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well as Duddon Vale, Walna Scar, and Black Comb Mountain, frowning, as it does, in solitary majesty. If ever you should reach the base of this mountain, be not satisfied till you have achieved the enterprise of climbing to its summit, for there you will be amply rewarded for your toil. It has been said, that you may see farther from this elevated spot than from any other place in England.

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The sun is rising; and the Lake of Windermere, fifteen miles in length, with its island promontories, is at my feet. I am breathing the morning air, listening to the warbling birds, and gazing on the goodly, glowing scenes. My eye, my ear, and my heart, are filled with pleasure. The mountains to the north-west are habited in their misty robes; by and by they will "walk abroad" in their sunny vestments, and call forth the admiration of the spectator. This peerless princess of British lakes, this Windermere, adorned with unwonted beauty, is not to be regarded by a stranger without emotion. As yet, the crystal flood is scarcely ruffled by the breeze, and not a skiff is sailing on the tranquil· waters. Happy as now I feel, let me not be unmindful that earthly joy is ephemeral. Dangers are always round us; and our only safety

is in being under the care of our heavenly Father!

When a flow'ret is blooming on Windermere's side,
And its fragrance is widely shed;

A blight from the east, and a blast from the north,
And that beautiful flow'ret is fled.

When a snow-wreath adorns the bleak brow of Helvellyn,
All pure and lovely and lone;

A beam from the sun, and a breeze from the south,
And ah! where can that snow-wreath be gone?

Thus the flow'ret of joy, and the snow-wreath of peace,
May allure and look lovely to-day;

But some unlook'd-for power, in an unlooked-for hour, May destroy them, or drive them away.

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It is evening, and I am standing on the brink of Derwent-water, while the setting sun is flinging abroad its golden beams. To-day have I ascended the Skiddaw, an unusual feat for an old man, but I accomplished it without much difficulty; finding, long ere I reached the summit, the clouds rolling beneath my feet. The glowing description of Goldsmith was literally realized :

"As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Swells from the vale, and midway meets the storm;
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

Not only is the lower landscape to the west adorned with glory, but the south and southeastern mountain tops are refulgent with golden, purple, and rosy rays of light. What a glorious mingling of hues of all kinds! What a bewildering, yet delightful haze, intercepts itself between the enraptured eye, and the retiring king of day, gorgeous in his glowing robes. The everlasting hills, here and there rifted into shadowy hollows, contrast well with their illuminated pinnacles. Whether I gaze on the glowing heavens above, or regard them mirrored in the lake, they appear equally arresting.

Were I now at Windermere, the sun would be setting among the eternal, cloud-capped hills, instead of appearing, as it now does, in the less elevated distance to the north-west. How beautifully are the trees and green turf of the islands reflected in the lake below them, and how boldly does the giant Skiddaw raise his broad breast and towering head to the clouds! Picturesque are the mountains of Borrowdale, and noble the steeps of Wallow Crag, Lodore, and Newlands! Hardly can I decide which pleases me best-Keswick Lake, seen from the vicarage, Friar's Crag, and Crow Park; or Keswick Lake, seen from the side of Latrigg and the foot of Skiddaw.

The mistake is often committed by tourists, of supposing that, in proportion to the beauty of a prospect, will be the delight of the spectator; but this supposition is very erroneous. The mood of mind of a tourist is even more important to his pleasure than the view on which he gazes. One man will look around him with more pleasure in the fens of Lincolnshire than another will find when gazing from the summit of Snowdon. It may be well for a tourist to rub the glass of his telescope; but far better, to stir up the powers of his mind, and the thankfulness of his heart.


Before visiting the lakes, an hour will be profitably bestowed in glancing at a good map Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancashire; and in reading a guide to the several waters; not so much to enable the visitor to find his way without difficulty from one celebrated place to another, as to give him that general information which will enable him to wander where he will, without danger of allowing the principal points of attraction to escape him. Order, system, and punctuality are all well in their places; but away with them on visiting the lakes. Joy go with the man who can lay down his plan for the day-be at Windermere at eight o'clock, at Derwent at twelve, at Grasmere at three, at Rydal

at four, and sit down to his dinner, ordered in the morning at Ambleside, punctually at five. Joy, I say, go with him, and peace, and content, and pleasure; but he shall not have me for a companion.


My foot has trodden the pass of Kirkstone; I have pondered over the rocky fragments that lie scattered around, and

"Marked the block whose church-like frame
Gave to the savage pass its name.
Within the mind strange fancies work,
And deep delight the bosom thrills,
When passing through the gloomy fork
Of those fraternal hills."

Some love the light and fair in scenery, and others the extended, and both have their attractions; but, for producing a deep impression on the mind, give me the vast, the stern, and the sterile; the dark, the deep, and the exalted.

The yawning gulf, and rifted crags that rise
In awful, gloomy grandeur to the skies.

Many a fairy scene will cease to be remembered by those who visit Westmoreland; while the pass of Kirkstone can hardly be forgotten by any who have once seen it.

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