conceal the water from your sight; yet it is continued along behind them, and contracting itself to a river, communicates with Rydal Water, another small lake, but of inferior size and beauty; it seems shallow too, for large patches of reeds appear pretty far within it. Into this vale the road descends. On the opposite banks large and ancient woods mount up the hills; and just to the left of our way stands Rydal Hall, a large old-fashioned fabric surrounded with wood. Near the house rises a huge crag, called Rydal Head, which is said to command a full view of Winandermere, and I doubt it not; for within a mile the great lake is visible, even from the road; as to going up the crags, one might as well go up Skiddaw.

I now reached Ambleside, eighteen miles from Keswick, meaning to lie there; but, on looking into the best bedchamber, dark and damp as a cellar, I gave up Winandermere in despair, and resolved I would go on to Kendal directly, fourteen miles farther. For this determination I was unexpectedly well repaid; for the afternoon was fine, and the road, for the space of full five miles, ran along the side of Winandermere, with delicious views across it, and almost from one end to the other. It is ten miles in length, and at most a mile across, resembling the course of some vast and magnificent river; but there are no flat marshy grounds, no osier beds, no patches of scrubby plantations on its banks; at the head two valleys open among the mountains, one that by which we came down, the other Langdale, in which two great mountains rise above the rest. From thence the fells visibly sink, and soften along its sides; sometimes they run into it (but with a gentle declivity) in their own dark and natural complexion; oftener they are green and cultivated, with farms interspersed, and round eminences on the border covered with trees; towards the south it seemed to break into larger bays, with several islands and a wider extent of cultivation. The way rises continually, till, at a place called Orrest Head, it turns south-east, losing sight of the water.

T. GRAY.

Silent and slow, by tower and town,

The freighted barges come and go; Their pendent shadows gliding down,

By town and tower submerged below.

The hills sweep upward from the shore, With villas scattered one by one Upon their wooded spurs, and lower Bellaggio blazing in the sun.

And, dimly seen, a tangled mass

Of walls and woods, of light and shad ?
Stands beck'ning up the Stelvio pass
Varenna with its wide cascade.

I ask myself, Is this a dream?
Will it all vanish into air?
Is there a land of such supreme
And perfect beauty anywhere?

Sweet vision! Do not fade away;
Linger until my heart shall take
Into itself the summer day
And all the beauty of the lake.

Linger until upon my brain

Is stamp'd an image of the scene;
Then fade into the air again,

And be as if thou hadst not been.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

LUNESDALE AND CRAVEN.

OCT. 12, 1769.—I set out for Settle by a fine turnpike road (which runs over very unequal ground) through a rich and beautiful enclosed country, diversified with frequent villages and churches. On the left was the river Lune, winding in a deep valley, its hanging banks clothed with fine woods, through which you catch long reaches of the water, as the road winds about at a considerable height above it. In the most picturesque part of the way, I passed the park belonging to Mr. Clifford. The grounds between his house and the river are indeed charming; the house itself is ordinary, and the park nothing but a rocky fell scattered over with ancient hawthorns.

Next I came to Hornby, a little town on the river

Wenning, over which a handsome bridge is now building; the castle, in a lordly situation, attracted me, so I walked up the hill to it. First presents itself a large white ordinary gentleman's house, and behind it rises the ancient keep. From the leads of the tower there is a fine view of the country round, and much wood near the castle. Ingleborough, which I had seen before distinctly at Lancaster, was now completely wrapped in clouds, all but its summit, which might have been easily mistaken for a long black cloud too, fraught with an approaching storm.

Now our road began gradually to mount towards the Apennine, the trees growing less and thinner of leaves, till we came to Ingleton, eighteen miles from Lancaster. It is a pretty village, situated very high, and yet in a valley at the foot of that huge monster of nature, Ingleborough. Two torrents cross it, with great stones rolled along their beds instead of water; and over them are flung two handsome arches. The nipping air, though the afternoon was growing very bright, now taught us we were in Craven. The road was all up and down, though nowhere very steep. To the left were mountain tops, to the right a wide valley, all enclosed ground, and beyond it high hills again. In approaching Settle, the crags on the left drew nearer to our way, till we descended into a cheerful valley (though thin of trees) to Giggleswick, a village with a small piece of water by its side, covered over with coots. Half a mile farther, having passed the Ribble over a bridge, I arrived at Settle, which is a small market town standing directly under a rocky fell.

Oct. 13.-I set out to visit Gordale Scar, which lay six miles from Settle; but that was directly over a fell, and as the weather was not to be depended on, I went round in a chaise, which made the journey full thirteen miles, and came to Malham, a village in the bosom of the mountains, seated in a wild and dreary valley. From thence I had to walk a mile over very rough ground, a torrent rattling along on the left hand. On the cliffs above hung a few goats. One of

them danced and scratched an ear with its hind foot in a place where I would not have stood stock-still

'For all beneath the moon.

As I advanced, the crags seemed to close in, but discovered a narrow entrance turning to the left between them. I followed my guide a few paces, and the hills opened again into no large space; and then all farther way is barred by a stream that, at the height of about fifty feet, gushes from a hole in the rock, and spreading in large sheets over its broken front, dashes from steep to steep, and then rattles away in a torrent down the valley. The rock on the left rises perpendicular, with stubbed yew-trees, and shrubs staring from its side, to the height of at least 300 feet.

But these are not the thing. It is the rock to the right, under which you stand to see the fall, that forms the principal horror of the place. From its very base it begins to slope forward over you in one block or solid mass without any crevice in its surface, and overshadows half the area below with its dreadful canopy; when I stood at (I believe) four yards distance from its foot, the drops, which perpetually distil from its brow, fell on my head; and in one part of its top, more exposed to the weather, there are loose stones that hang in air, and threaten visibly some idle spectator with instant destruction; it is safer to shelter yourself close to its bottom, and trust to the mercy of that enormous mass which nothing but an earthquake can stir. The gloomy uncomfortable day well suited the savage aspect of the place, and made it still more formidable. I stayed there, not without shuddering, a quarter of an hour, and thought my trouble richly repaid, for the impression will last for life.

T. GRAY,