AMBLESIDE.--The chief peculiarity of the Lake country is the
ever-present dampness. But once used to this one begins to enter into
its peace and quiet. A month here away from the world would be, to a
tired and overworked man, better than all "cures" or sanitoriums, for
the damp is not the city pest, but that peculiar kind of moisture which
makes the hard, smooth turf as green as an emerald and gives to the
temporary visitor an appetite wolfish in its intensity.
Ambleside is five miles from Windermere village (the nearest station)
and is reached by four-horse drags running three times a day. The road
is as smooth as a billiard table, the horses always fresh, and on the
day it doesn't rain, a drive to Ambleside by the Lake is a thing to be
remembered.
Ambleside is a village of a few thousand inhabitants and primitive, to
a certain degree. The Post Office, for instance, is in a stationer's
shop and the drapers' and tailors' establishments are one. Ambleside
is nestled at the foot of Wansfell Pike and is built on the side of
a hill, consequently the streets are steep. There is but one street
really, and the chemist, the butcher and the inevitable relic shop
are to be found in it. The village is honeycombed with lodgings and
there are many inns, for it is a great centre for excursions. The
immediate neighbourhood is rich in attractions. Stock-Ghyll Force is
but a short distance off--through the stable yard of the "Salutation
Inn," and although a turn-stile with the sign "No Admission" appears,
one may enter boldly without paying. The waterfall is not high but
is wonderfully picturesque as it falls down the moss-covered rocks
and dashes away through a deep ravine. The Stock-Ghyll is a favorite
resort for newly-married couples and is certainly romantic enough for
the purpose. Then there is a charming walk to Rydal--Wordsworth's
village--by the banks of the Rothay, past Fox-How, where the noble
Arnold of Rugby, beloved by all readers of "Tom Brown's School Days,"
lived; and Fox-Ghyll, the residence of the late Mr. Foster. Fox-How
is an ideally perfect place, situate on the side of a hill, with a
smooth green expanse of lawn in front, and buried in rose vines and
honeysuckles. It is a low stone building with old-fashioned windows
and has a cheery, hospitable look. The name is curious and a frequent
one in the lake country. It comes, I believe, from the old Norwegian
word "hague" (a sepulchral mound). Dr. Arnold named the three roads
between Rydal and Grassmere. The highest he called Corruption Road,
the middle Bit-by-Bit Reform (now called Bitbit Road), and the most
level, Radical Reform. A little further on is Rydal Mount, Wordsworth's
home, a charming old place, cushioned in trees. There the road goes
on by Rydal Water, a small lake almost covered with rushes, and then
through a gap in the mountain to Grassmere. This is all haunted
ground, for Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge and De Quincy all walked
and mused by the side of these lakes and on these hills, and one
hardly wonders that they were inspired by the lovely scenery. Then, in
another direction, one may walk from Ambleside to the quaint little
village of Clappersgate, which is made up entirely of low grey stone
cottages covered with vines and roses. The resources of Ambleside in
providing day excursions for its visitors are really unbounded, and one
of the pleasantest of these is to walk down to Waterhead, at the end
of Windermere, and take passage on one of the small steamers that run
several times a day. As the small vessel starts out from the pier one
gets a splendid view of the mountains at the back of Ambleside, and
the little village looks like a cluster of one or two houses in a vast
amphitheatre. Then we turn around a wooded point and stop for a minute
at Low-wood, the big hotel on the border of the lake, and then go on
past hills and valleys and flocks of sheep to Bowness, passing two or
three small islands, one of which, Holm Crag, is a favorite resort of
birds in the winter months. Then we dart over the lake to the little
island of Ferry, and then go straight on past a bewildering number of
bays and islets to Lakeside at the foot of the lake where the railway
station of the Midland line gives access to Ulverston and the iron
country of Furness.
Windermere is almost equal to Lake Geneva, and although it has become
the fashion to cry down the English lakes, it is a fact that more
enjoyment at an extremely moderate outlay may be obtained in the small
belt of country that contains them, than in Switzerland, overrun as it
is by the cockneys and _parvenues_ of every nation. I know of hardly
any greater treat to a person of any artistic appreciation than that
trip up and down Windermere on a clear day. Then the drives from
Ambleside are charming. One may drive to Grassmere by Red Bank, a steep
hill overlooking that lake and Rydal Water, and also to Hawkshead,
where a very curious old church demands attention; and to High Wray,
where there is an inn rejoicing in the name of "The Dun Cow." A hill
outside High Wray commands a splendid view of the hills behind and
about Ambleside: Loughrigg Fell, Wansfell Pike, Nab-Scar, Crinkle
Crags, Coniston-Old-Man and Great Gable. On a clear day one may also
see Helvellyn. The road passes Wray Castle, a modern house built to
imitate perfectly a mediæval fortress. The owner is a retired M. D. of
Liverpool. Another delightful drive is to Langdale Pikes and to Megeon
Ghyll, a lovely waterfall rather bigger than most of the cascades in
Lakeland.
On this drive one may have a capital view of Red Screes, another of the
high mountains. Curious names are met with all through Westmoreland.
For instance, three peaks not far from here are called Harrison
Stickle, Pike O'Stickle and Pike O'Blisco.
There are many curious customs still extant in and about Ambleside.
Christmas is celebrated in the old hospitable way. At that time the
farmer and his family are away at other houses night after night
and one must look for them anywhere but at home. At Christmas every
Cumberland and Westmoreland farmer gives two banquets, one called
"t'auld foak's neet" and the other, "t'young foak's neet;" the first
of which is for those who are married and the second for those who
are single. The tables groan under old-fashioned dainties: raised and
mince pies, goose, caudle cup, "guid strang yell," as they call the
home-brewed October, and a huge bowl of punch. Intoxication never
happens at these Cumberland feasts.
Among others, Mrs. Hemans once had a cottage on Windermere called
"Dove's Nest," and wrote some verses on the scenery, which are well
known; but she can hardly be ranked with the school of "Lake Poets."
There is a queer old rhyme current in the district, in itself a
significant comment on the weather of the country:
"When Wansfell wears a cap of cloud
The roar of Brathay will be loud;
When mists come down on Loughrigg Fell,
A drenching day we all foretell;
When Red Screes frown on Ambleside,
The rain will pour both far and wide.
When Wansfell smiles and Loughrigg's bright,
'Twill surely rain before the night;
If breezes blow from Bowness Bay,
'Tis certain to be wet all day;
And if they blow from Grassmere Lake,
You'd better an umbrella take.
But if no rain should fall all day
From Ambleside to Morecambe Bay,
Upon that morning you will see
Fishes and eels in every tree;
When in the nets on Windermere
Twelve pickled salmon shall appear,
No rain shall fall upon that day
And men may safely make their hay."
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