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dermere from the height of Bowness, which overlooks it about its middle. The first sight rather disappointed us; it had the appearance of one of our wide American rivers, and we had expected something better. The lake is not much more than a mile wide, while the length is twelve; its surface, glassy and blue, reflected the opposite shore, of a moderate height, and shaded with cop pice only. The extremity of the lake, on our left, appeared flat and tame; but its head, on our right, was crowned with bold mountains of an abrupt outline, and one of them bordering on the tesque. Descending from the height, we proceeded to the right along the margin of the lake for some miles ;-its gentle waves, clear and pure like crystal, fell in measured time on a beach of fine sand; the narrow winding road was quite overshadowed with trees,—a woody hill on the right, and the lake on the left, the whole way. We left this with regret to reach Ambleside, which is some distance from the lake. Looking from thence towards the lake, you find it divested of that beautiful frame of hills described before; and it is certainly seen to most advantage from Bowness; but the mountains themselves, at the foot of which we are arrived, promise many beauties, and deserve to be examined at leisure. The season advancing, we propose continuing our progress to the north, and, after visiting Scotland, return to spend the remainder of the autumn here, where we are invited by friendship, as well as by the attractions of the scenery.

Aug. 9.-Hawick. We left Ambleside yesterday morning, with four horses, fora stage of twenty-four miles, the first part of which is entirely among hills. For five miles we crept up slowly a very steep ascent. Windemere and its banks appeared below like a



mere cup of water; other bright specks shone among the dark green of the mountainous landscape; and, at thirty miles distance, the sands of Cartmel and the Irish Sea skirted the horizon. Near us all was bare and desolate, and although we might be 1500 or 2000 feet above Ambleside, the mountain rose much higher. A descent, as rapid as the ascent, brought us to Patterdale (eleven miles), at the head of Ulswater. This is the wrong end from which to see it, but intending to return the same way, we shall lose nothing. This side of the mountains, into the bosom of which Ulswater penetrates, is bolder, and presents finer forms than the Windermere side. The rest of the stage, to Penrith, lies along the margin of the west side of the lake-its clear water and pebbly shore on one side of the road, and a fine wood of old oaks on the other; the opposite bank a naked rock, without any trees; and behind us, between the overhanging branches of the wood, the dark recess of mountains we had just left, of a uniform leaden blue. As we proceeded, the banks on both sides became lower and tamer,-and, at last, hardly even pretty. The woods, which contribute so much to the beauty of Ulswater, owe their preservation to the Duke of Norfolk, who is proprietor, and has erected a house here, in the castellated Gothic style, in a very fine situation. The banks of Windermere, and, I am told, of other lakes, are stripped every fourteen years of their growing honours, to make brooms and charcoal!

Penrith is a tolerably good-looking little town; most of the houses had boxes of reseda in their windows, and our inn was quite perfumed with the Frenchman's weed.” Soon after leaving Penrith for Carlisle, and from the top of a moderate hill,



we had an extensive view of the whole range of mountains we had passed in the morning, and

even saw, west of them, Helvellyn, and, more west, the top of Skiddaw, behind Saddleback. All these mountains appeared sunk behind the well-defined horizon of the rich plain rounding away before us.

. We slept at merry Carlisle (dull and ugly enough), 42 miles; and to-day, by Longtown and Langholm, to Hawick, 44 miles. About twelve miles north of Carlisle, our post-boy shewed us a tree which divides the two kingdoms; a nominal division, which brings to mind forcibly the unhappy times, when this very frontier was a desert, called debateable lands, open to reciprocal depredations of the lawless borderers, and that little more than one hundred years ago. Our road laid beautifully along the banks of the Esk, the Teviot, and several other romantic little rivers, dashing along their rocky beds. Passing the Esk, over a high stone bridge of two arches, the middle pier planted on a rock, we were struck with the milder beauties of the hanging wood and smooth lawn on the other side,—too natural to be entirely nature. The artificial composition of gardens in England, as that of its government, abridges only the liberty of doing harm. A pretty cottage' was just seen among the trees, with a neat path leading to it. We alighted, and followed the path to a small building of stones covered with thatch, and were looking through the casements at the rural furniture inside, when a little Scotch girl came running barefooted, with the key in her hand, and informed us that this was the Duke of Buccleugh's boor, and that her mother had the care of the place. The inside was covered, walls, ceiling, chairs, and sofa, with moss, ingeniously woven into a solid velvety matting;


261 the tables and frames of seats were of rough sticks and roots; and an adjoining closet contained a set of common earthen-ware, root salt-cellars, &c.; pretty toys for grown children, born in the lap of luxury, to play with, and make believe being poor! The water of the Esk, though very clear, is deeply tinged with brown, like coffee.

We passed this afternoon a tract of country very different from England. It is a succession of steep hills, with intervening valleys, all uniformly covered with a fine green turf, smooth, and unbroken by a single tree, bush, weed, or stone; sheep hanging along the sides of the acclivities, and here and there a shepherd-boy wrapped up in his plaid ;nothing to interrupt the sameness and stillness, but the little stream bustling along each valley, over a bed of round pebbles. The road following these streams was singularly good and level; and, upon the whole, there was much simple grandeur and beauty in the scene. As the hills became lower, and the valleys wider, fields and meadows, and extensive plantations of firs and larches succeeded, all very flourishing,—but the cottages miserably dirty, and a sad contrast to those of Wales, so white and so neat, and adorned with flowers. The Scotch are said to be more industrious and more thrifty than the Welsh. They cannot afford leisure, I suppose, to be comfortable, and certainly do not ruin themselves by luxuries. Children, in health and in rags, with fair hair and dirty faces, swarm on the dunghills at each door. An old barrel stuck through the thatch serves for a chimney. The stable and dwelling are under the same roof; one door serves for both,—and the dark runnings from the heap of dung, and the heap of peat, piled up against the house, drain under the floor, and some



upon it. The climate must be healthy indeed, where all this does not breed infection. The fields of potatoes and oats seem in the best state, and the people are making hay every where.

We meet with strings of light one horse carts, driven by only one man,-a much better contrivance than the English heavy waggons. The men along the roads have generally the plaid thrown across their shoulder, and over one arm. Some wear it like a Spanish cloak, or an antique drapery, and, with their short petticoat and naked knees, might be mistaken for Roman soldiers, if the vulgar contrivance of hat and shoes did not betray the northern barbarian. The females have their extremities more classical, for they go barefooted and bareheaded, and only fail by the middle, covered with vile stiff stays and petticoats. We see them at the fords of their little brooks, exhibiting, very innocently I believe, higher than the knee, unmindful of the eye of travellers.

August 10.-Edinburgh, by Selkirk, 47 miles. We have crossed to-day the Tweed, the Etterick, and the Yarrow, the names of which sound poetical in our ears. There is a beautiful spot in Tweeddale, rocky and wild, in the middle of which a Mr. Pringle has spread his lawn, and planted his house by the side of the first mentioned river. Walter Scott lives in that neighbourhood. After this we came to an extensive tract of uncultivated moor, to appearance fit for cultivation; here and there plantations of firs, larches, and birch, flourishing, but not beautiful, being square compact bodies, protected with a stone wall ;-they are like black patches on the back and shoulders of the mountains. About ten or twelve miles from Edinburgh we began to discover something we

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