On the road to Cockermouth we pass Hewthwaite Hall, one of the old houses that have become farms.
The striking doorway of 1581 is carved with a coat of arms and with little figures like dolls under canopies.
IVEGILL.
Its finest possession is a private house, High Head Castle, crowning the sheer edge of rock overhanging a deep glen and looking away to the fells.
Long ago it was a tower to which a chapel was added in the 14th century, but as we see it it is mainly an 18th century house, with a balustrade parapet and a pediment on which are carved a mermaid and a merman.
Two stone griffins keep watch on the gateway of this fine place.
Not far from the castle is a simple 17th century chapel which has been made new, and has a fine brass engraved with roses to one who lived at the castle in our own time, Herbert Augustus Hill, a Judge of the Court of Appeal of the International Tribunal in Egypt in the days before the war.
The church is still in its first century, and stands as a monument of the energy of Arthur Emilius Hulton, a vicar who built it and died when it was two months old.
It has a black and white roof, and windows with the Evangelists and the Last Supper.
KESWICK.
It lies in a green vale with nature lavish on every hand.
Above it rises Skiddaw, majestic and famous, and at its door is Derwentwater, the lake beyond compare.
Keswick has for many generations drawn pilgrims to itself.
Its streets have the simple attraction of the north country towns; it has an old church and a new church and a quaint town hall like a third church; it has the Greta flowing through to join the Derwent, and a remarkable museum.
It is rich in human interest, and is in reach of most of the beauties in Lakeland.
Is there any wonder that poets come to this place so like a dream? Small wonder indeed that Shelley brought his bride here for their honeymoon, that Coleridge and.
Southey came with the two sisters they had married amid all the magnificence of St Mary Redcliffe at Bristol; that Wordsworth came, and De Quincey, and Charles Lamb, and John Ruskin.
Still here is the poet's comer in which they gathered, Greta Hall, with its view of the lake they loved.
To it in 1800 came Coleridge to live, his best poems already written.
To it in 1803 he invited Southey, afar finer man, and perhaps more of a man than a poet.
For a little while their two families were together, Coleridge erratic and struggling to master himself, Southey methodical, thinking deeply, writing hard, and revelling in his books; and when the unstable Coleridge cut himself adrift it was Robert Southey who for more than a generation kept this home going, bearing the burden of both families, winning fame as Poet Laureate, and earning the high respect and affection of all.
He lies in the old churchyard of Great Crosthwaite, his simple grave where he chose it; and about him are many whom he knew and loved.
Here also lie Jonathan Otley, the father of Lakeland geology; Sir John George Woodford, who was wounded by the last shot fired at Corunna, stood by Wellington at Waterloo, and introduced more than one humane reform into the army; and Sir Edmund Henderson, a soldier who increased the efficiency of the police in London at a difficult time, and established the criminal investigation department.
The London cabdrivers gave him a silver hansom cab for his interest in their lot and his work in setting up shelters for them.
The striking doorway of 1581 is carved with a coat of arms and with little figures like dolls under canopies.
IVEGILL.
Its finest possession is a private house, High Head Castle, crowning the sheer edge of rock overhanging a deep glen and looking away to the fells.
Long ago it was a tower to which a chapel was added in the 14th century, but as we see it it is mainly an 18th century house, with a balustrade parapet and a pediment on which are carved a mermaid and a merman.
Two stone griffins keep watch on the gateway of this fine place.
Not far from the castle is a simple 17th century chapel which has been made new, and has a fine brass engraved with roses to one who lived at the castle in our own time, Herbert Augustus Hill, a Judge of the Court of Appeal of the International Tribunal in Egypt in the days before the war.
The church is still in its first century, and stands as a monument of the energy of Arthur Emilius Hulton, a vicar who built it and died when it was two months old.
It has a black and white roof, and windows with the Evangelists and the Last Supper.
KESWICK.
It lies in a green vale with nature lavish on every hand.
Above it rises Skiddaw, majestic and famous, and at its door is Derwentwater, the lake beyond compare.
Keswick has for many generations drawn pilgrims to itself.
Its streets have the simple attraction of the north country towns; it has an old church and a new church and a quaint town hall like a third church; it has the Greta flowing through to join the Derwent, and a remarkable museum.
It is rich in human interest, and is in reach of most of the beauties in Lakeland.
Is there any wonder that poets come to this place so like a dream? Small wonder indeed that Shelley brought his bride here for their honeymoon, that Coleridge and.
Southey came with the two sisters they had married amid all the magnificence of St Mary Redcliffe at Bristol; that Wordsworth came, and De Quincey, and Charles Lamb, and John Ruskin.
Still here is the poet's comer in which they gathered, Greta Hall, with its view of the lake they loved.
To it in 1800 came Coleridge to live, his best poems already written.
To it in 1803 he invited Southey, afar finer man, and perhaps more of a man than a poet.
For a little while their two families were together, Coleridge erratic and struggling to master himself, Southey methodical, thinking deeply, writing hard, and revelling in his books; and when the unstable Coleridge cut himself adrift it was Robert Southey who for more than a generation kept this home going, bearing the burden of both families, winning fame as Poet Laureate, and earning the high respect and affection of all.
He lies in the old churchyard of Great Crosthwaite, his simple grave where he chose it; and about him are many whom he knew and loved.
Here also lie Jonathan Otley, the father of Lakeland geology; Sir John George Woodford, who was wounded by the last shot fired at Corunna, stood by Wellington at Waterloo, and introduced more than one humane reform into the army; and Sir Edmund Henderson, a soldier who increased the efficiency of the police in London at a difficult time, and established the criminal investigation department.
The London cabdrivers gave him a silver hansom cab for his interest in their lot and his work in setting up shelters for them.
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