mere, and so to Kendal (sixteen-and-a-half miles, reckoning from the centre of Hawes Water, and the best point of view). But our hardy pedestrians will do well to return by the way they came, to Ambleside.

V. - CONISTON, YEWDALE, AND TILBERTHWAITE. The western road is taken as far as Clappersgate, where the Langdale valleys are left on the right, and the way is pursued over Brathay Bridge, with its charming river-scene on either hand; by the gates of Brathay Hall, with the little church opposite, and by Pullwyke Bay, where the road turns somewhat steeply to the right and brings us within view of our friends the Pikes, whereby we at once understand our bearings. One glance at Windermere, and then Esthwaite Water lies open on our left hand with its village of Sawrey, scarcely seen, at the far end, and its small country town of Hawkshead, with the high-placed ancient church, immediately beneath us. There it was that Wordsworth passed some of his schooldays, and was the boy he has so well described in his own 'Prelude;' even at that early age, thoughtful and philosophic in his very play.

"A happy time

It was indeed for all of us,
It was a time of rapture!
The village clock tolled six-

- for me
Clear and loud

I wheeled about,

Proud and exulting like an untired horse

That cares not for his home. All shod with steel,
We hissed along the polished ice in games

Confederate, imitative of the chase

And woodland pleasures

the resounding horn,

The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle. With the din
Smitten the precipices rang aloud;

The leafless trees and every icy crag

Tinkled like iron; while far distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.
Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively

Glanced sideway leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a står

That fled, and flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain."

But Esthwaite Water is not frozen now. Upon reaching the summit of the hill above Hawkshead we turn to westward to descend, and keep our eyes in that direction, so as to miss nothing of the gorgeous view which will, almost immediately, be presented to them. The Old Man yonder, looked at from any point, is a grand fellow, but perhaps from here, most grand: his characteristics are more obvious and his excellencies better defined than from elsewhere. Look at the great coomb, in shadow there, where he keeps (as in some opossum pocket) his wealth of copper, and the sturdy shoulder with which he edges off mighty Wetherlamb, as though not suffering him to stand so near his throne! And mark how worthy of him is his young son Walna Scar, shaped after the same royal pattern as he! It is quite worth while, here, to take the road to the left for a mile or so for the sake of the

exquisite views of lake and fell which it affords, though we have to return hither. Among the pleasant houses which we shall have to pass in this short divergence is Tent Lodge, once famous as the abode of Elizabeth Smith, a lady of great literary excellence, whose name however now awakens but few recollections. It is much more remarkable as having been for two summers the residence of Alfred Tennyson, and we have liked to think that he may have learnt his beautiful' Echo-song' among the wondrous reverberations of the Old Man. We must now retrace our steps and begin the steep descent through Mr. Marshall's park-grounds to Waterhead, where there is a first-rate hotel. Here there are generally to be obtained, in better condition and greater abundance than anywhere (except at Buttermere) that greatest of all lake-delicacies, char. Now we pass on, by the comfortable but less pretentious village-inn, to Coniston hamlet, from which the opening into Yewdale is already visible,-a natural gateway of rocks, tufted with heather and plumed with trees, and which (especially, as we once had the good fortune to see it, with a rainbow spanning it) looks marvellously like one of 'Christian's' visions, as he toiled up the heavenward way. But see now, in our hurry to get to our favorite pass, we have forgotten several things! There is plenty of time-if we started from Ambleside soon after breakfast, for a row down the lake to some favourable point of view (although none will be found better than that we have already spoken of at Tent Lodge), and even for an ascent of the Old Man himself. If the tourist will get up mountains,