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countenance into whatever room may be allotted to you; but should there appear to be no great bustle before the white-washed front, then ask to be shown up to either of the two pretty bow-windowed parlours, that open into the Tent-Green. There is little or no difference between them; but for our own parts, in our progress through life, we always prefer turning to the right, and have uniformly found it an excellentrule of conduct. There is not much to be seen from either, but the little is delightful-some of the prettiest cottages in the village, through orchard and garden-the old church, with its white tower and blue lead roof, the bells perhaps ringing for a weddinga glimpse of the lake-the sylvan line of the opposite hill-shore-and in the distance, a few mountain tops.

And now that you have had break fast, do not, we again beseech you, put yourself into a flurry, but quietly order a row-boat, and embark with your wife and children. On no account whatever have anything to do with a sail. There is, we believe, an apparatus for inflating the lungs, kept in the village, but it is in indifferent order; and, besides, when a large party of all ages and sexes are upset, hours, nay days, elapse before they are brought ashore; and, under such circumstances, to use the poetical phraseology of the daily press-no wonder that the vital spark should be found to be extinguished. Act then on the burthen of the old Scottish song,"The boatie rows, the boatie rows," and you are as safe on the waters of Windermere as if gathering wildflowers on its banks.

Fix no hour for your return, nor have the meanness to order dinner. But let not your enthusiasm forget a pregnant basket in a white veil, whom both boatmen will assist over the gunwale, and stow away from the sunshine in the hollow of the stern. Intense admiration of mountain scenery soon exhausts the frame of the worshipper of Nature, and during the Bright Intermediate Hour, in sylvan nook, how refreshing a glass of Madeira and a veal-pie! Such slight repast brings the capacity of the mind into power; and as again you issue from the reedy bay of the Lily-of-the-Valley Isle, the Lake seems to expand into bolder and brighter beauty, and

Winandermere sounds like a lovelier name for Paradise.

Tell the boatmen to pull just sufficiently quick to keep themselves from falling asleep. Slow, regular, and steady should be the music of the oar, "when heaven and earth do make one imagery," in the seeming airdepths of a summer lake. Leave not the Bay of Bowness too soon, in your impatient passion for beauty; but let your pinnace, like a swan, float away into the bays within the Bay, and now and then, as if her anchor were dropped, hang motionless on the mirror. You may now see the village in its fairest character, clustering round the church, and one sweet cottage (peace be within it!) dipping its feet in the shallow murmur. "The Island," with a beautiful boundary, cuts the crescent; away to the north gleams the broad basin of the Lake,-to the south, the eye stretches through "the streights" towards the sylvan Storrs, and many a coppice promontory-or, if that be forbidden by the laws of optics, you may at least admire the Ferry-House, beneath its grove of cherry-trees, and hear the sound of the huge heavy oars accompanying the slow motion of the Great Boat from shore to shore.

Follow now the impulse of your own imagination; but, if equally pleasant to you all, row close round the nearest end of "The Island,” six in the minute being the dip of the oar. If you desire a wide prospect, let your eye sweep the Lake, as if with a telescope, from Rayrig-Bay over the groves of Calgarth, Lowood, and Dovenest, till it rests on the blue misty light that glimmers in the vale of Ambleside. Do you rather choose to delight in a close home-scene? Then drift along by forest-glades, and lose your reckoning in the confusion of that multitude of Islands, whose shadows meet on the narrow waters, and far down embower commingled arbours for the Naiads' sleep. Here every pull of the oar sends you on into a new scene, as if the banks and isles had shifted places; and you may make a whole forenoon's voyage of discovery, so inexhaustible in beauty is that tiny sea, through which a light breeze would in a few minutes waft the winged pleasure-boat with her gaudy flags burning along the woods.

And now land at the Ferry-House,

and whoever may be of the party,
walk arm in arm with your wife,
through laurels, lilacs, and labur-
nums, up to the-Station. The wood
is so overgrown, that, on your way up
to the Fort, you can scarcely see the
Lake. It is always a sad thing to cut
down a fine, healthy, growing tree-
and Mr Curwen does right to spare
this forest. Nothing can be pleasanter
than its glimmering alleys after some
hours sunshine on the water.
green parasols are folded with a rustle,
and the party rests on some old osier-
seat beneath an ivied rock, amidst the
fragrant perfume of roses, here some-
what pale in the shade. On entering
a large room, with wide and many
windows, in the "Station," Winder-
mere, with all her isles, suddenly re-
appears; and if the breeze has fresh-
enel, you probably behold at least a
dozen pleasure-boats, with all sail set,
(the Victory and Endeavour conspi-
cuous like parent sea-mews among
their brood,) going wherever the wind
in its caprice chooses to carry them,
or bent on clearing some point or
promontory, close-hauled, and skil-
fully gathering every breath that blows,
as if one of the Eyes of a Fleet drawn
up in line of battle, and manoeuvring
for the weather-gage.

The view from the Station is a very
delightful one, but it absolutely re-
quires a fine day. Its character is that
of beauty, which disappears almost ut-
terly in wet or drizzly weather. If
there be strong bright sunshine, a
"blue breeze" perhaps gives animation
to the scene. You look down on the
islands, which are here very happily
disposed. The banks of Windermere
are rich and various in groves, woods,
coppice, and corn-fields. The long
deep valley of Troutbeck (which is, in
fact, a sort of straggling village, houses
of the true old Westmoreland style
of architecture being dropped all the
way from the lakeside to the head of
it), stretches finely away up to the
mountains of High street and Hill-Bell
-hill and eminence are all cultivated
wherever the trees have been cleared
away; and numerous villas are visible
in every direction, which, although
perhaps not all built on very tasteful
models, have yet an airy and sprightly
character, and with their fields of
brighter verdure and sheltery groves,
may be fairly allowed to add to, rather
than detract from, the beauty of a

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scene, one of whose chief charms is
that it is the cheerful abode of social

Some of the windows of this room
are of stained glass, producing the ef-
fect of sunrise and sunset, moonlight,
deep gloom, frost and snow. This,
it seems, has been talked of contemp-
tuously, as a childish raree-show. Be
it so. People do well to be a little
childish, when away from home du-
ring the holidays. Green is, unques-
tionably, the best of all colours in the
long run for the earth, and the trees,
But for all that, we
and the sea.

wonder and admire to behold the creation dimly discoloured into a melancholy beauty, more especially if another pair of eyes, soft, large, and liquid, and of the hazel hue, are beaming through the same pane, and a little silken tress, with a momentary touch on the cheek thrilling to the heart's core, as we gaze together on the living lake and landscape.

Reimbark, and row away down to Storrs. The Mansion is in admirable keeping, with the scenery-here soft, sweet, gentle, and graceful. The rocks have been cut, so as to give from the windows on the ground-floor, glimpses of the near lake, and groves in the distance; the leafless lawn, bright and smooth as any sheep-nibbled pasture, is worthy the footsteps of Titania herself and the flower-gardens, only a little richer than the blossoms natúrally straying in the woods, breathe over the place an air of elegant luxury and refinement. The porticos, pillars, and cornices of the house, are seen through the glades; and such is the effect of the whole, that you feel this division of Windermere to be a lake by itself, a feeling increased by the appearance of a Vessel of sovereign beauty lying at anchor close to the shore, with masts so taper that they seem almost to bend beneath the weight of the streaming flag, yet so elastic, that, were her wings unfurled, she would manifestly glide away like a sunbeam over the murmuring waters.

There is a small four-sided building on the artificial mole called Storrs point, which, in days of yore, used, we remember, to be called a Naval temple. Each side then bore the name of a famous Admiral. The taste which engraved them there was certainly questionable; and they are now obliterated or hidden. One of those

persons who, in the language of Mr Jeffrey, "haunt about the lakes" in the character of poets, has written some lines about this edifice; and as

tourists are generally fond of poetry, here they are for their silent perusal, or sonorous recitation on the lake.



NAY! Stranger! smile not at this little dome,
Albeit quaint, and with no nice regard
To highest rules of grace and symmetry,
Plaything of art, it venture thus to stand
"Mid the great forms of Nature. Doth it seem
A vain intruder in the quiet heart
Of this majestic Lake, that like an arm
Of Ocean, or some Indian river vast,
In beauty floats amid its guardian hills?
Haply it may yet in this humble tower,
The mimicry of loftier edifice,

There lives a silent spirit, that confers
A lasting charter on its sportive wreath
Of battlements, amid the mountain-calm
To stand as proudly, as yon giant rock
That with his shadow dims the dazzling lake!

Then blame it not: for know 'twas planted here,
In mingled mood of seriousness and mirth,
By one who meant to Nature's sanctity
No cold unmeaning outrage. He was one
Who often in adventurous youth had sail'd
O'er the great waters, and he dearly loved
Their music wild; nor less the gallant souls
Whose home is on the Ocean:-so he framed
This jutting mole, that like a natural cape
Meets the soft-breaking waves, and on its point,
Bethinking him of some sea-structure huge,
Watch-tower or light-house, rear'd this mimic dome,
Seen up
and down the lake, a monument
Sacred to images of former days.

See! in the playfulness of English zeal

Its low walls are emblazon'd! there thou read'st
Howe, Duncan, Vincent, and that mightier name
Whom death has made inmortal.-Not misplaced
On temple rising from an inland sea

Such venerable names, though ne'er was heard
The sound of cannon o'er these tranquil shores,
Save when it peal'd to waken in her cave
The mountain echo; yet this chronicle,
Speaking of war amid the depths of peace,
Wastes not its meaning on the heedless air.
It hath its worshippers: it sends a voice,
A voice creating elevated thoughts,
Into the hearts of our bold peasantry
Following the plough along these fertile vales,
Or up among the misty solitude

Beside the wild sheep-fold. The fishermen,
Who on the clear wave ply their silent trade,
Oft passing lean upon their dripping oars,
And bless the heroes: Idling in the joy
Of summer sunshine, as in light canoe

The stranger glides among these lovely isles,
This little temple to his startled soul
Oft sends a gorgeous vision, gallant crews
In fierce joy cheering as they onwards bear
To break the line of battle, meteor-like
Long ensigns brightening on the towery mast,
And sails in awful silence o'er the main
Lowering like thunder-clouds !-

Then, stranger! give

A blessing on this temple, and admire

The gaudy pendant round the painted staff
Wreathed in still splendour, or in wanton folds,
Even like a serpent bright and beautiful,
Streaming its burnished glory on the air.
And whether silence sleep upon the stones
Of this small edifice, or from within
Steal the glad voice of laughter and of song,
Pass on with altered thoughts, and gently own
That Windermere, with all her radiant isles
Serenely floating on her azure breast,

Like stars in heaven, with kindest smiles may robe
This monument to heroes dedicate,

Nor Nature feel her holy reign profaned

By work of art, though framed in humblest guise,
When a high spirit prompts the builder's soul.

On your return to Bowness, you will take our advice and land at the boat-house of Belle-Isle. You can not expect to find many entirely new views, as you have already encircled the island; yet, under the shade of venerable boughs, the panorama, as you walk along, goes majestically by, and nothing can be finer than the glades, which want only a few deer for the perfection of the forest character. A gravel path, about a mile in extent, winds round the island, which consists of nearly thirty acres. In for mer times the shores of this island were indented with numerous creeks and bays; now there is a stone-beach, which has destroyed the beauty of the natural outline. But in high floods the island used in some parts to be entirely overflowed; consequently, when the water was low, deformed with marshes. More, therefore, has perhaps been gained than lost by the change; and, certainly, if there has been a sacrifice of the romantic or picturesque, there has been an advantage on the side of neatness and comfort. Reeds, and bulrushes, and water-lilies, are extremely beautiful to idle people like you, gentle readers-lying all your length in a boat, and poetizing as you glide along; but the man who builds a house on an island, and inhabits it summer and winter, must have

sound footing as he walks on the water-edge, and is entitled also to guard against miasmata and marsh fever. An uninhabited island should have its wild bays almost forlorn in the entangle ment of briary underwood. Half a dozen flat stones, flung into the shallow water, suffice for a landing-place to the occasional visitant stepping ashore but for a solitary hour; and the path cannot be too rough that leads to the ruin ed cell of the saint who died there hundreds of years ago, but not before he had worn a hollow on the stone floor with his knees. There the heron may fish in the creeks so shallow that his long bill catches the minnow on the turf; and there the shy wild-duck may lead forth her yellow family through and among the strong stems of the bulrushes, not without an occasional death among them by the jaws of pike. And there, ere autumn-frosts set in, may the swallows congregate, before their flight across seas to warmer climates, while rural naturalist fondly imagines they sink down to the earth-holes below the waves, to reascend with freshened plume and twitter, when May-day again fills the sunshine with insects, and covers the earth with flowers. Gentle reader, in such an isle, perhaps, thou wouldst wish to act the hermit? But if a family-man, thou wilt agree with us, that the water, pellucid though

it may be, must be kept within bounds in its wave-flow; and that stagnant fens may be dispensed with where there is a large family of children, whose beauty must not, by their parents, be sacrificed to the picturesque.

Now, my dear friends, you hav done and seen enough for one day, and although the entire extent of your circumnavigation has not been more than five miles, yet has it taken as many hours to complete. As you reland on the margin of Bowness Bay, the church-clock strikes four, and little familiar as you are with the scenery around, still you see that a different set of shadows have given it a different character, the afternoon pensiveness being as pleasant as the morning joy. On your way up to the inn, you admire the beauty of the children now, many of them, set free from school; and a few halfpence distributed among a group, who, on receiving the largess, instantly clatter off on their wooden-clogs to the gingerbread-stall, spreads through the village praises of the Laker's opulence and generosity.

Two hours at least ought to elapse between the close of a five-hours' summer voyage on a lake and dinner. It takes a good hour to get your chin as smooth as satin-your head brushed and oiled-your body and limbs thoroughly dried and cooled, and freshened, and polished, and brightened, and clothed in fine linen. You then descend from your bedroom, like the sun out of a cloud, and the female waiters are astonished with your effulgence. Blue coat, yellow waistcoat, white trowsers, silk stockings of course, and pumps, is pretty apparel and coollooking, and puts the wearer in love with himself and all the world.

We shall suppose that there are ladies in the party-Queen-Mary's caps are irresistible on virgin-heads; and if you be a bachelor, and have a heart to lose, it has gone to the bosom of that tall, slim, elegant girl, whose face, at all times beautiful, has now mixed with its innocence an almost Circean spell, while she sits in playful mood, in a high-backed and richly carved oak-chair, placed as a curious antique on the green, and, with halfconscious coquetry, lets peep out from below the silken drapery, such a foot as might be expected to match that little lily hand, with the violet

veins, whose touch tingles like a gentle shock of electricity. The time should be charmed away with converse and with song, till the approach of twilight, and then an hour's walk anywhere, alone or with another, not to discover but to dream! "A night like a darkened day" has gradually hushed the village; and wearied, although you know it not, by the perpetual flow of happiness, the eyes of the whole party close almost as soon as heads are laid on the pillow, and thus closes (Oh! wilt thou become a Contributor?) thy First Day on Windermere!

We are no friends to early rising in towns, but during the summer months in the country, who would lie a-bed after the mists have left the valleys? Up, then, all of you, about half before six, and off in your barouche to Coniston. It is a heavy carriage, so do not grudge to take four horses, and then there will be no occasion to walk up hills. To say nothing of the humanity, you will find your account in it a thousand ways. Remember that you are laking; forget the derangement of the currency; and since the life of the small notes is to be a short, let it be a merry one. The scenery from the FerryHouse to Hawkshead (four miles) is full of animation, and interchange of hill and dale. We do not know that there is any one particular cottage, knoll, field, garden, or grove, especially beautiful, but the variety is endless; and at every turn of the road, the country presents a new combination of objects, as at the shake of a kaleidoscope. There is something chaotic about the village of Saury; scarcely a village, indeed, but rocks, glades, and coppices, bedropt with dwellings. Esthwaite is a cheerful piece of water, but not seen to advantage as you pass along its low shore; it is even beautiful when beheld lying in softened distance, (from the grounds of Belmont, for example,) with the village of Hawkshead in the foreground, and its impressive churchtower, which, in such a vale, has a commanding character. Three miles beyond Hawkshead, you come in sight of the Lake of Coniston. The prospect is at once beautiful and sublime. How profound the peace of that fardown valley, sleeping among wooded mountains-how sweet that sudden gleam of water, betrayed in the sunshine! Leave the carriage, and, send

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