And mountains that like Giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land.
There was a Roman camp which we proposed visiting, and possibly Helvellyn, but we were compelled for a time to seek refuge in one of the hotels from the rain. There we met a gentleman, a resident in the locality, who was what we might describe as a religious enthusiast, for he had a very exalted opinion of the Vicar of Ambleside, whom he described as a "Christian man"—a term obviously making distinctions among vicars with which we heartily agreed. There must have been an atmosphere of poetry in the Lake District affecting both visitors and natives, for in a small valley, half a mile from a lonely chapel, stood the only inn, bearing the strange sign of "The Mortal Man" on which some native poet, but not Wordsworth, had written:
O Mortal Man, who liv'st on bread,
What is't that makes thy nose so red?—
Thou silly ass, that looks so pale.
It is with drinking Burkett's ale.
THE OLD MILL AT AMBLESIDE.
Immediately behind Ambleside there was a fearfully steep road leading up to the head of Kirkstone Pass, where at an altitude of quite 1,400 feet stood the "Travellers' Rest Inn." In our time walking was the only means of crossing the pass, but now visitors are conveyed up this hill in coaches, but as the gradient is so steep in some parts, they are invariably asked to walk, so as to relieve the horses a little, a fact which found expression in the Visitors' Book at the "Travellers' Rest" in the following lines: