Along the base of the castle, on the opposite side to the entrance, flows
a stream, sending up a pleasant murmur from among the trees. The
housekeeper said it was not a stream, but only a "wash," whatever that
may be; and I conjecture that it creates the motive-power of some
factory-looking edifices, which we saw on our first arrival at Skipton.
We now took our leave of the housekeeper, and came homeward to our inn,
where I have written the foregoing pages by a bright fire; but I think I
write better descriptions after letting the subject lie in my mind a day
or two. It is too new to be properly dealt with immediately after coming
from the scene.
The castle is not at all crumbly, but in excellent repair, though so
venerable. There are rooks cawing about the shapeless patches of their
nests, in the tops of the trees. In the castle wall, as well as in the
round towers of the gateway, there seem to be little tenements, perhaps
inhabited by the servants and dependants of the family. They looked in
very good order, with tokens of present domesticity about them. The
whole of this old castle, indeed, was as neat as a new, small dwelling,
in spite of an inevitable musty odor of antiquity.
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