I want to tell you something of all I have seen and felt, because ... I fear you have had a sad house. I have been to Keswick. We spent several delicious days there, sitting up on lovely hills overlooking Derwent Water, with all its wooded islands, and the blue valleys that part ridge beyond ridge of mountains; and rowing in the evening on the smooth water watching the sun set, and mists gathering on the mountains, gathering in intensity of colour, minute by minute; or driving far over the mountain passes to Buttermere, and Crummock, and learning about ferns and flowers. Then we drove to a lovely little village called Eamont Bridge; it is rich in historic memories.... We saw a large Druid circle called Mayborough (of which Turner has made a lovely picture). Then we went to Lord Brougham’s place, Brougham Hall. It is an old building which belonged to his ancestors generations back. It is kept in the best possible taste; there are fine old Norman rooms, with a well under one bed for supplying the castle in times of siege. There are beautiful pictures by Gainsborough, Reynolds, Holbein,—a most interesting collection of portraits. Then we saw a grand old ruined castle. Then the village where the rebels were taken in the rebellion against George, in favour of Charles Edward. Mary’s aunt, a dear old lady who lived at Eamont Bridge, was the child of a man whose father has written a most interesting letter giving an account of their capture. The Duke of Cumberland came to his house; and Mrs. Mason’s father, then a youth, was sent out to him to give him notice of an ambush. His mother hid in a wardrobe for fear.
We drove to the foot of Ullswater, and then rowed up it—nine miles; but it poured, which we thought fun.
TIME WITH MISS HARRIS
Flimby, Maryport,
July 15, 1861.
To Emily.
I wrote a few words to you to All Saints, as I didn’t like your birthday to pass without one word from me; but now I write in answer to your dear little letter....
We are so happy here, sitting out on the beach. Bathing, reading, and going to church are, I believe, our only employments, for I am often very very weary. The children[[49]] are running wild, as they always do here, it seems; so Mary and I sit in the sunlight in great peace. The children heard it was your birthday to-morrow; and, dear little things, they have come running in with their little treasures of seaweed and flowers begging me to send them; several offers have been made of various things which it was impossible to send by post; so I enclose lavender and heartsease, and some seaweed from them all, and my best love to you, darling. Shall I send the balance sheets to you in future, or will it be useless? Does A. understand them? I speak of returning in September, because A. cannot do my work and hers too; also because I thought I’d like to see you quietly before Sophy’s return; but I don’t want the report spread; besides, it’s quite uncertain whether I shall be well enough to return. Do tell me whether it could be anyhow easily arranged about the double work without me till October.
Derwent Bank,
August 15, 1861.