The dale which was most nearly in
front of us is that which goes down to Ingleton, past the side of
Ingleborough. The mountain was about nine miles distant. We turned to
the right and immediately descended Dent-dale. The three dales (to
Hawes, to Ingleton, and to Dent) lay their heads together in a most
amicable way, so that, when at the top, it is equally easy to descend
down either of them. We found very soon that Dent-dale is much more
beautiful than that by which we had ascended. The sides of the hills
are steeper, and perhaps higher: the bottom is richer. The road is
also better. The river is a continued succession of very pretty falls,
almost all of which have scooped out the lower strata of the rock, so
that the water shoots clear over. For several miles (perhaps 10) it
runs upon bare limestone without a particle of earth. From the head of
the dale to the village of Dent is eight miles. At about half-way is a
new chapel, very neat, with a transept at its west end. The village of
Dent is one of the strangest places that I ever saw. Narrow street, up
and down, with no possibility of two carriages bigger than children's
carts passing each other. We stopped at the head inn and enquired
about the Geolog: but he is not in the country.
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