From Juliet Pollock   Oct. 9th¹

AUDACTER ET STRENUE² | Rigg’s Hotel. Windermere | Oct. 9^th

My dear Mr. Tyndall

The room continued to be called yours, till we left Lake View³ and all its charms, and gave up our nomadic wild life for the civilization of Greta Bank,⁴ where we were again in society, with regular hours, a dressing bell and a change of costume for dinner. Still, nature had not deserted us—the sun still shone upon our days, and we still wandered through green meadows, rambled over mountain paths, & enjoyed our luncheon by the side of loitering hills; only we climbed less and talked more than before. We spent one very delightful afternoon as spectators to a rifle match between Keswick⁵ and Cockermouth⁶—Young John Spedding,⁷ whom Moss⁸ distinguishes as “Mr. Spedding, the rifleman”, being Captain of the Skiddaw Greys;⁹ a grand mountain background, a fine echo of the sound, doubling each shot among the hills, a pleasant foreground of green fields; the men in uniform, picturesque as they knelt to fire; forming capital unconscious groups; a lively interest in the match with a generous open hearted good humour among the men,—a bright sun making the hills transparent (you know that curious effect) the shades of evening gathering over them till they changed to a heavy opaque purple & the character of the scene altering under the waning light but only to show a new and deeper beauty; & we going home, all very happy because Keswick had won, and because the day was so charming;—You would have enjoyed such a day, and we should, all the more for your presence, but you live with the gases and Bromine absorbs all your being! I am not sure whether you know that from Grasmere¹⁰ (from Wythburn¹¹) I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,¹² and reached the summit, and came down again with no other help than that of my own feet and Walters¹³ dear little guiding hand. We had perfect weather for it, a sun that made every little blade of grass, every precious tuft of moss sparkle under our feet, and that threw a full distinct light upon the wide map of beauty that unfolded itself to us from the highest point. This was my most important performance for Greta Bank was not disposed for climbing, and there we spent our days in less ambitious enjoyments. We had a pleasant diversity in our programme after Greta Bank was done in a visit to the J. Marshalls¹⁴ at Coniston,¹⁵ taking Sarah Spedding¹⁶ with us. There we had a fair variety of pictures without doors, scenery like, yet different from what we had been delighting in before; new combinations of rock and stream and mountain pass, and within doors, literature grace and poetry. Two poets the other visitors: Coventry Patmore¹⁷ and Aubrey de Vere.¹⁸ Poor M^r. Patmore was suffering from the recent loss of his wife¹⁹ (The Angel in the House²⁰) and was disposed to be silent but Mr de Veres has a very full flow of graceful discourse so that the silence of his friend was masked. We knew him only slightly before, but before our three days were finished, the acquaintance had grown into an intimacy which is not likely to be suspended again. Mrs. J.M. is clever with an interesting appearance and would be a delightful woman if she were not affected. But the studied attitudes and the conscious speech are blemishes. She had the opportunity in one afternoon of pelting rain, of showing her powers of entertainment and the flow of conversation made us all indifferent to the flow of rain; till two hours before dinner when we judged it best to take a constitutional in waterproof suits, and we set forth through some of the charming country that we had been introduced to in sunlight, now so darkly veiled in mist, that we could not recognize its face. All the life had gone from the scene; we might have been exploring vaults of death, and now and then a shrouded shape gleamed a sudden whiteness upon us,—a ghost of the tombs—well— a waterfall—and it made us think of the divine Undine’s²¹ most bitter journey. Our last day smiled upon us, and by a device of Mr de Veres, pleasure accompanied our departing steps, for while Moss and the maids were sent with the luggage in the heavy carriage by the high road to Grasmere—we walked among the mountains through passes of exquisite beauty to join them—Sarah S. and myself having the occasional help of a lift in a poney carriage—Through Tilberthwaite²² by Colwith²³ and Skelwith²⁴ past Loughrigg Tarns²⁵ we rambled on (our party consisting of Fred²⁶ Sarah S. M^r. Marshall M^r. de Vere and myself) till we come over High Close²⁷ upon Grasmere looking inviting as it lay at our feet with a smiling caressing aspect recalling our holiday with our boys which was I think the happiest holiday of their young lives.

Partings must come; our pleasant party broke up; we saw Sarah S. start away for Greta Bank, and we said “good bye” and came on hither. We are very comfortable here and the weather is still friendly and we are enjoying a new honeymoon in the quiet and beauty of the place—only interrupted by the vivacity of Moss who likes this place best of all because of the railway station.²⁸ We go to town on the 14^th or 13^th for two or three days, afterwards, pay a visit of four or five days & the Charles Merivales²⁹ in Essex, and then return for our final settling in London. We look forward to seeing you and we have read with great interest all accounts of your brilliant lecture at Cambridge³⁰

Yours ever most truly, | Juliet Pollock

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