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It has long been a favourite notion with me that if, instead of general guides to, or descriptions of all the Lake country comprised in single volumes, of which we have a superabundance, we could have each distinct locality treated of fully and minutely in a work devoted exclusively to itself, and written by some one whose long residence in, and intimate knowledge of the district described would secure its accuracy, we should possess a series of Lake books much more comprehensive, more useful, and more amusing than any we can yet boast of. An idea slightly similar to this seems at one period to have germinated in Professor Wilson’s brain; but, notwithstanding the fertility of the soil, it bore no fruit. In a review of Green’s Guide, the Professor says,—“It is our serious intention to pitch our Tent, next summer, somewhere or other among these said Lakes. Each of our principal contributors will have a Lake assigned him, and the lesser ones a Tarn. Wastle shall have Windermere—Odoherty, Ullswater—Ourselves, Keswick—and Kempferhausen is perfectly welcome to Conistone. By a just distribution of our forces, the Lakes will find themselves looked at and described in a way they never experienced before.” As nearly thirty years have elapsed since this intention was promulgated, and we have still to deplore its non-fulfilment, I have taken the initiative with the Lake somewhat depreciatingly assigned to the German savan. It is devoutly to be wished that my modest example were followed with regard to the other great Lakes, by parties who know them as perfectly as I know Conistone. It may hardly be gainsaid that there are such about every one of our Lakes, able, were they willing, to do much more justice to their subjects than poor Conistone has obtained from me; and if they would only set about it, I might, at least, claim the credit of having opened the ball.

In the volume now offered to his favourable consideration, the reader will find a very sufficient guide to all that is worthy of notice in the neighbourhood it depicts. The accuracy of its descriptions will be apparent when he visits the scenes described. The few anecdotes, traits of character, and sketches, or rather, perhaps, scratches, of mountain life can be vouched for as correct, and native to the district. And the information it professes to offer upon topics of supposed interest, local or general, is, when no authority is specified, all deduced from personal observation. These little merits may, perhaps, serve, in some degree, as a set off against its short-comings as a literary composition, and those are now sufficiently manifest even to myself; but in extenuation, I may plead that they are such as may be attributed to inexperience in author-craft, or such as may be looked for in a performance mainly written by way of amusement in the uncertain and brief snatches of relaxation from duties and anxieties of a nature peculiarly unfavourable to the improvement of a faulty style of composition by study or practice. I may state, however, that these duties and cares arise chiefly from an occupation which, more than any other, affords facilities of observing the topographical peculiarities of a district of country, and of noting the characteristics, social and psychological, of its inhabitants of every class. On this latter department of my subject, I should have dilated more freely, had I not been restrained by two salutary considerations, the first being a wish to keep within compass, and avoid prolixity—the second, a desire to live in peace and goodwill with those amongst whom my lot in life is cast. It is not easy to tell the even down truth of a class, any more than of an individual, without exciting wrath.

By the way, it is remarkable that, notwithstanding all that has been scribbled anent the Lakes, we are yet without anything like a correct portraiture of the Dales-people. The narratives and traits of character in Mr Wordsworth’s works, though generally striking and beautiful, are, as regards the peasantry, mere emanations of poetic fancy, rather than true delineations of life and manners. The same may be said of Wilson. De Quincey’s papers on the population of the Lake district, are correct only so long as he confines himself to colonists of his own rank. When he comes lower, it is plain enough to those who know the Aborigines, that he has only been permitted to study that, the most interesting, class in their Sunday faces and best behaviour, and that his observation there is rarely more than skin-deep.

It was reserved for a lady to give us the best essay upon the peculiarities of our aboriginal character; but even Miss Martineau, with all her female penetration, and her more than female genius and talent for observation, is, in that part of her work, oddly astray in her illustrations and erroneous in her assertions. For instance, she avers that our women-folk are all mutes. On this it is only necessary to remark that some of their husbands, and that I, myself, not unfrequently, nor yet unfervently, wish that Miss Martineau’s averment had better foundation. Bating this defect, her work on the Lakes, taking it for all in all, is the best, and by far the cheapest, of all Lake books, and their name is Legion!

One word more. I have been accused of using irreverently a name which it is the fashion now for all to revere. I should be truly sorry, could I fancy I had afforded real grounds for such accusation. If the opinion of one so obscure as I could be of any importance, I might truly declare that I yield to none in my respect for Mr Wordsworth’s character—that few can estimate the poetic grandeur and fine moral feeling of his truly great poems more highly than I; and if I have hinted at what I consider defects in his genius and philosophy, as exhibited in his works, who shall censure me for expressing an honest opinion, even though the mode of expressing it be a trifle more flippant than the subject may seem to warrant? It were as reasonable to extinguish a small luminary for announcing a fancied discovery of spots upon the sun, as to demolish me for fancying that I discern a few specks upon the otherwise resplendent disc of the great light of our Lakes.

Entreating the gracious patience of the reader for having spun a plain unvarnished tale at such a length, and bespeaking his more gracious indulgence to the manifold faults in “my von leetle performance,” as Signor Blitz used to call his conjuring tricks, I beg to subscribe myself the reader's

Very humble servant,
A. C. G.

Yewdale Bridge, May 21st, 1849.

Decoration

RAVINGS AND RAMBLINGS ROUND
CONISTONE.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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