WILLIAM GREEN, the last 23 years of whose life were passed in the
neighbourhood, where, by his skill and industry as an artist, he
produced faithful representations of the county, and lasting memorials
of its more perishable features.
He was born at Manchester,
And died at Ambleside,
On the 29 Day of April, 1823, in the 63 year of
his age, deeply lamented by a numerous family,
and universally respected.
HIS AFFLICTED WIDOW
Caused this stone to be erected.
Green was a surprising man, and his sketches of mountain scenes are
correctly executed, though I never liked his manner of drawing; and in
his colouring there is something glaring and unnatural. But the fame of
Green does not rest on his abilities as an artist. As the historian of
the English maintains, his descriptive talents were of the first order.
His entertaining and invaluable “Guide” will be perused by posterity
with increased admiration. There is a charm about it which I have not
found in any other of the numerous publications of a similar nature. I
have been informed, however, that notwithstanding its excellence its
sale was limited, and the author was out of pocket by it.
_July 23._ Ascended _Silvertop_ or _Silverhow_, a hill at Grassmere. It
is not very high, but from its unevenness it is not easy to reach the
summit. The view from it is rather extensive, considering its very
moderate height. When I ascended there was a considerable mist, yet I
could distinguish Windermere, Rydal lake and church, and the surrounding
objects. To day I leave Grassmere; I do it with regret, but with hopes
of once more visiting it, and seeing Jonathan Bell again. He is one of
the pleasantest fellows I ever met with, and I shall recommend the
Grassmere inn to all my friends who may visit the lakes.
_July 24._ Walked to _Keswick_. The road from Grassmere is so well
described in Mr. Otley’s small guide, (which has been of the greatest
use to me,) that it would be only a waste of time and paper to
particularize its numerous interesting objects. The road passes by
Thulmere, or _contracted_ Lake, (so called from its sudden contraction
in the middle, where there is a neat bridge,) through the greatest part
of Saint John’s Vale, so celebrated by sir Walter Scott’s poem, the
“Bridal of Triermain.” Opposite Wytheburn chapel, (which is the smallest
I ever saw,) I entered into conversation with a labouring man, who was
well acquainted with the late Charles Gouche, the “gentle pilgrim of
nature,” who met an untimely death by falling over one of the precipices
of Helvellyn. Some time previous to his death he had lodged at the
Cherry Tree, near Wytheburn. The man related many anecdotes of him, but
none particularly interesting. Mr. Gouche was an enthusiastic admirer of
poetry, which he would frequently recite to him and others of his
friends.
Keswick is a neat town. The Greta runs through it; but, alas! its once
pure waters have become polluted by the filthy factories now on its
banks. Having been obliged to leave Keswick in the afternoon of the day
after my arrival, I was unable to see much of it or its neighbourhood. I
paid a hasty visit to Derwentwater and the falls of Lowdore. The latter,
from the dryness of the season, much disappointed me. I saw the Druid’s
Temple on the old road to Penrith; it is a circle formed of rough
stones. The common people pretend these stones cannot be counted, but I
found no difficulty in ascertaining their number to be forty-eight. A
barbarian once recommended the owner to blast these stones for walling,
but happily for the antiquary his suggestion was not attended to. Green,
in his guide, speaking of this spot, alludes to the very erroneous
opinion that the druidical was a polytheistic religion.--N.B. Skiddaw
has a majestic appearance when viewed from Keswick. Southey’s house is
at the foot.
* * * * *
During my residence in the above parts I collected the following scraps,
by whom written, or whether original, I know not.