A Month in Yorkshire Part 24

"Wildest and lonest streamlet!

Gray oaks, all lichen'd o'er!

Rush-bristled isles, ye ivied trunks That marry sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e!

And thou, gnarl'd dwarf of centuries, Whose snak'd roots twist above me!

Oh, for the tongue or pen of Burns, To tell ye how I love ye!"

The overhanging trees multiply, and the green shade deepens, as you ascend. At last I came to the waterfall--the loneliest nook of all, in which the Rhymer had mused and listened to the brook, as he says:

"Here, where first murmuring from thine urn, Thy voice deep joy expresses; And down the rock, like music, flows The wildness of thy tresses."

It was just the place for a day-dream. I sat for nearly an hour, nothing disturbing my enjoyment but now and then the intrusive thought that my holiday was soon to end. However, there is good promise of summers yet to come. I climbed the hill in the rear of the fall, where, knee-deep in heath and fern, I looked down on the top of the oaken canopy and a broad reach of the valley; and intended to return to the town by another road. But the attractions of the glen drew me back; so I scrambled down it by the way I came, and retraced my outward route.

The one particular in which the glen differs from Elliott's description is, that an opening has been made for, as it appeared to me, a quarry or gravel-pit, from which a loose slope of refuse extends down to the brook, and encroaches on its bed, creating a deformity that shocks the feelings by what seems a desecration. I thought that Ribbledin, at least, might have been saved from spade and mattock; and the more so as Sheffield, poisoned by smoke, can ill afford to lose any place of recreative resort in the neighbourhood. It may be that I felt vexed; for after my return to London, I addressed a letter on the subject to the editor of the _Sheffield Independent_, in the hope that by calling public attention thereto, the hand of the spoiler might be stayed.

As I walked down to the railway-station the next morning in time for the first train, many of the chimneys had just began to vent their murky clouds, and the smoke falling into the streets darkened the early sunlight; and Labour, preparing to "bend o'er thousand anvils," went with unsmiling face to his daily task.

Away sped the train for Manchester; and just as the Art Treasures Exhibition was opening for the day, I alighted at the door.

Less than half an hour spent in the building sufficed to show that it was a work of the north, not of the south. There was a manifest want of attention to the fitness of things, naturally to be looked for in a county where the bulk of the population have yet so much to learn; where manufacturers, with a yearly income numbered by thousands, can find no better evening resort than the public-house; where so much of the thinking is done by machinery, and where steam-engines are built with an excellence of workmanship and splendour of finish well-nigh incredible.

For seven hours did I saunter up and down and linger here and there, as my heart inclined--longest before the old engravings. And while my eye roved from one beautiful object to another, I wondered more and more that the _Times_ and some other newspapers had often expressed surprise that so few comparatively of the working-cla.s.ses visited the Manchester Exhibition. Those best acquainted with the working-cla.s.ses, as a ma.s.s, know full well how little such an exhibition as that appeals to their taste and feelings. To appreciate even slightly such paintings and curiosities of art as were there displayed, requires an amount of previous cultivation rare in any cla.s.s, and especially so in the working-cla.s.ses. For the cream of Manchester society, the Exhibition was a fashionable exchange, where they came to parade from three to five in the afternoon--the ladies exhibiting a circ.u.mference of crinoline far more ample than I have ever seen elsewhere; and of them and their compeers it would be safe to argue that those attracted by real love of art were but tens among the thousands who went for pastime and fashion.

To me it seems, that of late, we have had rather too much talk about art; by far too much flattery of the artist and artificer, whereby the one with genius and the one with handicraft feel themselves alike ill-used if they are not always before the eyes of the world held up to admiration. And so, instead of a heart working inspired by love, we have a hand working inspired by hopes of praise. The masons who carved those quaint carvings at Patrington worked out the thought that was in them lovingly, because they had the thought, and not the mere ambitious shadow of a thought. And their work remains admirable for all time, for their hearts were engaged therein as well as heads and hands. But now education and division of labour are to do everything; that is, if flattery fail not; and in wood-engraving we have come to the pa.s.s that one man cuts the clouds, another the trees, another the buildings, and another the animal figures; while on steel plates the clouds are "executed" by machinery. For my part, I would be willing to barter a good deal of modern art for the conscience and common honesty which it has helped to obscure.

We are too apt to forget certain conclusions which ought to be remembered; and these are, according to Mr. Penrose, that "No government, however imperial, can create true taste, or combine excellence with precipitation; that money is lavished in vain where good sense guides neither the design nor the execution; and that art with freedom, of which she is one manifestation, will not condescend to visit the land where she is not invited by the spontaneous instincts, and sustained by the unfettered efforts of the people."

CHAPTER XXIX.

A SHORT CHAPTER TO END WITH.

Here, reader, we part company. The last day of July has come, and whatever may be my inclinations or yours, I must return to London, and report myself to-morrow morning at head-quarters. There will be time while on the way for a few parting words.

If the reading of my book stir you up to go and see Yorkshire with your own eyes and on your own legs, you will, I hope, be able to choose a centre of exploration. For the coast, Flamborough and Whitby would be convenient; for Teesdale, Barnard Castle; for Craven, with its mountains, caves, and scars, Settle; and for the dales, Kettlewell and Aysgarth. Ripon is a good starting-point for Wensleydale; and York, situate where the three Ridings meet, offers railway routes in all directions. My own route, as you have seen, was somewhat erratic, more so than you will perhaps approve; but it pleased me, and if a man cannot please himself while enjoying a holiday, when shall he?

A glance at the map will show you how large a portion of the county is here unnoticed; a portion large enough for another volume. The omissions are more obvious to you than to me, because I can fill them up mentally by recollections of what I saw during my first sojourn in Yorkshire. A month might be well spent in rambles and explorations in the north-west alone, along the border of Westmoreland; Knaresborough and the valley of the Nidd will generously repay a travel; Hallamshire, though soiled by Sheffield smoke, is full of delightful scenery; and if it will gratify you to see one of the prettiest country towns in England, go to Doncaster. And should you desire further information, as doubtless you will, read Professor Phillips's _Rivers, Mountains, and Sea Coast of Yorkshire_--a book that takes you all through the length and breadth of the county. It tells you where to look for rare plants, where for fossils; reveals the geological history; glances lovingly at all the antiquities; and imparts all the information you are likely to want concerning the inhabitants, from the earliest times, the climate, and even the terrestrial magnetism. I am under great obligations to it, not only for its science and scholarship, but for the means it afforded me, combined with previous knowledge, of choosing a route.

As regards distances, my longest walk, as mentioned at the outset, was twenty-six miles; the next longest, from Brough to Hawes, twenty-two; and all the rest from fourteen to eighteen miles. Hence, in all the rambles, there is no risk of over-fatigue. I would insert a table of distances, were it not best that you should inquire for yourself when on the spot, and have a motive for talking to the folk on the way. As for the railways, buy your time-table in Yorkshire; it will enlighten you on some of the local peculiarities, and prove far more useful than the lumbering, much-perplexed _Bradshaw_.

Of course the Ordnance maps are the best and most complete; but considering that the sheets on the large scale, for Yorkshire alone, would far outweigh your knapsack, they are out of the question for a pedestrian. Failing these, you will find Walker's maps--one for each Riding--sufficiently trustworthy, with the distances from town to town laid down along the lines of road, and convenient for the pocket withal.

Much has been said and written concerning the high cost of travelling in England as compared with the Continent, but is it really so? Experience has taught me that the reverse is the fact, and for an obvious reason--the much shorter distance to be travelled to the scene of your wanderings. In going to Switzerland, for example, there are seven hundred and fifty miles to Basel, before you begin to walk, and the outlay required for such a journey as that is not compensated by any trifling subsequent advantage, if such there be. Some folk travel as if they were always familiar with turtle and champagne at home, and therefore should not complain if they are made to pay for the distinction. But if you are content to go simply on your own merits, wishing nothing better than to enjoy a holiday, it is perfectly possible, while on foot, to travel for four-and-sixpence a day, sometimes even less. And think not that because you choose the public-house instead of the hotel you will suffer in regard to diet, or find any lack of comfort and cleanliness. The advantage in all these respects, as I know full well, is not unfrequently with the house of least pretension. Moreover, you are not looked on as a mere biped, come in to eat, drink, and sleep, by a waiter who claims his fee as a right; but a show of kindly feeling awaits you, and the la.s.sie who ministers to your wants accepts your gift of a coin with demonstrations of thankfulness. And, again, the public-house shows you far more variety of unsophisticated life and character than you could ever hope to witness in an hotel. Certain friends of mine, newly-wedded, pa.s.sed a portion of their honeymoon at the _Jolly Herring_ at Penmaenmawr, with much more contentment to themselves than at the large hotels they afterwards visited in the Princ.i.p.ality, and at one-half the cost.

The sum total of my walking amounts to three hundred and seventy-five miles. If you go down to Yorkshire, trusting, as I hope, to your own legs for most of your pleasure, you will perhaps outstrip me. At any rate, you will discover that travelling in England is not less enjoyable than on the Continent; maybe you will think it more so, especially if, instead of merely visiting one place after another, you really do travel. You require no ticket-of-leave in the shape of a pa.s.sport from cowardly emperor or priest-ridden king, and may journey at will from county to county and parish to parish, finding something fresh and characteristic in each, and all the while with the consciousness that it is your own country:

"Our Birth-land this! around her sh.o.r.es roll ocean's sounding waves; Within her breast our fathers sleep in old heroic graves; Our Heritage! with all her fame, her honour, heart, and pow'rs, G.o.d's gift to us--we love her well--she shall be ever ours."