peak is three thousand feet above the level of the sea, being about the elevation of Pine Orchard. It is fully exposed to the winds and storms assailing it from all points of the compass, in this respect differing widely from the woody and sheltered summits of the Catskill. A pocket thermometer taken with us indicated a temperature of 60 degrees, while at the base of the mountain the mercury stood at 75.

Here we remained something more than half an hour, sitting in the lee of "the old man,' as these piles of stones on mountains are denominated, and reading through Mrs. Radcliff's turgid account of her excursion to the top of Skiddaw, which she clothes with as many thunders and terrific images, as clustered on the brow of Sinai. A more agreeable occupation was found in casting our eyes round a horizon of some sixty or eighty miles in diameter, and taking a bird's-eye view of the country. It would be a tedious task to enumerate the principal objects, embraced within this wide circle. To the north, the Caledonian and Northumbrian hills rise in the distance, between which and the base of Skiddaw stretches a wide champain studded with towns and villages. The broad and bright expanse of Solway Frith is distinctly seen, with Carlisle and Gretna Green upon its borders. To the east the prospect is bounded by the lofty peak of Ingleborough, and the fells of Yorkshire and Westmoreland, with the town of Penrith rising prettily at the foot of Ullswater. Towards the west, the Irish Sea gleams along a coast, sometimes bordered with rocks, and at others with little ports, where vessels are seen labouring in the waves, or entering and departing from the harbours. To the south extends, as far as the eye can reach, a chaos of mountains, with a multitude of peaks lifting their heads one above another in the wildest confusion. Between this bristled region and the foot of Skiddaw, the vale of Keswick is seen beautifully embosomed, with its lakes and streams reduced to a diminutive size. Such are the mere outlines of this view, which amply remunerated us for the fatigues of the ascent.

Our return from Skiddaw was in season to comply with the terms of the Laureate's invitation to tea, and to enjoy the high satisfaction of seeing one of the most eminent as well as the most voluminious of the living poets, whose Joan of Arc and Madock were among my earliest readings, and whose latest production had been the companion of our rambles through England. I was perfectly astonished on being ushered into the drawing-room and meeting him at the door, to find an author who had been prominent for so many years, so young in his appearance, so brisk in all his motions, and so animated in conversation. One would naturally infer from the time he has been before the public, and especially from the introduction to his Paraguay, that he is tottering

with decrepitude, on the very verge of the grave. But such a conclusion, so far as looks are concerned, is as fallacious as the most groundless of the poet's fictions. With the exception of a chronic affection in one of his feet, which drove him from the continent in his late visit, and has since confined him at home, he seems to be as vigorous and active as ever, both in body and mind. For any visible infirmities, he may yet live to hold his office for twenty years to come, and add another decade to his works. He must be from fifty to fifty-five; but enjoying all the greenness of age, he would not be taken for more than forty-five.

I was in all respects disappointed in his appearance, expecting to find a heavy, clumsy, formal, and prosing old man, stately and distant in his manners, with his official honours and the pride of authorship sitting sternly upon him, and rendering him inaccessible. His character is the very reverse of this in every particular, evincing great vivacity, suavity, affability, and cordiality of deportment, with nothing of austerity, or of what dunces call dignity. All distance is at once removed, and the stranger feels no other restraint than politeness and a natural deference to talent impose. In his person, he is slender, of the ordinary height, with a light, airy form, indicating, that however many butts of sack the Laureate may have received in virtue of his office, he has seldom tasted of their contents. His constitution seems to be delicate, exhibiting nothing of the robustious fullness of the Englishman. In his head and face, there is nothing peculiarly striking-no bumps, no deep lines of thought, no certain indications of genius, that I could perceive. His features are rather prominent, his nose aquiline, and the expression of his face, mild, playful, and animated. His style of conversation is fluent, rapid, and vehement, reminding me of VicePresident Calhoun. His dress was plain and simple, but neat.

After an introduction to his wife, who is an affable agreeable woman, and to a circle consisting of half a dozen ladies, who were seated at a round table, busily employed in needle-work, tea was served up, and the conversation turned upon a great variety of topics. The poet entered freely into his domestic affairs; and talked much of his familiarity, from a residence at Keswick of twenty-three years, with the lake scenery over which we had just been rambling. On being asked if he had often ascended Skiddaw, he replied, "three score times at least!" Nothing but ill health had prevented him from going up the present season. He had once made the excursion in company with Sir Humphrey Davy, who discovered a new and remarkable rock.

He gave me the first intelligence of an accident which had lately

befallen a clergyman from Boston, in crossing the Sands of Lancaster, where he was upset, and was nigh being swept away by the tides. This gentleman had just been on a visit to Keswick, and professional associations led the poet to some remarks on the ecclesiastical affairs of our country, which breathed a spirit of the utmost liberality. He spoke in terms of admiration of the writings of some of our eminent divines, and expressed his satisfaction to learn, that a volume of American Sermons was about to be republished in London, if I mistake not, on his recommendation.

To Roger Williams and William Penn, in his opinion chiefly to the former, belonged the merit of introducing and establishing liberty of conscience, which had never been properly understood before their day. By the politeness of his friends in the United States, he was in the habit of receiving copies of many American books; and I may add, that his general information as to the institutions, individuals, and the state of society in our country, showed that he had read them with some fidelity. He was daily expecting a copy of the correspondence between William Penn and his children, now publishing in Philadelphia, from a perusal of which he anticipated much pleasure.

Among other topics of conversation in the course of the evening, he discoursed with freedom on the present condition of Ireland, and the Catholic question. Great difficulties attended any of the proposed methods of improving the situation of that country. The clergy were opposed to the establishment of protestant schools, and had sufficient control over the lower classes, to prevent the inroads which would be made upon their influence by the diffusion of knowledge. He inquired with some particularity into the condition of Irish emigrants to our country; and as the Island was overstocked with population, expressed a wish that we had more of them, if they could be disposed of to mutual advantage.

Several hours passed delightfully in the society of the poet and his family. His hospitality, kindness, and liberal feelings created a very different impression from what had been anticipated, and removed prejudices which had long been entertained. If he ever indulged in that abuse of the United States, which has been imputed to him, but which I am willing to doubt, his sentiments have undergone a great change for the better. There was no possible motive to an insincere show of liberality; for if politeness required him to abstain from open censure, it surely did not require him to bestow praise. He manifested the utmost cordiality during a long interview; and this visit to the banks of the Greta, where literary ease, taste, and simplicity are happily blended, will long be remembered with pleasure.

LETTER XX.

RIDE FROM KESWICK TO ULLSWATER-DESCRIPTION OF THE LAKE-PENRITH-CARLISLE.

September, 1825.

On the 18th we once more put in requisition the services of our old guide, and rode on horseback from Keswick to Patterdale, for the purpose of visiting Ullswater. The route lies in an easterly direction, along the base of Saddleback, and to the north of Helvellyn. Two miles from Keswick, we left our horses and walked some distance from the path to see the remains of a Druidical Temple. Large and rude blocks of granite, about fifty in number, and some of them weighing several tons, stand endwise round a circle two hundred feet in diameter. It is impossible to ascertain the precise use of these massive pillars. The stone must have been brought from some other region, as there is none of the same kind in the vicinity. It is difficult to conceive of a more magnificent location for a temple than this, situated in the midst of a vast amphitheatre of mountains, which inspire religious awe.

The remainder of our ride, over a barren and gloomy fell, and by one or two little villages, was not remarkably interesting, till we reached the shore of Ullswater, which is one of the largest and most beautiful of the lakes. It is nine or ten miles long, and something more than a mile wide, comprehended by the eye in three reaches, and winding among the hills in the shape of the letter S. Our first view was from the shore, three miles from its head, from which distance we rode close along its margin to Patterdale. It began to rain soon after our departure from Keswick, and before arriving at Ullswater, the storm raged with unusual violence. The lake was lashed into a perfect fury, and afforded no mean image of a tumultuous sea. Its waves were whitened with foam and dashed with violence against the dark rocks rising along the beach. The din of billows, the roar of torrents crossing our path at the distance of almost every rod, the whistling of the wind, and the pattering of the rain upon the leaves over our heads, produced a confusion of sounds, and presented a scene of grandeur, which might have startled the imagination of Mrs. Radcliff. But how would her terror have been augmented, could she have heard the hollow hoofs of steeds ring along the road, and have seen a troop of knights, with their fantastic caps, and cloaks flying at their backs, coursing like the winged couriers of the storm along the margin of the lake! Such a spectacle she might have witnessed, had she been present; and who

knows but another romance might have been the consequence? My prosing sketch can make no more of the incident than to say, that we reached the humble hotel in the jaws of Patterdale, completely drenched in rain from head to foot. Our guide's inexpressibles were again sufferers, and smoked like the misty tops of his native mountains, as he turned himself round to enjoy the comforts of a good fire.

The rain continued all night, and the beating of the storm against the rugged, gloomy, and desolate sides of Place Fell, a lofty mountain rising from the head of the lake, within a few rods of the hotel, and the outlines of hills and crags around us, dimly discerned among the clouds, presented some of the grandest imagery, which a visit to the lakes has afforded. But I am weary of description, and will therefore hasten to a conclusion, as fast as the winds and waves will waft us.

We rose at daylight next morning, and as it was doubtful how long the fair weather might continue, embarked in a row-boat for Pooley Bridge, at the foot of the lake, a distance of nine miles. Our oarsman claimed the honour of having rowed Mr. Canning, Sir Walter Scott, and other great men, in their late visit to this romantic region. Doubling a bold and rocky promontory, formed by a projection of Place Fell, extending nearly half across the lake, the little boat scud merrily before a stiff breeze, under the impending cliffs forming the southern shore of Ullswater, which is here extremely wild and picturesque. Mr. Wordsworth thinks it decidedly the finest of the lakes; a preference which he would not be likely to yield, except upon good grounds, since his partialities would naturally incline in favour of those, near which he has fixed his residence. As it respects the lake itself, we were disposed to concur in his opinion; but its shores are certainly inferior to some of the others. Nothing has struck us so forcibly as Wastwater, owing perhaps to the peculiar circumstances under which it was seen. The lower part of Ullswater becomes tame, and although its shores are soft and rural, there is nothing very striking except the odd, conical, wooded hill called Dunmallet, which Gray climbed and has extolled for its beauty.

Reaching the foot of the lake in about two hours from the time of embarking, and with some difficulty effecting a landing, owing to a high wind and rough water, we crossed the Eamont, a large, rapid stream which forms the outlet, and walked half a mile to the small inn at Pooley Bridge, where à crowd of people assembled at a Fair had well nigh deprived us of a breakfast. Here a cart, without springs, and drawn by one horse, the only carriage to be had, was chartered to take us to Penrith. A pretty daughter of the landlord, standing in the mud and holding the horse till the cart was laden, said