WESTMORLAND, CUMBERLAND, Durbaw, Herthumberlane, Illustrated. FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY THOMAS ALLOM, &c. OF WESTMORLAND, CUMBERLAND, DURHAM, AND NORTHUMBERLAND. LANGDALE PIKES,-WESTMORLAND. LANGDALE PIKES, situate at the western extremity of Westmorland, in the immediate vicinity of Bowfell, exhibit some of the principal characteristic features of lake and mountain scenery. Separated by a valley, through which runs the river Brathay, these hills rise on each side to an astonishing height, and form a vast amphitheatre, where the simple beauties of nature unite, in effect, with the loftier and more sublime creations of the Almighty hand. The highest pike, known in the neighbourhood by the name of Harrison Stickle, is elevated 2,400 feet above the level of the sea; and the other, called Pike o'Stickle, 2,000 feet. From these hills, a fine blue slate is obtained, much of which is sent to London, and other parts of the kingdom. In the fore-ground of the view, we notice the fragments of rock which follow the windings of the road, and form a romantic entrance to the valley; the guide-post, indicating a connexion with the dwellings of man; and the lone traveller, with his laden beast, home returning, toil-worn and weary. Proceeding onward, we traverse the windings of the Brathay river, which at length terminate in a distant and narrow dell. Here the contemplative angler may enjoy his Walton, and allure the playful trout to his hook; delighted with the strip of verdure that skirts along the stream, from its striking contrast with the barrenness which extends around. The eye then glances, not without interest, on the heathy wilderness that covers the hill-side; and though the distant fires are easily explained, imagination views them as altars whence the circling incense rises, grateful to the genius of the scene. Feelings of reverence, of astonishment, of undefined pleasure, flow through the heart, as we fix our earnest gaze upon the surrounding hills. The lightnings have furrowed their sides with deep and awful ravines, the thunder-scars of a thousand tempests. Many, many winters have poured the snows upon their heads; as many summers have scorched them with a noon-day sun. Still they remain in their place, asserting the wonders of creative power: a memento of past ages—a record for a future race of men. B |