from Scale Hill), is prodigiously fine.
Inquire concerning the Floating Island. It is not at all times visible, but it may be so when you are at Keswick. It is situated towards the head of the lake, and not far from the landing-place at Lodore. In 1794 it was a trifle above the surface of the water. I inquired after it in 1796, and the guide informed me it had not been seen since the time I saw it, in 1794; it was then covered with rushes and coarse grass. It does not vary its situation in the lake, but it moves up and down. Philosophers must assign the cause of its rising and sinking, I cannot. It is, however, a matter of some curiosity.
The Salt Well, on the west side of Derwent Water, is not worth the trouble of getting to it.
The Wad, or blacklead mines, are curious, but difficult of access. In 1796, an overseer at them told me, the pure ore was sold, then, for fifty shillings a pound. I have been informed there are no other blacklead mines in the world, except in some part of the East Indies, and those very trifling. The people of Cumberland are, in general, very honest, but the blacklead is a temptation they cannot withstand; so that during the time the mines are open, the workmen are watched as narrowly as if they were digging for diamonds. These mines are only open for a certain period, then are closed for another period, and then opened again. The blacklead pencils to be had at Keswick are very fine, if bought of an honest maker; but very bad, as well as very good, are made there: it entirely depends upon the quality of the ore the pencilmaker puts into his pencils. The ore is sawn into very small wedges, and then cut the length of the pencil.
At Mr. Crosthwaite's Museum may be had charming Æolian harps, for five shillings each.
From Keswick to Penrith, 18 miles. The Crown Inn is an excellent one, kept by very good people, Buchanan and Warmsley, son and daughter to the good woman Mrs. Buchanan, whom Mr. Gray, in his Tour to the Lakes, speaks so handsomely of; and with whom I heartily join in commendation, from my own experience.
From Penrith, go to see a beautiful and romantic place called the Nunnery. Go to Ulls Water, it is a very fine lake: see the waterfall near the Duke of Norfolk's Tower. If you did not cross Kirkstone to Patterdale (which I have before mentioned); now you are at Ulls Water, look at a house at the head of the lake—probably by this time it may be a new building:—in 1794 it was a very old house, called the Haugh, or Hall, and sometimes the palace of the king and queen of Patterdale: at that time the queen was only living, and resided at the old Haugh, with her son and daughter-in-law; who wisely drop the royal title, and are plain Mr. and Mrs. Mounsey. Drive into Patterdale, as far as the small lakes in it; that district is truly pastoral, and the conversation of the inhabitants has a simplicity and charm in it extremely interesting.
About half a mile from Penrith, on the Applebey or Shap road, may be seen the spot called King Arthur's Round Table. It is a beautiful small flat between the Lowther and the Emmont rivers, near their junction, with rising grounds around it; the banks of the rivers there are very romantic, and finely enriched with wood, and some rocks.
Return to Kendal by Hawes Water.
From Kendal return to Burton and Lancaster, for the sake of going through Lonsdale.
From Lancaster, by Hornby, to Kirbylonsdale, is as fine a drive as any in England. At the third milestone in the Hornby road, is Mr. Gray's delightful view. The river Lune runs through the vale.
At Kirbylonsdale, the Royal Oak inn is but middling; but the people who kept it, in 1796, were particularly civil and accommodating. Go through the churchyard, and walk to Underlay; it is a beautiful scene, and the banks of the Lune fine and picturesque. The bridge at Kirbylonsdale was built by an architect of high antiquity: the legend of it relates, that the devil one very windy night was crossing the high mountain on the side of the Lune, with an apronfull of stones; either the blast, or the weight of the stones, broke the string of the apron, and out fell half the load; with the remainder Old Nick proceeded to the river, and with those stones built the bridge; but not having the whole of his burden, the bridge could not be erected higher than it is. The spilt stones still lie in a heap on the mountain top.
From Kirbylonsdale to Ingleton, 7 miles.—There is a very neat small inn at Ingleton, where any one may rest two or three days very comfortably: this little town is situated