ing mists and tempests! Here there are still other dangers, according to the testimony of explorers.

In 1793 a party went up by Scales Fell to see the Tarn. Their account is this :-"When we had ascended about a mile, one of our party, on looking round, was so astonished with the different appearance of objects in the valley so far beneath us, that he declined proceeding. We had not gone much farther, when another was taken ill, and wished to lose blood and return. I was almost ready to give up my project, which I should have done with great reluctance, as the day was remarkably favourable, and exhibited every scene to the greatest advantage. Mr. C. (the conductor) assured us if we proceeded a little way, we should find a restingplace, where the second defaulter might recover the effects of the journey. After labouring another half-hour, we gained the margin of an immense cavity in the side of the mountain, the bottom of which formed a wide basin, and was filled with water, that from our station looked black, though smooth as glass, covering the space of many acres. It is said to be so deep that the sun never shines upon it, and that the reflection of the stars may be seen therein at noonday; but this was a curiosity we did not enjoy." This was an ascent to the Tarn. We have an account of the still worse descent, accomplished by Mr. Green and Mr. Otley. "From Linthwaite Pike," says Mr. Green,* "on the above excursion, on a soft green turf, we descended steeply, first southward, * 'The Tourist's New Guide,' &c. By Wm. Green. 1819. vol. ii., p. 469.

and then in an easterly direction to the Tarn, a beautiful circular piece of transparent water, with a welldefined shore. Here we found ourselves engulfed in a basin of steeps, having Tarn Crag on the north, the rocks falling from Sharp Edge on the east, and on the west the soft turf on which we had made our downward progress. These side grounds, in pleasant grassy banks, verge to the stream issuing from the lake, whence there is a charming opening to the town of Penrith; and Cross Fell seen in extreme distance. Wishing to vary our line in returning to the place we had left, we crossed the stream, and commenced a steep ascent at the foot of Sharp Edge. We had not gone far before we were aware that our journey would be attended with perils; the passage gradually grew narrower, and the declivity on each hand awfully precipitous. From walking erect we were reduced to the necessity either of bestriding the ridge, or of moving on one of its sides, with our hands lying over the top, as a security against tumbling into the Tarn on the left, or into a frightful gully on the right,-both of immense depth. Sometimes we thought it prudent to return; but that seemed unmanly, and we proceeded; thinking, with Shakspere, that' Dangers retreat, when boldly they are confronted.' Mr. Otley was the leader; who, on gaining steady footing, looked back on the writer, whom he perceived, viewing at leisure from his saddle the remainder of his upward course. On better ground they had a retrospect on Sharp Edge,-which is the narrowest ridge on Saddleback, or any other north of

*

loose stones and earth, and the stepping on the sides being as faithless as the top, the Sharp Edge expedition has less of safety to recommend it than singularity." We hear elsewhere of these mountain pools reflecting the stars in the day time, when they are made into a sort of wells by the building up of the rocky walls around them. "Bowscale Tarn," says one reporter, "is a lake, near a mile in circumference, three miles north-east of Scales Tarn, on the side of a high mountain, so strangely surrounded with a more eminently amphitheatrical ridge of rocks, that it excluded the benefit of the sun for at least four months in the middle of winter: but this is not its only singularity. Several of the most credible inhabitants thereabouts affirming that they frequently see stars in it at midday; but in order to discover that phenomenon, the firmament must be perfectly clear, the air stable, and the water unagitated. These circumstances not concurring at the time I was there, deprived me of the pleasure of that sight, and of recommending it to the naturalist upon my own ocular evidence. The spectator must be placed at least 200 yards above the lake, and as much below the summit of the semi-ambient ridge." It is in this Bowscale Tarn that, in the belief of the country people, there are two fish which cannot die. How long they are said to have lived we know not: but they are to continue to live for ever.

KESWICK is usually made the head-quarters of tourists for some days,—and this is almost a necessary plan for those who travel only in carriages; but the more independent pedestrian will not find much to detain him in the town. Within reach are several little clean country inns, which will afford him opportunities for seeing, in the most varied manner, the world of beauties included in the Derwent Water district. Besides the inns in the plain, there is the King's Head,' at the entrance of the Vale of St. John's, five or six miles from Keswick; and the Lodore inn, near the head of Derwent Water; and further on, in Borrowdale, the little inn at Rosthwaite.

While at Keswick, the traveller will look with interest on Southey's residence, Greta Hall. He will probably visit the Museums; and he certainly ought not to omit seeing and studying Mr. Flintoft's Model of the Lake District, which will teach him more in ten minutes of the structure and distribution of the country than he could learn from a hundred pages of description. On first entering the room, this model-under 13 feet by 10-looks a mere uneven, ugly bit of plaster: but a few moments are enough to engage the observer's attention so deeply, that he does not leave it till he has traced out almost every valley and pass in the district. He visits all the sixteen large lakes, and the fifty-two small ones, and looks abroad from every summit in turn. This Model is held to be a work of extraordinary correctness; and a leisurely visit to it should be an object to every traveller who cares to * Mr. Smith, quoted in Green's 'Tourist's New Guide.'

ii., 473.

will, of course, visit the Castle Head,—a walk of a mile from the inns; where, from an eminence, a fine view of the lake and environs is obtained. And it is worth while to ascend the long hill of Castlerigg, even if the traveller is not there in natural course on his way to Ambleside, to enjoy the magnificent view which some think unrivalled in the region; extending from the singular and solemn entrance of Borrowdale to the subsiding hills beyond the lake of Bassenthwaite. We have seen this view many times; and each time we have been more than ever taken by surprise by its wonderful range of beauty.

The celebrity of Derwent Water is out of all proportion to its size; for it is only three miles long, and never exceeds a mile and a half in breadth. (Cut, No. 6.) Our own private opinion is, that the beauty of the lake itself does not answer to its reputation. The islands have no particular charm, and rather perplex the eye; and there is nothing striking in the immediate shores, along which a good road runs, nearly level, between fields and plantations. Walla Crag is fine, with its relief of foliage; and the cleft in it, which is called the Lady's Rake, is interesting from its tradition. It is said that the Countess of Derwentwater made her escape up this ravine, after the arrest of her husband. Lord's Island, the largest in the lake, belonged to the family-the Ratcliffes—and was a stronghold of theirs. It was confiscated, with their other possessions, after the Rebellion of 1715, and transferred to Greenwich Hospital. St. Herbert's Island contains the ruins of a hermitage, in relation to which a pretty story is told. St. Cuthbert and St. Herbert were very dear friends. When St. Herbert came hither to repose from the cares of life, and end his days in prayer, he was far apart from his friend, as we all know: but he nightly prayed that they might be united in death, by being taken from the world at the same moment. The prayer granted; and the scenes of the two deaths have been all the more sacred for the coincidence, in the popular mind, ever since.

was

Every one hears of the Floating Island, in connection with Derwent Water. The wise call it the Buoyant Island, after the hint given by Wordsworth in his 'Guide.' It appears to be merely a loose mass of vegetation, which rises to the surface when swollen by the gases generated by the decay of its parts. When a boat-hook is struck into it, it puffs out carburetted hydrogen and azote. Though this island is now no mystery, its appearance marks the year in which it happens; and the event is told in the newspapers from end to end of the kingdom. It happened last in 1842. After all that has been said of the Fall of Lodore, it is certainly very fine, in any weather, and whatever quantity of water it may have to show. The main features—the mighty crags on either hand (Gowder on the left, and Shepherd's on the right,) and the ravine of piled blocks-are such as weather cannot impair; and we have not decided to this day whether we prefer visiting the Fall after rain and under a cloud canopy,

And now, what can any one say of the entrance upon Borrowdale, but-"Go and see it!" This is all we will say; for we might write a volume about the disposition of mountains and crags before one could even produce a state of mind which could conceive of what it is here the tumbling together of steeps and slopes, precipices and promontories, woods, ravines, and isolated summits. Suffice it that the traveller will pass the village of Grange, and must remember that it was here that the old monks of Furness laid up their crops and other stores, when they were the owners of Borrowdale. (Cut, No. 4.) He must just cast a glance up to the Bowderstone, if he thinks, as we do, that there is nothing more to be seen which need move him to undertake the ascent to it. The block is said to weigh about 1771 tons, and stands 36 feet high. Its edge is embedded in the place where, to all appearance, it has fallen from above; and it looks like a ship lying on its keel. A mile beyond the Bowder Stone is the hamlet of Rosthwaite, where we always contrive to pass the nightin Sarah Simpson's well-tended house-when we give ourselves the treat of a visit to Borrowdale. A brother of Sarah Simpson, living at Rosthwaite, acts as guide over the neighbouring passes.

Notwithstanding what we have said of the entrance of Borrowdale, we yet prefer dropping into it above Rosthwaite, from Watendlath,—the extremely secluded valley which lies at the top of the Lodore Fall, and the rocks from which it tumbles. The way into Watendlath is easily found it branches off to the left from the high road in coming from Keswick, and passes just behind Barrow House. The inhabitants of this valley are the most primitive we have met with in any part of the Lake District: and if the traveller wishes to see what men are-and yet more, women-in point of intelligence, in a position which renders the human face a rare sight to them, he had better take his way to Upper Borrowdale through Watendlath. He must note the circular pool which supplies the waters of Lodore; and he should look through the chasm where the stream pours over, to see how gloriously the Lake and the Skiddaw range here combine. It is a perfect intoxication to traverse this valley when the heather is in bloom on its wild hill sides; and when summer breezes come over the ridge from Helvellyn to the east; and the great central summits of Scawfell and Bowfell show themselves in front over all the intervening heights. The descent upon Rosthwaite is the concluding treat. The way is easy,-a gentle slope over grass and elastic heather; and the whole surface of the slope is starred over with bright heath flowers. The head of the Dale, always awful, whether gloomy or bright, opens out, and seems to be spreading its levels for one's reception. The passes to Buttermere (by which we left the Dale at the outset), to Sty Head

And now the time is come for leaving Borrowdale. The top of the Stake Pass is five miles and a half from Rosthwaite. After the first mile, when the farm-house at Stonethwaite is passed, not another dwelling will be seen. The path follows, and at length crosses, the stream, which is the infant Derwent, finding its way down from Angle Tarn, lying high up in a recess of Bowfell. This valley of Langstreth is extremely wild; but there is no perplexity in it for the traveller who keeps the path in view. It is a pleasant path where it goes zigzag up the steep green slope, within hearing of the stream; and offers here an old oak, and there a waving birch within reach, where the traveller may sit and rest, while looking back upon the levels of Borrowdale. When he has reached the Top of the Stake, he is under the shadow of Bowfell, safely returned to his starting point, among the central summits of the region.

The traveller must not linger long on the heights, however; for there is no help there, in case of fatigue and hunger. He must come down into Langdale,-still by the same Stake Pass,-and repose himself at the farm-house at Millbeck, where he can obtain, not exciseable articles, but good plain food, and milk, and water. From the moment of his obtaining a view of Langdale from above, he will see this house, and meet with no kind of difficulty in reaching it, the path being distinctly marked all the way; a distance of above five miles from the Top of the Stake, according to the Guide-books.

The character of Langdale is distinctly marked, and pretty uniform from end to end. It has levels, here expanding and there contracting; and the stream winds among them throughout. There is no lake or pool: and the mountains send out spurs, alternating or meeting, so as to make the levels sometimes circular and sometimes winding. The dwellings, all, without exception, which lie below the head of the dale, are on the rising grounds which skirt the levels: and this, together with the paving of the roads in the levels, shows that the valley is subject to floods. The houses in Langdale,of gray stone, each on its knoll, with a canopy of firs and sycamores above it, and ferns scattered all about it, and ewes and lambs nestling near it,—these dalefarms are cheerful and pleasant objects to look upon, whether from above or passing among them. Our traveller is, however, to pass only two or three, which lie between his descent and Millbeck.

From Millbeck, he will, of course, proceed to see Dungeon Ghyll Force. (Cut, No. 7.) He must not, on hearing this name, let his imagination carry him to the foundations of some robber castle for its origin. In the language of the country people here a fissure or cavern in the

rock is called a Dungeon. Ghyll means also a fissure: so Dungeon Ghyll is emphatically a fissure by name; and it certainly is so also by nature. The stranger must either take some one with him, to put him in the way (though the place is not more than half-a-mile off), or he must take care not to go up to the ghyll and stream behind the farm, which he will do as a matter of course unless warned to the contrary. What he wants is the next, to the left. When he reaches the spot where the dark chasm yawns, and the waters are loud, though he cannot see anything of the fall, let him not fear missing the sight. If there is a ladder, he must descend: if not, or if it be broken, or rotten with continual wet, he can easily get down the rock. And there it is!—the fall in its cleft, tumbling and splashing, while the light ash, and all the vegetation besides, is everlastingly in motion from the stir of the air. Then let him look up, and see how a bridge is made aloft by the lodgment of a block in the chasm. He will be fortunate if he is there just at that hour of the summer afternoon when the sunlight gushes in obliquely,-a narrow, radiant, translucent screen, itself lighting up the gorge, but half concealing the projections and waving ferns behind it. The way in which it converts the spray into sparks and gems can be believed only by those who have seen it.

This tarn

In order to get into Easedale, the traveller will take a guide from Millbeck, to conduct him to Stickle Tarn, and thence to Easedale Tarn. We could wish him no better treat than some hours' leisure for angling in Stickle Tarn, which is famous for its trout. is reached by a peat-road from Millbeck, and its circular basin, brimming with clear water, lies finely under the steep rocks of Pavey Ark. To us there is no object of this mountain scenery more interesting than its tarns. Their very use is one which gratifies one's sense of beauty. Their use is to cause such a distribution of the waters as may fertilize without inundating the lands below. After rains, if the waters all came pouring down at once, the vales would be flooded; as it is, the nearer brooks swell, and pour themselves out into the main stream, while the mountain brooks are busy in the same way above, emptying themselves into the tarns. By the time the streams in the valley are subsiding, the upper tarns are full, and begin to overflow; and now the overflow can be received in the valley without injury. We know of nothing in natural scenery which conveys such an impression of stillness as the tarns which lie under precipices. For hours together the deep shadows lie absolutely unmoved; and when movement occurs, it may be such as does not disturb the sense of repose: it is only the dimple made by a restless fish or fly, or the gentle flow of water in and out; or the wild drake may launch and lead his brood in the deep gray shadow opposite, paddling so quietly as not to break up the mirror, but merely to let in two converging lines of white light to illuminate the recess. We saw this happen on Easedale Tarn, and felt we could never lose the picture thus made for us in a moment.

And when the tempest takes its swoop upon the tarn, what a sight it is! While we are approaching the hollow where the tarn is known to lie, and some time before the waters are visible, little white clouds come whirling or puffing out, and drive against the mountain side. We expect, of course, to find a mist overhanging the tarn, and begin to wonder whether we shall see anything of it, after climbing so far on purpose: and lo! there it is, distinct enough, in a vast fury. What we saw was not mist, but spray, caught up by the wind, and whirled away. The four winds seem to have met in this hollow, and to be running the waters up towards the centre; or two are pursuing each other, and speeding over the surface in all sorts of rapid caprices. Such wild commotion, in a place so absolutely retired, produces an impression no less singular than that of the deepest stillness, when the solitary angler treads as softly, in changing his place, as if he feared to wake infant Nature from her noontide sleep.

If the traveller wishes to ascend Harrison Stickle, the loftiest of the Langdale Pikes, it will be from hence. The height of Harrison Stickle is 2409 feet above the level of the sea. If he does not ascend the Pike, he crosses the Fell to Easedale Tarn, and has before him a descent full of delights, from the dreary and lonely Fell down gradually into the beauty of Grasmere. From the Tarn, he follows the stream, past its many leaps, and rapids, and windings round obstructing rocks, till he finds himself standing above the Fall, called Sour Milk Ghyll Force. This name is said to be given to the Fall on account of the whiteness of its broken waters. It is a full and impetuous fall, visible from afar from the turbulence of its waters; yet we have seen it on a calm winter's day, suspended by frost; its recess, at all other times full of tumultuous noise, then as still as the tarn above from which it flows. Here, where the summer sunshine is apparently fought with and rejected, the mild wintry beams were silently received, and enshrined in crystal icicles.

The fine outline of Helm Crag, with its green sides and broken crest, now appears to the left; the fertile levels of Easedale lie below; and in front there is an opening to Grasmere, through which the church and village, the wooded knolls, the circular lake with its single green island clumped with pines, the rich sloping shores, and the green declivity of Loughrigg opposite, are disclosed to the eye, more and more fully, till the traveller arrives at Grasmere.

From the verdant and tranquil aspect of the valley, it is usually and naturally supposed that Grasmere is named from its grassy slopes and shores; but its derivation is pointed out by its connexion with Grisedale, which opens laterally from it, under the shadow of Helvellyn. Gris is the old Saxon for wild swine; and the lake was once called Grismere,-the lake of the wild boar. A deep and still retreat this must have been in the days of wild boars! If the traveller has time, he should ascend the pass to Grisedale Tarn, from behind the Swan Inn-the tempting clean white house which catches the eye of every one who visits Grasmere.