fine walk along the twin edges, Striding Edge and Swirrel Edge, between which lies the wild mountain lakelet, Red Tarn. Much has been written about the terrors of Striding Edge and I have met nervous people who have been vastly pleased with themselves for having crossed it in safety. In reality it is merely a rough traverse of a rocky ridge along which, be it spoken low, a path runs! The central position of Helvellyn and its great height render the view from its top one of the finest in Lakeland. The prospect Eastward over the twin edges, with Ullswater beyond, and away on the far horizon the Pennines, dominated by Cross Fell, vies in interest and beauty with that in the opposite direction where all the chief lakeland heights, from Coniston Old Man to Scawfell and Skiddaw, show to great advantage.
Ullswater has its chief communication with the southern Lakeland over Kirkstone Pass, a high mountain coach road crowned at the top by the inevitable “highest house in England.” I wonder how many there are altogether. About a couple of miles beyond the head of Ullswater the road skirts the minor lake, Brother’s Water, and almost immediately afterwards climbs the steep gradient between Red Screes and Caudale Moor. A large block of stone,
“Whose churchlike frame
Gives to the savage pass its name,”
stands on the slope of Red Screes near the top of the pass. This is the Kirk Stone. The road forks beyond the “Travellers Rest”—the highest house. The descent to Ambleside by the right-hand road is short, but appallingly steep. When taken in the opposite direction six horses are necessary to haul up a large char-a-banc and even then it well deserves its local name, “the struggle.”
The other road diverges to the left and runs down through the beautiful Troutbeck Valley, a distance of seven miles, to Windermere. It was in the little village of Troutbeck that the uncle of William Hogarth, the most truly English of all our great painters, lived. The genius of the uncle, “Auld Hoggart,” as he was locally called by his fellow yeomen, evidenced itself in a wonderful facility for composing rhymes, short dramas in verse and cynical epitaphs. Particularly satirical is the following, and typical of much that he wrote
“Here lies a woman, no man can deny it,
She died in peace, although she lived unquiet.
Her husband prays if e’er this way you walk,
You would tread softly—if she wakes, she’ll talk.”
The Kirkstone Pass
And Brothers’ Water, with Place Fell behind.