---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Wells, Hermon J.
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 16
number: 4
published: 1913-02
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Wells, Hermon J., "A Day in the English Lakeland," *Improvement Era* 16, no. 4 (February 1913): 368–374.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1604unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera1604unse
start_page: 368
end_page: 374
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1913-02)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1604unse
  publication_year: 1913
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1913, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# A Day in the English Lakeland

<!-- page:368 -->

366                        IMPROVEMENT ERA

applied, and we wonder why we do not progress, and are always
in the attitude of fault-finding, and our work becomes a drudgery
instead of a pleasure.      A
                           man never gains in influence who speaks,
acts or appears disrespectfully to those who are providing for him
a livelihood. There is a saying: "This thing of trying to get even
is what keeps so much misery in the world, and makes demons

out of otherwise splendid men."      Carlyle also said "Get your
                                                             :

happiness out of your work or you will never know what happiness
is."  Happiness comes in liking a thing, and when we like a thing
we are going to give the very best thought and the very best service we have.
     There is no institution but what will recognize good, honest
service.  Men promote themselves, the institution does not promote them, and in this case opportunity is always present, and the
man who takes advantage of it, does so because he knows how.
He has the ability, he has the courage to push out and take the
chance.   Responsibilities gravitate to him because he can take
care of them, and responsibilities go to no other kind of individuals.
LOGAN,   UTAH

      Department of Vocations and Industries
                                BY B. H. ROBERTS

                    VI   — Courage    to   Take a Chance.

      One of the essentials in all departments of life is courage.
                                                                 This is
no    less true in the  matter of choosing a vocation than in following
one.   Indeed much depends upon the strength of the courage with
which one starts in his vocation. "Jack" should be taught to dare
much in choosing his life's work. That is, while putting no false
values upon his ability, he should be encouraged to rate himself at
the height of his reasonable possibilities, and choose his vocation accordingly. And not only choose his vocation accordingly, but deter-
                                                      —
mine what shall be his station in that vocation novice or finished
workman; master of his trade, profession, line of business, calling,
art; or only a middling workman, unskilful, untrusted and not honored
in his industrial life.  Without controversy "Jack" should be taught to
look high for his vocation, as high as talents and character warrant
him in looking. Having chosen he should now be taught to look to
the very summit of possibilities within his vocation, with the view of
attaining it. It is no inordinate ambition to seek and attain excellence

<!-- page:369 -->

DEPARTMENT OF VOCATIONS AND INDUSTRIES                              367

in   workmanship,   skill   in a   profession, proficiency in one's art, effec^
tiveness in a business calling.         Ambition   in   these directions   means
only the making of one capable of better and of more service in his
particular line of endeavor. Ambition becomes inordinate only when
it becomes mischievous to others; when it would prompt its possessor

to rise at the expense of others; when it regards not the rights of
others.
                                                        —
    Well, not to wander too far afield, all this choosing the highest
thing in the way of a vocation that his talents warrant him in selecting; and then following that vocation with a view of attaining to the
                                        —
highest possible development in it that requires courage, daring.
     Much is said in these modern days of giving a boy a chance; we
had better inspire him with the courage that will prompt him to take
one.  As Herbert Kaufman recently said, in a popular publication,
"The best way to get a chance is to take one." Then he continues:

     "Sure things are poor things.   When you strike a certainty, you
strike  limitations. The making of profit almost always means the
taking of risk.
     "Currents are seldom found close to shore. If you mean to swim
far, you must dive into the depths, and strike out boldly for the channel.  The weakling who won't wade beyond his ankles simply gets
cold feet.
    "There are times when it may seem wise to back away from the
                           it isn't cowardice which backs you into a
risk ahead, but be sure that
greater danger behind.
    "Conservatism ceases to be a virtue when it stifles enthusiasm.
Caution, like the tail of a kite, is valuable only so long as it steadies,
but when there's too much of it, like too heavy a tail, it will hold you
down.
    "Energy and imagination are both meant for use; inaction rusts
the vitality out of ability."'

    Let our association committee-men, in this department, inspire
our youth with the courage that will not merely ask for a "chance,"
but will start out bravely and find one, and take it when found. Courage is one of the cabalistic pass-words to success.

                                    AT THE FAIR

<!-- page:370 -->

A Day in the English Lakeland
                       BY HERMON J. WELLS

     English weather is a great blessing.       Being synonymous
with uncertainty, it affords rare opportunities for the philosopher
and conversationalist. And what better means for the exhibition
of patience than, when a cycling trip has been carefully arranged,
to have the independent old Sun hide his head under thick, black
clouds which soon pour down sheet after sheet of water, to the
thorough extinction of excursionists' hopes and the bedraggling
of all wayfarers.
    Such spasmodic showers from scowling heavens have been
usual, so when, this evening, the sky continues to show bright and
clear, four of us ardent spirits, after a long day's ramble at Beetham, resolve to place our much-abused confidence in the new
month of July and extend our trip to Lakeland for a day.
     The delights of this district are well heralded during the
approach. From Kendalon, the road becomes more undulating,
and the surroundings more mountainous. It seems, as we pass
between the rolling hills of various shape, carpeted with grass
and hovering ferns, and of ever-increasing heights, that we are
entering a region of enchantment through sacred portals. It is
just at that peaceful time when the sun sinks to rest and all nature
seems "breathless with adoration." The hush is that of labor
done only the soft twittering of hidden birds, or the distant bark-
     ;

ing of a noisy dog, break the silence. As we pierce further, the
beauty and wildness grow apace.         Clumps of huge oaks and
spreading beeches add to the delight of shrub and grass, while
great fields of uncultivated marguerites increase a wonderful
variety and charm of wood and stream and mountain.              The
ancient stone fences become rougher and neglected, and though
a few white cottages of rock dot the fell sides yet they seem to
harbor solitude itself. The sun, taking one last peep over that
wooded hill, casts over all a sheen of mellow light.
     Turning away, we pass hurriedly on in fear that we shall
never reach Bowness by dusk. But, after a plod up a long hill,
drink at a cool spring, and then an exhilarating coast into the
valley beyond, we are shown the folly of such anxieties with a
view of Windermere, the largest of the lakes, reflecting the blue
of the sky and the beauty of its wooded banks and green islands

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A DAY IN THE ENGLISH LAKELAND                               369

with their enlivening villas. In ten minutes more of descent we
reach Bowness, prettily situated in a small bay on the eastern
bank, and presenting a quaint arrangement of hotels, shops and
other tourist conveniences.
     With a wash and a meal we are sufficiently refreshed to enjoy a row on the quiet coolness of the lake in the gloaming. On
the return journey we lose our way for a time, but sky-rockets
fired by presumptuous Yankees, who are celebrating the glorious
Fourth, to the intense disgust of some English bystanders, at the
very edge of the water, guide us from our black surroundings
into more visible parts.  The dreamy atmosphere, and our day's
exertions, conduce weariness at last, though one is apt to neglect
sleep in this charming district.
     But, in spite of this last,   we must confess that it requires a

1                                                        3*"

                                                               JL.   1

                                                   e4» e&'4o**

                THE NORTH END OF WINDERMERE

lusty hammering of the door by our punctual host, and dwelling
thoughts of breakfast in speedy preparation, to stir us on the following morning. After the meal we bid good-by to the tiny seaport and, passing along a splendid road on the edge of Windermere, which is shining beautifully in the morning sunlight, we
penetrate the amphitheatre of lofty hills which enclose its northern end. Nestling at the foot of these is Ambleside, lovely on
this freshsummer's morning. This hamlet is supposed to have
been a Roman station, and its surroundings are both beautiful
and famous. Encircled as it is by sheltering hills, with its nearby

<!-- page:372 -->

370                    MPROVEMENT ERA

streams and waterfalls, its moss-grown bridges and quiet, reposeful nooks, it possesses an air of seclusion and retirement which
even the presence of the hustling tourist and noisy wagonette
cannot destroy.
      The cry of the party, however, is "a general view of a great
                             deal," so our plans for the day will
                             admit of no dalliance, nor even jus-
                             tifiable delay. We search out the
                             road and, speeding on, arrive almost
                             immediately at the small Rydal water,
                             which has crept up among the
                             grasses of its gentle shores, soften-
                             ing the edges with green, and re-
                             flecting in its rippling clearness the
                             high mountain which stands as pro-
                             tector of its silence and repose. Here
                             it was that Wordsworth, in his later

                             life,dreamed and thought and wrote
                             his most powerful verse, and here it
                             was he died. There is a rock from
                             which, they say, he often mused,
                             overlooking the lake, and every tour-
                             ist passing on the road feels bound

                             to clamber up and sit him down com-
                             placently in that self-same spot.
  OLD BRIDGE, AMBLESIDE              g^
                                     ^ seem§ easier    ^ assodate
Wordsworth with the charming little village and the sunny lake
of Grasmere which burst upon us like a revelation as the road
turns sharply. Here is the quaint and humble Dove cottage where
he lived, from 1799 to 1808, with his sister Dorothy and his wife;
where Coleridge, Scott, Charles Lamb and other guests of present
great renown were entertained.     It is now presided over by a
pleasant old dame who, for sixpence, will take one all. through the
premises and also remember
many   interesting details of
the poet's life, with remarkable accuracy.   And here is
the church of "rude and antique majesty" with "oaken
benches ranged in   seemly
rows" in whose quiet yard
the great master is buried,
and which contains a tablet
with the following inscription   :    rydal lake and silver bow
        To the Memory of William Wordsworth,
               A True Philosopher and Poet,

<!-- page:373 -->

A DAY IN THE ENGLISH LAKELAND                                  371

Who, By the Special Gift and Calling of Almighty God,
       Whether He Discoursed on Man or Nature,
    Failed Not to Lift Up the Heart to Holy Things,
 Tired Not of Maintaining the Cause of the Poor and
                                   Simple;
And So, in Perilous Times, Was Raised Up to Be a Chief
                                  Minister,
                  Not Only of Noblest Poesy,
                But of High and Sacred Truth.
        This Memorial is Placed Here by His Friends and
                       Neighbors
   In Testimony of Respect, Affection and Gratitude,
                          Anno Dom. MDCCCLI.

                                    Beyond the village of Grasmere we
                              soon began the long ascent to the top of
                              Dunmail Raise and, as the scenery be-
                              comes wilder, the sun hotter, and the
                              bicycles     heavier,    we    find   hunger and
                              thirst gaining alarming headway.     An
                              important discussion takes place, during
                              which much wisdom is unmuzzled, the
                              ultimate result being that we dine like
                              kings, on bread and milk, at a nearby
                              farmhouse.     Feeling much refreshed,
                              and grimly determined to reach Keswick
                              in short order, we climb on, envious of
william Wordsworth those who are traveling in the opposite
                              direction,    until     the   top of the pass    is

reached.     Then we      covet no
man's hold on gravitation, for
we have but to sit still and
steer    straight,   to   coast   for
miles at lightning speed.
    A view of Lake Thirlmere and the towering Helwellyn are now obtained. The
lake is winding and narrow,
being nowhere more than onethird of a mile wide, though
over three in length. A steep                dove cottage, grasmere,
down-hill takes us past the                         Wordsworth's home
cluster of small houses called
Wythburn, and there lies the peaceful water close at hand, seem-

<!-- page:374 -->

340                   IMPROVEMENT ERA

ing to bask in the warm sun while mirroring the clear sky and the
picturesque crags and woods of its further side. Rising on the

                               THIRLMERE

east and pouring cascades down their broad sides to feed the
valuable lake are the giant mount and his companions.
     Thirlmere is now the property of the Manchester corporation
which has made of her a
reservoir for the thirsty
thousands of the city, by
               '

raising   her water level
twenty feet with a dam at
the north end, and conveying the water through an
aqueduct ninety-six miles
long.
      We sigh for more time
to gaze, but a glance as we       Tur-"*!

ride past is all we may permit ourselves. Then, push- coaches
                                            descending dunmail raise
ing on through beauteous woods, up and           down dale, we reach
Keswick at last.   It is situated close to    Derwentwater, and amid
other attractive places.      And therein lies its distinction, for of
itself, 'tis just a busy little market town with perplexing tangles
in its street arrangement, and not much to lure the visitor.
Threading our way through the maze, we find the broad, blue
lake and, at its edge, a clamorous old boat-tender who assures us
