chariot-wheels with their golden orbs-eating | scaffold-but like ourselves, on a hair-mattress grapes out of vine-leaf-draperied baskets, above a feather-bed, our head decently sunk in beautifying beneath the gentle fingers of the three pillows and one bolster, and our frame Gentle into fairy network graceful as the gos- stretched out unagitatedly beneath a white samer-drinking elder-flower frontiniac from counterpane. But meanwhile-though almost invisible glasses, so transparent in its yellow- as unlocomotive as the dead in body -there is ness seems the liquid radiance-at one mo- perpetual motion in our minds. Sleep is one ment eyeing a page of Paradise Lost, and at thing, and stagnation is another-as is well another of Paradise Regained; for what else known to all eyes that have ever seen, by is the face of her who often visiteth our Eden, moonlight and midnight, the face of Christoand whose coming and whose going is ever pher North, or of Windermere. like a heavenly dream. Then laying back our head upon the cushion of our triumphal car, and with half-shut eyes, subsiding slowly into haunted sleep or slumber, with our fine features up to heaven, a saint-like image, such as Raphael loved to paint, or Flaxman to embue with the soul of stillness in the lifehushed marble. Such, dearest reader, are Such, dearest reader, are some of our pastimes-and so do we contrive to close our ears to the sound of the scythe of Saturn, ceaselessly sweeping over the earth, and leaving, at every stride of the mower, a swathe more rueful than ever, after a night of shipwreck, did strew with ghastliness a lee sea-shore!

Windermere! Why, at this blessed moment we behold the beauty of all its intermingling isles. There they are-all gazing down on their own reflected loveliness in the magic mirror of the air-like water, just as many a holy time we have seen them all agaze, when, with suspended oar and suspended breathno sound but a ripple on the Naiad's bow, and a beating at our own heart-motionless in our own motionless bark-we seemed to float midway down that beautiful beautiful abyss between the heaven above and the heaven below, on some strange terrestrial scene composed of trees and the shadows of trees, Thus do we make a virtue of necessity-by the imagination made indistinguishable and thus contentment wreathes with silk and to the eye, and as delight deepened into velvet the prisoner's chains. Once were we-dreams, all lost at last, clouds, groves, water, long, long ago-restless as a sunbeam on the restless wave-rapid as a river that seems enraged with all impediments, but all the while in passionate love

"Doth make sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,'

ornamental: of us it must not be said, that But intending to be useful, we are becoming

air, sky, in their various and profound confusion of supernatural peace. But a sea-born breeze is on Bowness Bay; all at once the lake is blue as the sky; and that evanescent world is felt to have been but a vision. Like swans that had been asleep in the airless sunshine, strong as a steed let loose from Arab's tent in lo! where from every shady nook appear the the oasis to slake his thirst at the desert well-white-sailed pinnaces; for on merry Winderfierce in our harmless joy as a red-deer belling mere-you must know-every breezy hour on the hills-tameless as the eagle sporting in has its own Regatta. the storm-gay as the "dolphin on a tropic sea"-"mad as young bulls"-and wild as a whole wilderness of adolescent lions. But now -alas! and alack-a-day! the sunbeam is but "Pure description holds the place of sense,"a patch of sober verdure-the river is changed therefore, let us be simple but not silly, as into a canal-the "desert-born" is foundered-plain as is possible without being prosy, as the red-deer is slow as an old ram-the eagle instructive as is consistent with being enterhas forsook his cliff and his clouds, and hops taining, a cheerful companion and a trusty among the gooseberry bushes-the dolphin has guide. degenerated into a land tortoise-without danger now might a very child take the bull by the horns-and though something of a lion still, our roar is like that of the nightingale, "most musical, most melancholy"—and, as we attempt to shake our mane, your grandmother fair peruser-cannot choose but weep.

We shall suppose that you have left Kendal, and are on your way to Bowness. Forget, as much as may be, all worldly cares and anxieties, and let your hearts be open and free to all genial impulses about to be breathed into them from the beautiful and sublime in nature. There is no need of that foolish state of feeling It speaks folios in favour of our philanthropy, called enthusiasm. You have but to be happy; to know that, in our own imprisonment, we and by and by your happiness will grow into love to see all life free as air. Would that by delight. The blue mountains already set your a word of ours we could clothe all human imaginations at work; among those clouds and shoulders with wings! would that by a word mists you fancy many a magnificent preciof ours we could plume all human spirits pice-and in the valleys that sleep below you with thoughts strong as the eagle's pinions, image to yourselves the scenery of rivers and that they might winnow their way into the lakes. The landscape immediately around graempyrean! Tories! Yes! we are Tories. dually grows more and more picturesque and Our faith is in the Divine right of kings-but romantic; and you feel that you are on the easy, my boys, easy-all free men are kings, very borders of Fairy-Land. The first smile and they hold their empire from heaven. That of Windermere salutes your impatient eyes, is our political-philosophical-moral-reli- and sinks silently into your heart. You know gious creed. In its spirit we have lived--not how beautiful it may be-nor yet in what and in its spirit we hope to die-not on the the beauty consists; but your finest sensibilities scaffold like Sidney-no-no--no-not by to nature are touched-and a tinge of poetry, as any manner of means like Sidney on the from a rainbow, overspreads that cluster of

islands that seems to woo you to their still re- | bearing down to windward-for the morning treats. And now

"Wooded Winandermere, the river-lake,"

with all its bays and promontories, lies in the morning light serene as a Sabbath, and cheerful as a Holyday; and you feel that there is loveliness on this earth more exquisite and perfect than ever visited your slumbers even in the glimpses of a dream. The first sight of such a scene will be unforgotten to your dying day-for such passive impressions are deeper than we can explain-our whole spiritual being is suddenly awakened to receive them-and associations, swift as light, are gathered into one Emotion of Beauty which shall be imperishable, and which, often as memory recalls that moment, grows into genius, and vents itself in appropriate expressions, each in itself a picture. Thus may one moment minister to years; and the life-wearied heart of old age by one delightful remembrance be restored to primal joy the glory of the past brought beamingly upon the faded present-and the world that is obscurely passing away from our eyes re-illumined with the visions of its early morn. The shows of nature are indeed evanscent, but their spiritual influences are immortal; and from that grove now glowing in the sunlight may your heart derive a delight that shall utterly perish

but in the grave.

par

But now you are in the White Lion, and our
advice to you-perhaps unnecessary-is im-
mediately to order breakfast. There are many
parlours-some with a charming prospect and
some without any prospect at all; but remember
that there are other people in the world besides
yourselves and therefore, into whatever
lour you may be shown by a pretty maid, be con-
tented, and lose no time in addressing yourselves
to your repast. That over, be in no hurry to get
on the Lake. Perhaps all the boats are engaged
-and Billy Balmer is at the Waterhead. So stroll
into the churchyard, and take a glance over the
graves. Close to the oriel-window of the church
is one tomb over which one might meditate
half an autumnal day. Enter the church, and
you will feel the beauty of these fine lines in
the Excursion-

"Not raised in nice proportions was the pile,
But large and massy; for duration built;
With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld
By naked rafters intricately cross'd
Like leafless underboughs, 'mid some thick grove,
All wither'd by the depth of shade above!"

breeze is born-many a tiny sail. It has the appearance of a race. Yes it is a race; and the Liverpoolian, as of yore, is eating them all out of the wind, and without another tack will make her anchorage. But hark-Music! "Tis the Bowness Band playing "See the conquering Hero comes!"-and our old friend has carried away the gold cup from all competi

tors.

Now turn your faces up the hill above the village school. That green mount is what is called a-Station. The villagers are admiring a grove of parasols, while you—the party-are admiring the village-with its irregular roofs white, blue, gray, green, brown, and black walls-fruit-laden trees so yellow-its central church-tower-and environing groves variously burnished by autumn. Saw ye ever banks and braes and knolls so beautifully bedropt with human dwellings? There is no solitude about

more!

Windermere. Shame on human nature were Paradise uninhabited! Here, in amicable neighbourhood, are halls and huts-here rises through groves the dome of the rich man's mansion-and there the low roof of the poor man's cottage beneath its one single sycaHere are hundreds of small properties hereditary in the same families for hundreds of years—and never, never, O Westmoreland! may thy race of statesmen be extinct-nor the virtues that ennoble their humble households ! See, suddenly brought forth by sunshine from among the old woods-and then sinking away into her usual unobtrusive serenity-the lakeloving Rayrig, almost level, so it seems, with the water, yet smiling over her own quiet bay from the grove-shelter of her pastoral mound. Within her walls may peace ever dwell with piety-and the light of science long blend with the lustre of the domestic hearth. Thence to Calgarth is all one forest-yet glade-broken, and enlivened by open uplands; so that the roamer, while he expects a night of umbrage, often finds himself in the open day, beneath the bright blue bow of heaven haply without a

cloud. The eye travels delighted over the multitudinous tree-tops-often dense as one single tree-till it rests, in sublime satisfaction, on the far-off mountains, that lose not a woody character till the tree-sprinkled pastures roughen into rocks-and rocks tower into precipices where the falcons breed. But the lake will not suffer the eye long to wander among Go down to the low terrace-walk along the the distant glooms. She wins us wholly to Bay. The Bay is in itself a Lake, at all times herself-and restlessly and passionately for a cheerful with its scattered fleet, at anchor or while, but calmly and affectionately at last, the under weigh-its villas and cottages, each re-heart embraces all her beauty, and wishes joicing in its garden or orchard-its meadows that the vision might endure for ever, and that mellowing to the reedy margin of the pellucid here our tents were pitched-to be struck no water—its heath-covered boat-houses-its own more during our earthly pilgrimage. Imaginaportion of the Isle called Beautiful-and be- tion lapses into a thousand moods. Oh for a yond that silvan haunt, the sweet Furness fairy pinnace to glide and float for aye over Fells, with gentle outline undulating in the those golden waves! A hermit-cell on sweet sky, and among its spiral larches showing, Lady-Holm! A silvan shieling on Loughrig here and there, groves and copses of the old side! A nest in that nameless dell, which unviolated woods. Yes, Bowness-Bay is in sees but one small slip of heaven, and longs at itself a Lake; but how finely does it blend night for the reascending visit of its few loving away, through its screens of oak and syca- stars! A dwelling open to all the skyey inmore-trees, into a larger Lake-another, yet fluence on the mountain-brow, the darling of the same-on whose blue bosom you see the rising or the setting sun, and often seen by

eyes in the lower world glittering through the rainbow!

Therefore" row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Lowlands;" and as rowing is a thirsty exercise, let us land at the Ferry, and each man refresh himself with a horn of ale.

There is not a prettier place on all Windermere than the Ferry-House, or one better adapted for a honey-moon. You can hand your bride into a boat almost out of the parlour window, and be off among the islands in a moment, or into nook or bay where no prying eye, even through telescope, (a most unwarrantable instrument,) can overlook your happiness; or you can secrete yourselves, like buck and doe, among the lady-fern on Furness Fells, where not a sunbeam can intrude on your sacred privacy, and where you may melt down hours to moments, in chaste connubial bliss, brightening futurity with plans of domestic enjoyment, like long lines of lustre streaming across the lake. But at present, let us visit the fort-looking building among the cliffs called The Station, and see how Windermere looks as we front the east. Why, you would not know it to be the same lake. The Isle called Beautiful, which heretofore had scarcely seemed an isle, appearing to belong to one or other shore of the mainland, from this point of view is an isle indeed, loading the lake with a

character of richness which nowhere else does it possess; while the other lesser isles, dropt "in nature's careless haste" between it and the Furness Fells, connect it still with those lovely shores from which it floats a short way apart, without being disunited-one spirit blending the whole together within the compass of a fledgling's flight. Beyond these

All this seems a very imperfect picture indeed, or panorama of Windermere, from the hill behind the school-house in the village of Bowness. So, to put a stop to such nonsense, let us descend to the White Lion-and inquire about Billy Balmer. Honest Billy has arrived from Waterhead-seems tolerably steady-Mr. Ullock's boats may be trusted-so let us take a voyage of discovery on the Lake. Let those who have reason to think that they have been born to die a different death from drowning, hoist a sail. We to-day shall feather an oar. Billy takes the stroke-Mr. William Garnet's at the helm-and "row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Lowlands," is the choral song that accompanies the Naiad out of the bay, and round the north end of the Isle called Beautiful, under the wave-darkening umbrage of that ancient oak. And now we are in the lovely straits between that Island and the mainland of Furness Fells. The village has disappeared, but not melted away; for hark! the Churchtower tolls ten-and see the sun is high 'in heaven. High, but not hot-for the first September frosts chilled the rosy fingers of the morn as she bathed them in the dews, and the air is cool as a cucumber. Cool but bland-weight of beauty, and giving it an ineffable and as clear and transparent as a fine eye lighted up by a good conscience. There were breezes in Bowness Bay-but here there are none-or, if there be, they but whisper aloft in the tree-tops, and ruffle not the water, which is calm as Louisa's breast. The small isles here are but few in number-yet the best arithmetician of the party cannot count them-in confusion so rich and rare do they blend their shadows with those of the groves on the Isle called Beautiful, and on the Furness Fells. A tide, imperceptible to the eye, drifts us on among and above those beautiful reflectionsthat downward world of hanging dreams! and ever and anon we beckon unto Billy gently to dip his oar, that we may see a world destroyed and recreated in one moment of time. Yes, Billy! thou art a poet-and canst work more wonders with thin var than could he with his pen who painted "heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb," wandering by herself in Fairy-Land. How is it, pray, that our souls are satiated with such beauty as this? Is it because 'tis unsubstantial all-senseless, though fair-and in its evanescence unsuited to the sympathies that yearn for the permanencies of breathing life? Dreams are delightful only as delusions within the delusion of this our mortal waking existence-one touch of what we call reality dissolves them all; blissful though they may have been, we care not when the bubble bursts-nay, we are glad again to return to cur own natural world, carehaunted though in its happiest moods it beglad as if we had escaped from glamoury; and, oh! beyond expression sweet it is once more to drink the light of living eyes-the music of living lips-after that preternatural hush that steeps the shadowy realms of the imagination, whether stretching along a sunset-heaven, or the mystical imagery of earth and sky floating in the lustre of lake or sea.

"Sister isles, that smile

Together like a happy family Of beauty and of love,' the eye meets the Rayrig-woods, with but a gleam of water between, only visible in sunshine, and is gently conducted by them up the hills of Applethwaite, diversified with cultivated enclosures, "all green as emerald" to their very summits, with all their pastoral and arable grounds besprinkled with stately single trees, copses, or groves. On the nearer side of these hills is seen, stretching far off to other lofty regions-Hill-bell and High Street conspicuous over the rest-the long vale of Troutbeck, with its picturesque cottages, in “numbers without number numberless," and all its sable pines and sycamores-on the further side, that most silvan of all silvan mountains, where lately the Hemans warbled her native wood-notes wild in her poetic bower, fitly called Dovenest, and beyond, Kirkstone Fells and Rydal Head, magnificent giants looking westward to the Langdale Pikes, (here unseen,)

"The last that parley with the setting sun." Immediately in front, the hills are low and lovely, sloping with gentle undulations down to the lake, here grove-girdled along all its shores. The elm-grove that overshadows the Parsonage is especially conspicuous-stately and solemn in a green old age-and though now silent, in spring and early summer clamorous with rooks, in love or alarm, an ancient family, and not to be expelled from their hereditary seats. Following the line of shore to the

right, and turning your eyes unwillingly away | were set upon a sublunary table, the facile from the bright and breezy Belfield, they fall | principes are the dinner-lunches you may deon the elegant architecture of Storr's-hall, vour in the White Lion, Bowness. Take a gleaming from a glade in the thick woods, and walk-and a seat on the green that overlooks still looking southward they see a serene series the village, almost on a level with the leadof the same forest scenery, along the heights roof of the venerable church-while Hebe is of Gillhead and Gummer's-How, till Winder- laying the cloth for a repast fit for Jove, Juno, mere is lost, apparently narrowed into a river, and the other heathen gods and goddesses; and beyond Townhead and Fellfoot, where the if you must have politics-why, call for the prospect is closed by a beaconed eminence | Standard or Sun, (Heavens! there is that hawk clothed with shadowy trees to the very base already at the Times,) and devote a few hurof the Tower. The points and promontories | ried and hungry minutes to the French Revolujutting into the lake from these and the opposite shores-which are of an humbler, though not tame character-are all placed most felicitously; and as the lights and shadows keep shifting on the water, assume endless varieties of relative position to the eye, so that often during one short hour you might think you had been gazing on Windermere with a kaleidoscopical eye, that had seemed to create the beauty which in good truth is floating there for ever on the bosom of nature.

of beef, or a veal-pie. Let the Parisians settle their Constitution as they will-meanwhile let us strengthen ours; and after a single glass of Madeira-and a horn of home-brewed-let us off on foot-on horseback-in gig-car and chariot-to Troutbeck.

tion. Why, the Green of all Greens-often traced by us of yore beneath the midnight moonlight, till a path was worn along the edge of the low wall, still called "North's Walk"is absolutely converted into a reading-room, and our laking party into a political club. There is Louisa with the Leeds Intelligencerand Matilda with the Morning Herald-and Harriet with that York paper worth them all put together-for it tells of Priam, and the Cardinal, and St. Nicholas-but, hark! a soft That description, perhaps, is not so very footstep! And then a soft voice-no dialect much amiss; but should you think otherwise, or accent pleasanter than the Westmoreland be so good as to give us a better: meanwhile-whispers that the dinner-lunch is on the let us descend from The Station-and its table-and no leading article like a cold round stained windows-stained into setting sunlight -frost and snow-the purpling autumn-and the first faint vernal green-and re-embark at the Ferry-House pier. Berkshire Island is fair-but we have always looked at it with an evil eye since unable to weather it in our old schooner, one day when the Victory, on the It is about a Scottish mile, we should think, same tack, shot by us to windward like a from Bowness to Cook's House-along the salmon. But now we are half way between turnpike road-half the distance lying embowStorr's Point and Rawlinson's Nab-so, my ered in the Rayrig woods-and half open to dear Garnet, down with the helm and let us lake, cloud, and sky. It is pleasant to lose put about (who is that catching crabs ?) for a sight now and then of the lake along whose fine front view of the Grecian edifice. It does banks you are travelling, especially if during honour to the genius of Gaddy—and say what separation you become a Druid. The water people choose of a classic clime, the light of a woos you at your return with her bluest smile, Westmoreland sky falls beautifully on that and her whitest murmur. Some of the finest marble-like stone, which, whether the heavens trees in all the Rayrig woods have had the be in gloom or glory, "shines well where it good sense to grow by the roadside, where they stands," and flings across the lake a majestic can see all that is passing, and make their own shadow. Methought there passed along the observations on us deciduous plants. Few of lawn the image of one now in his tomb! The them seem to be very old-not much older memory of that bright day returns, when Win-than Christopher North-and, like him, they dermere glittered with all her sails in honour of the great Northern Minstrel, and of him the Eloquent, whose lips are now mute in the dust. Methinks we see his smile benign-that we hear his voice silver-sweet!

But away with melancholy,
Nor doleful changes ring".

wear well, trunk sound to the core, arms with a long sweep, and head in fine proportions of cerebral development, fortified against all storms-perfect pictures of oaks in their prime. You may see one-without looking for it-near a farm-house called Miller-ground-himself a grove. His trunk is clothed in a tunic of as such thoughts came like shadows, like moss, which shows the ancient Sylvan to great shadows let them depart-and spite of that advantage—and it would be no easy matter to which happeneth to all men-" this one day we give him a fall. Should you wish to see give to merriment." Pull, Billy, pull-or we | Windermere in all her glory, you have but to will turn you round-and in that case there is enter a gate a few yards on this side of his no refreshment nearer than Newby-bridge. shade, and ascend an eminence called by us The Naiad feels the invigorated impulse-and | Greenbank-but you had as well leave your her cut-water murmurs to the tune of six knots through the tiny cataract foaming round her bows. The woods are all running down the lake,—and at that rate, by two post meridiem will be in the sea.

red mantle in the carriage, for an enormous white, long-horned Lancashire bull has for some years established his head-quarters not far off, and you would not wish your wife to become a widow, with six fatherless children. Commend us-on a tour-to lunch and din-But the royal road of poetry is often the most ner in one. "Tis a saving both of time and splendid-and by keeping the turnpike, you money—and of all the dinner-lunches that ever soon find yourself on a terrace to which there

-and some perpendicular walls. The outlines of the mountains here have no specific character. That bridge is but a poor feature-and the stream here very common-place. Put them not on paper. Yet alive-is not the secided

The pure spirit of the pastoral age is breathing here-in this utter noislessness there is the oblivion of all turmoil; and as the bleating of flocks comes on the ear, along the fine air, from the green pastures of the Kentmere range of soft undulating hills, the stilled heart whispers to itself, "this is peace!"

was nothing to compare in the hanging gardens of Babylon. There is the widest breadth of water—the richest foreground of wood-and the most magnificent background of mountains -not only in Westmoreland but-believe us in all the world. That blue roof is Calgarth-scene felt to be most beautiful? It has a soul. and no traveller ever pauses on this brow without giving it a blessing-for the sake of the illustrious dead; for there long dwelt in the body Richard Watson, the Defender of the Faith, and there within the shadow of his memory still dwell those dearest on earth to his beatified spirit. So pass along in high and solemn thought, till you lose sight of Calgarth The worst of it is, that of all people that on in the lone road that leads by St. Catharines, earth do dwell, your Troutbeck statesmen, we and then relapse into pleasant fancies and have heard, are the most litigious-the most picturesque dreams. This is the best way by quarrelsome about straws. Not a footpath in far of approaching Troutbeck. No ups and all the parish that has not cost many pounds downs in this life were ever more enlivening in lawsuits. The most insignificant stile is -not even the ups and downs of a bird learn- referred to a full bench of magistrates. That ing to fly. Sheep-fences, six feet high, are ad- gate was carried to the Quarter Sessions. No mirable contrivances for shutting out scenery; branch of a tree can shoot six inches over a and by shutting out much scenery, why, you march-wall without being indicted for a tresconfer an unappreciable value on the little that pass. And should a frost-loosened stone tumble remains visible, and feel as if you could hug from some skrees down upon a neighbour's it to your heart. But sometimes one does feel field, he will be served with a notice to quit tempted to shove down a few roods of inter- before next morning. Many of the small procepting stone-wall higher than the horse-hair perties hereabouts have been mortgaged over on a cuirassier's casque-though sheep should head and ears mainly to fee attorneys. Yet eat the suckers and scions, protected as they the last hoop of apples will go the same roadthere shoot, at the price of the concealment of and the statesman, driven at last from his pathe picturesque and the poetical from beauty-ternal fields, will sue for something or another searching eyes. That is a long lane, it is in formâ pauperis, were it but the worthless said, which has never a turning; so this must be a short one, which has a hundred. You have turned your back on Windermere-and our advice to you is, to keep your face to the mountains. Troutbeck is a jewel-a diamond of a stream-but Bobbin Mills have exhausted some of the most lustrous pools, changing them into shallows, where the minnows rove. Deep dells are his delight-and he loves the rugged scaurs that intrench his wooded banks -and the fantastic rocks that tower-like hang at intervals over his winding course, and seem sometimes to block it up; but the miner works his way out beneath galleries and arches in the living stone-sometimes silent-sometimes singing—and sometimes roaring like thunder-till subsiding into a placid spirit, ere he reaches the wooden bridge in the bonny holms of Calgarth, he glides graceful as the swan that sometimes sees his image in his breast, and through alder and willow banks murmurs away his life in the Lake.

Yes-that is Troutbeck Chapel-one of the smallest and to our eyes the very simplestof all the chapels among the hills. Yet will it be remembered when more pretending edifices are forgotten-just like some mild, sensible, but perhaps somewhat too silent person, whose acquaintanceship-nay friendship-we feel a wish to cultivate we scarce know why, except that he is mild, sensible, and silent; whereas we would not be civil to the brusque, upsetting, and loquacious puppy at his elbow, whose information is as various as it is profound, were one word or look of courtesy to save him from the flames. For heaven's sake, Lousia, don't sketch Troutbeck Chapel. There is nothing but a square tower-a horizontal roof

wood and second-hand nails that may be destined for his coffin. This is a pretty picture of pastoral life-but we must take pastoral life as we find it. Nor have we any doubt that things were every whit as bad in the time of the Patriarchs-else-whence the satirical sneer, "sham Abraham ?" Yonder is the Village straggling away up along the hillside, till the furthest house seems a rock fallen with trees from the mountain. The cottages stand for the most part in clusters of twos or threes— with here and there what in Scotland we should call a clachan-many a sma' toun within the ae lang toun; but where in all braid Scotland is a mile-long scattered congregation of rural dwellings, all dropt down where the Painter and the Poet would have wished to plant them, on knolls and in dells, and on banks and braes, and below tree-crested rocks, and all bound together in picturesque confusion by old groves of ash, oak, and sycamore, and by flower-gardens and fruit-orchards, rich as those of the Hesperides?

If you have no objections-our pretty dears -we shall return to Bowness by Lowood. Let us form a straggling line of march-so that we may one and all indulge in our own silent fancies-and let not a word be spoken, virgins

under the penalty of two kisses for one syllable-till we crown the height above BriaryClose. Why, there it is already—and we hear our musical friend's voice-accompanied guitar. From the front of his cottage, the head and shoulders of Windermere are seen in their most majestic shape-and from nowhere else is the long-withdrawing Langdale so magnificently closed by mountains. There at sunset hangs "Cloud-land, gorgeous land,” by gazing