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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 Windermere! Why, at this blessed moment our head upon the cushion of our triumphal we behold the beauty of all its intermingling car, and with half-shut eyes, subsiding slowly isles. There they are--all gazing down on into haunted sleep or slumber, with our fine their own reflected loveliness in the magic features up to heaven, a saint-like image, mirror of the air-like water, just as many a such as Raphael loved to paint, or Flaxman holy time we have seen them all agaze, when, to embue with the soul of stillness in the life with suspended oar and suspended breathhushed marble. Such, dearest reader, are no sound but a ripple on the Naiad's bow, and some of our pastimes-and so do we contrive a beating at our own heart-motionless in to close our ears to the sound of the scythe of our own motionless bark---We seemed to Saturn, ceaselessly sweeping over the earth, and float midway down that beautiful abyss leaving, at every stride of the mower, a swathe between the heaven above and the heaven more rueful than ever, after a night of shipwreck, below, on strange terrestrial scene did strew with ghastliness a lee sea-shore ! 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 wer dreams, all lost at last, clouds, groves, water, long, long ago-restless as a sunbeam on the air, sky, in their various and profound confurestless wave-rapid as a river that seems en- sion of supernatural peace. But a sea-born raged with all impediments, but all the while breeze is on Bowness Bay; all at once the lake in passionate love

is blue as the sky; and that evanescent world

is felt to have been but a vision. Like swans “ Doth make sweet music with th' enamell'd stones,

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

But intending to be useful, we are becoming sea”—“ mad as young bulls”-and wild as a ornamental : of us it must not be said, that whole wilderness of adolescent lions. But now

“Pure description holds the place of sense,” --alas! and alack-a-day! the sunbeam is but 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 dan- We shall suppose that you have left Kendal, ger now might a very child take the bull by the and are on your way to Bowness. Forget, as horns—and though something of a lion still, much as may be, all worldly cares and anxieour roar is like that of the nightingale,“ most ties, and let your hearts be open and free to all musical, most melancholy”-and, as we attempt genial impulses about to be breathed into them to shake our mane, your grandmother-fair pe- from the beautiful and sublime in nature. ruser-cannot choose but weep.

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

breeze is born-many a tiny sail. It has the “Wooded Winandermere, the river-lake," appearance of a race.

Yes-it is a race; and with all its bays and promontories, lies in the the Liverpoolian, as of yore, is eating them all morning light serene as a Sabbath, and cheer- out of the wind, and without another tack will ful as a Holyday; and you feel that there is make her anchorage. But hark-Music! "Tis loveliness on this earth more exquisite and the Bowness Band playing “See the conquerperfect than ever visited your slumbers even ing Hero comes !"-and our old friend has in the glimpses of a dream. The first sight of carried away the gold cup from all competisuch a scene will be unforgotten to your dying day--for such passive impressions are deeper

Now turn your faces up the hill above the than we can explain-our whole spiritual being village school. That green mount is what is is suddenly awakened to receive them and called a –Station. The villagers are admiring associations, swift as light, are gathered into a grove of parasols, while you the party—are one Emotion of Beauty which shall be imperish- admiring the village-with its irregular roofs able, and which, often as memory recalls that white, blue, gray, green, brown, and black moment, grows into genius, and vents itself in walls-fruit-laden trees so yellow-its central appropriate expressions, each in itself a picture. church-tower—and environing groves variously Thus may one moment minister to years; and burnished by autumn. Saw ye ever banks and the life-wearied heart of old age by one delight- / þraes and knolls so beautifully bedropt with ful remembrance be restored to primal joy, human dwellings? There is no solitude about the glory of the past brought beamingly upon

Windermere. Shame on human nature were the faded present-and the world that is ob

Paradise uninhabited ! Here, in amicable scurely passing away from our eyes re-illu- neighbourhood, are halls and huts-here rises mined with the visions of its early morn.

The through groves the dome of the rich man's shows of nature are indeed evanscent, but their mansion-and there the low roof of the poor spiritual influences are immortal; and from that man's cottage beneath its one single sycagrove now glowing in the sunlight may your more! Here are hundreds of small properties heart derive a delight that shall utterly perish hereditary in the same families for hundreds but in the grave.

years-and never, never, 0 Westmoreland! But now you are in the White Lion, and our may thy race of statesmen be extinct-nor the advice to you—perhaps unnecessary-is im- virtues that ennoble their humble households ! mediately to order breakfast. There are many See, suddenly brought forth by sunshine from parlours-some with a charming prospect and among the old woodsand then sinking away some without any prospect at all;

but remember into her usual unobtrusive serenity—the lakethat there are other people in the world besides loving Rayrig, almost level, so it seems, with yourselves--and therefore, into whatever par

the water, yet smiling over her own quiet bay lour you may be shown by a pretty maid, be con- from the grove-shelter of her pastoral mound. tented, and lose no time in addressing yourselves within her walls may peace ever dwell with to your repast. That over, be in no hurry to get piety-and the light of science long blend with on the Lake. Perhaps all the boats are engaged the lustre of the domestic hearth. Thence to —and Billy Balmer is atthe Waterhead. So stroll Calgarth is all one forest-yet glade-broken, into the churchyard, and take a glance over the and enlivened by open uplands; so that the graves. Close to the oriel-window of the church roamer, while he expects a night of umbrage, is one tomb over which one might meditate often finds himself in the open day, beneath half an autumnal day. Enter the church, and the bright blue bow of heaven haply without a you will feel the beauty of these fine lines in

cloud. The eye travels delighted over the the Excursion

multitudinous tree-tops—often dense as one

single tree-till it rests, in sublime satisfaction, “Not raised in nice proportions was the pile, But large and massy; for duration built;

on the far-off mountains, that lose not a woody With pillars crowded, and the roof upheld

character till the tree-sprinkled pastures By naked rafters intricately cross'd Like leafless underboughs, 'mid some thick grove,

roughen into rocks and rocks tower into preAll wither'd by the depth of shade above !"

cipices 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 in. more-trees, into a larger Lake-another, yet fluence on the mountain-brow, the darling of the samemon whose blue bosom you see the rising or the setting sun, and often seen hy eyes in the lower world glittering through the Therefore “row, vassals, row, for the pride rainbow !

of the Lowlands;" and as rowing is a thirsty All this seems a very imperfect picture in exercise, let us land at the Ferry, and each deed, or panorama of Windermere, from the man refresh himself with a horn of ale. hill behind the school-house in the village of There is not a prettier place on all WinderBowness. So, to put a stop to such nonsense, mere than the Ferry-House, or one better let us descend to the White Lion--and inquire adapted for a honey-moon. You can hand about Billy Balmer. Honest Billy has arrived your bride into a boat almost out of the parlour from Waterhead-seems tolerably steady--Mr. window, and be off among the islands in a Ullock's boats may be trusted—so let us take moment, or into nook or bay where no prying a voyage of discovery on the Lake. Let those eye, even through telescope, (a most unwarwho have reason to think that they have been rantable instrument,) can overlook your happiborn to die a different death from drowning, ness; or you can secrete yourselves, like buck hoist a sail. We to-day shall feather an oar. and doe, among the lady-fern on Furness Fells, Billy takes the stroke-Mr. William Garnet's where not a sunbeam can intrude on your at the helm-and “row, vassals, row, for the sacred privacy, and where you may melt down pride of the Lowlands,” is the choral song that hours to moments, in chaste connubial bliss, accompanies the Naiad out of the bay, and brightening futurity with plans of domestic round ihe north end of the Isle called Beauti- enjoyment, like long lines of lustre streaming ful, under the wave-darkening umbrage of that across the lake. But at present, let us visit ancient oak. And now we are in the lovely the fort-looking building among the cliffs called straits between that Island and the mainland The Station, and see how Windermere looks of Furness Fells. The village has disappeared, as we front the east. Why, you would not but not melted away; for hark! the Church- know it to be the same lake. The Isle called tower tolls, len--and see the sun is high 'in Beautiful, which heretofore had scarcely heaven. High, but not hot-for the first Sep- seemed an isle, appearing to belong to one or tember frosts chilled the rosy fingers of the other shore of the mainland, from this point of morn as she bathed them in the dews, and the view is an isle indeed, loading the lake with a 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 character of richness which nowhere else does lighted up by a good conscience. There were it possess; while the other lesser isles, dropt breezes in Bowness Bay—but here there are “in nature's careless haste” between it and none~-01, if there be, they but whisper aloft in the Furness Fells, connect it still with those the tree-tops, and ruffle not the water, which is lovely shores from which it floats a short way calm as Louisa's breast. The small isles here apart, without being disunited—one spirit are but few in number---yet the best arithme- blending the whole together within the comtician of the party cannot count them in con- pass of a fledgling's flight. Beyond these fusion so rich and rare do they blend their

“ Sister isles, that smile shadows with those of the groves on the Isle

Together like a happy family called Beautiful, and on the Furness Fells. A

Of beauty and of love," tide, imperceptible to the eye, drifts us on

the eye meets the Rayrig-woods, with but a among and above those beautiful reflections- gleam of water between, only visible in sunthat downward world of hanging dreams! and shine, and is gently conducted by them up the ever and anon we beckon unto Billy gently to hills of Applethwaite, diversified with cultidip his oar, that we may see a world destroyed wated enclosures, “all green as emerald” to and recreated in one moment of time.

their Yes,

very summits, with all their pastoral and Billy! thou art a poet-and canst work more arable grounds besprinkled with stately single wunders with thin var than could he with his trees, copses, or groves. On the nearer side pen who painted “heavenly Una with her of these hills is seen, stretching far off to other inilk-white lamb,” wandering by herself in lofty regions-Hill-bell and High Street conFairy-Land. How is it, pray, that our souls spicuous over the rest—the long vale of Troutare satiated with such beauty as this? Is it beck, with its picturesque cottages, in “numbecause 'tis uns ibstantial all — senseless, bers without number numberless," and all its though fair-and in its evanescence unsuited sable pines and sycamores--on the further to the sympathies that yearn for the permanen- side, that most silvan of all silvan mountains, cies of breathing life ? Dreams are delightful where lately the Hemans warbled 'her native only as delusions within the delusion of this wood-notes wild in her poetic bower, fitly callour mortal waking existence one touch of ed Dovenest, and beyond, Kirkstone Fells and what we call reality dissolves them all; bliss. Rydal Head, magnificent giants looking' westful though they may have been, we care not ward to the Langdale Pikes, (here unseen,) when the bubble bursts-nay, we are glad

“ The last that parley with the setting sun." again to return to our own natural world, care- Immediately in front, the hills are low and haunted though in its happiest moods it be- lovely, sloping with gentle undulations down glad as if we had escaped from glamoury; to the lake, here grove-girdled along all its and, oh! beyond expression sweet it is once shores. The elm-grove that overshadows the more to drink the light of living eyes—the Parsonage is especially conspicuous--stately music of living lips-after that preternatural and solemn in a green old age and though łush that steeps the shadowy realms of the now silent, in spring and early summer clamorimagination, whether stretching along a sun- ous with rooks, in love or alarm, an ancient set-heaven, or the mystical imagery of earth family, and not to be expelled from their herediand sky floating in the lustre of lake or sea. tary 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 oppo- tion. Why, the Green of all Greens-often site shores—which are of an humbler, though traced by us of yore beneath the midnight not tame character-are all placed most felici- moonlight, till a path was worn along the edge tously; and as the lights and shadows keep of the low wall, still called “North's Walk”. shifting on the water, assume endless varieties is absolutely converted into a reading-room, of relative position to the eye, so that often and our laking party into a political club. during one short hour you might think you There is Louisa with the Leeds Intelligencer had been gazing on Windermere with a kaleido- and Matilda with the Morning Herald-and scopical eye, that had seemed to create the Harriet with that York paper worth them all beauty which in good truth is floating there put together-for it tells of Priam, 'and the for ever on the bosom of nature.

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 of beef, or a veal-pie. Let the Parisians settle --frost and snow—the purpling autumn-and their Constitution as they will-meanwhile let the first faint vernal green--and re-embark at us strengthen ours; and after a single glass of the Ferry-House pier. Berkshire Island is Madeira-and a horn of home-brewed let us fair-but we have always looked at it with an off on foot—on horseback-in gig-car and evil eye since unable to weather it in our old chariot-to Troutbeck. 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 woodsmand 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 Alings 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 wear well, trunk sound to the core, arms with of the great Northern Minstrel, and of him the a long sweep, and head in fine proportions of Eloquent, whose lips are now mute in the dust. cerebral development, fortified against all Methinks we see his smile benign--that we storms-perfect pictures of oaks in their prime. hear his voice silver-sweet!

You may see one-without looking for it-near “But away with melancholy,

a farm-house called Miller-ground-himself a Nor doleful changes ring”

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 departmand 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 red mantle in the carriage, for an enormous through the tiny cataract foaming round her white, long-horned Lancashire bull has for bows. The woods are all running down the some years established his head-quarters not lake,—and at that rate, by two post meridiem far off, and you would not wish your wife to will be in the sea.

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 I soon find yourself on a terrace to which there was nothing to compare in the hanging gar-1-and some perpendicular walls. The outlines dens of Babylon. There is the widest breadth of the mountains here have no specific chaof water-the richest foreground of wood--and racter. That bridge is but a poor feature and the most magnificent background of mountains the stream here very common-place. Put them -not only in Westmoreland but-believe us not on paper. Yet alive is not the sec-'ided 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 The pure spirit of the pastoral age is breathing without giving it a blessing—for the sake of here-in this utter noislessness there is the the illustrious dead; for there long dwelt in oblivion of all turmoil; and as the bleating of the body Richard Watson, the Defender of the flocks comes on the ear, along the fine air, Faith, and there within the shadow of his me- from the green pastures of the Kentmere mory still dwell those dearest on earth to his range of soft undulating hills, the stilled heart beatified spirit. So pass along in high and whispers to itself, “this is peace!” 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

eese be a short one, which has a hundred. You tined for his coffin. This is a pretty picture have turned your back on Windermeremand of pastoral life—but we must take pastoral our advice to you is, to keep your face to the life as we find it. Nor have we any doubt that mountains. Troutbeck is a jewel-a diamond things were every whit as bad in the time of of a stream—but Bobbin Mills have exhausted the Patriarchs-else-whence the satirical some of the most lustrous pools, changing sneer, “sham Abraham ?" Yonder is the them into shallows, where the minnows rove. Village straggling away up along the hillside, Deep dells are his delight-and he loves the till the furthest house seems a rock fallen with rugged scaurs that intrench his wooded banks trees from the mountain. The cottages stand and the fantastic rocks that tower-like hang for the most part in clusters of twos or threesat intervals over his winding course, and with here and there what in Scotland we seem sometimes to block it up; but the miner should call a clachan—many a sma' toun withworks his way out beneath galleries and arches in the ae lang toun; but where in all braid in the living stonesometimes silent--some- Scotland is a mile-long scattered congregation times singing and sometimes roaring like of rural dwellings, all dropt down where the thunder-till subsiding into a placid spirit

, ere Painter and the Poet would have wished to he reaches the wooden bridge in the bonny plant them, on knolls and in dells, and on holms of Calgarth, he glides graceful as the banks and braes, and below tree-crested rocks, swan that sometimes sees his image in his and all bound together in picturesque confubreast, and through alder and willow banks sion by old groves of ash, oak, and sycamore, murmurs away his life in the Lake.

and by flower-gardens and fruit-orchards, rich Yes-that is Troutbeck Chapel-one of the as those of the Hesperides? smallest—and to our eyes the very simplest- If you have no objections--our pretty dears of all the chapels among the hills. Yet will it —we shall return to Bowness by Lowood. Let be remembered when more pretending edifices us form a straggling line of march-so that we are forgotten-just like some mild, sensible, may one and all indulge in our own silent but perhaps somewhat too silent person, whose fancies—and let not a word be spoken, virgins acquaintanceship-nay friendship-we feel a -under the penalty of two kisses for one sylwish to cultivate we scarce know why, except lable-till we crown the height above Briarythat he is mild, sensible, and silent; whereas Close. Why, there it is already—and we hear we would not be civil to the brusque, upsetting, our musical friend's voice-accompanied guitar. and loquacious puppy at his elbow, whose From the front of his cottage, the head and information is as various as it is profound, shoulders of Windermere are seen in their were one word or look of courtesy to save most majestic shape-and from nowhere else him from the flames. For heaven's sake, is the long-withdrawing Langdale so magnifiLousia, don't sketch Troutbeck Chapel. There cently closed by mountains. There at sunset is nothing but a square tower--a horizontal roof hangs “Cloud-land, gorgeous land," by gazing

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