I have hardly had such images
of simple, quiet, rustic comfort and beauty, as from the look of these
houses; and the whole impression of our winding and undulating road,
bordered by hedges, luxuriantly green, and not too closely clipped,
accords with this aspect. There is nothing arid in an English landscape;
and one cannot but fancy that the same may be true of English rural life.
The people look wholesome and well-to-do,--not specimens of hard, dry,
sunburnt muscle, like our yeomen,--and are kind and civil to strangers,
sometimes making a little inclination of the head in passing. Miss
Martineau, however, does not seem to think well of their mental and moral
condition.
We reached Furness Abbey about twelve. There is a railway station close
by the ruins; and a new hotel stands within the precincts of the abbey
grounds; and continually there is the shriek, the whiz, the rumble, the
bell-ringing, denoting the arrival of the trains; and passengers alight,
and step at once (as their choice may be) into the refreshment-room, to
get a glass of ale or a cigar,--or upon the gravelled paths of the lawn,
leading to the old broken walls and arches of the abbey. The ruins are
extensive, and the enclosure of the abbey is stated to have covered a
space of sixty-five acres. It is impossible to describe them. The most
interesting part is that which was formerly the church, and which, though
now roofless, is still surrounded by walls, and retains the remnants of
the pillars that formerly supported the intermingling curves of the
arches.
Pages:
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212