vapor. The laboring people do not differ from the same class in the other towns, if I may judge from their general appearance; but the mass of the citizens look well, and their condition, with the cleanliness of the place, impresses one favorably with the town and its inhabitants. Arkwright, the inventor of the spinningmule, was a native of Preston, and realized a fortune in its neighborhood. The citizens of the adjoining districts speak lightly of the place, and

"Proud Preston, poor people,

Low church and high steeple,"

is regarded as a correct character of it and its denizens.

From Preston to Lancaster is a pleasant ride "by rail," and as the road lies near the hills and sea, much that is attractive is to be

This town is blessed with an ancient castle, of formidable and imposing appearance, which serves the double purpose, at present, of jail and fortification. Near the place are the Lancaster Sands, that part of Morecambe Bay which lies between Ulverstone and Lancaster, and which is made bare twice a day by the receding tides, excepting the channels of the Rivers Kent and Leven, and over which is a road for carriages and pedestrians. The government pays guides to direct travellers across at the proper time; but, in spite of the precaution, lives are frequently lost, and the passage is a dangerous one, unless a person has an experienced pilot. The distance over is eleven miles, and a man must travel pretty fast if he wishes to avoid being overtaken by the rising waters.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE LAKE COUNTRY OF ENGLAND.

AFTER leaving the town of Lancaster, I passed rapidly into the mountainous districts of Westmoreland and the lakes. The hills are rugged and rocky, but where the grass grows the surface is of the richest velvet green. I remained a while at the ancient town of Kendal, a place of 13,000 inhabitants, situate on the River Kent, a brawling brook, from which it takes its name. The ruins of a castle adjoin the place; and a church of the olden times, containing a number of curious monuments and relics of the past, invites the stranger to a stroll within its walls. My walk from this mountain village to Windermere was over a rough and hilly road, and, as the day was quite warm, the perspiration rolled from me as I trudged along under a heavy knapsack. The bright and transparent waters of the lake at last gladdened my sight, and after a comfortable rest at an inn, I pursued my journey to its sylvan shores. The village of Bowness overlooks the water, and commands some fine prospects; but as the highlands partially shut out the view to the south, I plodded on to Ambleside, along the eastern shore of the lake, which village is situated at its northern extremity. Windermere is the largest sheet of water in England, but the scenery is tame, except in the immediate neighborhood of the hamlet just named, at which place the mountains rise majestically to a considerable height, and as I approached them their bold and rugged fronts stood out in wild beauty against the evening sky. Ambleside lies in a valley, near a stream called the Rothay, which connects Rydal Water with its more extensive neighbor, and is principally important as a temporary residence of tourists to the surrounding country. The majority of the inhabitants keep furnished lodgings for visitors, and the traveller finds but little difficulty in obtaining excellent accommodations in a private house, with all the retirement of a home, at moderate charges.

I entered the village tired enough, and, observing a notice of "lodgings to let" conspicuously displayed in the front window of a comely little cottage, I made application for them, and was accepted as a renter. The hostess was a plain young Scotch woman, of agreeable manners, and cheerful disposition. She conducted me to my allotted apartments, and hastened to prepare my tea. The sleeping-room was clean to a fault, the sheets and quilts white as snow, the place neatly carpeted, and provided with table and chairs.

A little girl brought me a pitcher of water, and with a slight tap at the door asked me what further I would require, and what I would have for tea. She took my order with a smile of acknowledgment, and noiselessly descended the stair to aid her mother in fulfilling it.

In due time she again tapped at my door, and with a courtesy and smile, said, "Please, sir, tea is ready." At her bidding I followed to the dining-room.

The meal was prepared with care, the cloth was spotless white, the tea-set clear China, and the apartment plain but neat. Hot water had been poured into the cup to keep it warm, and the bread was cut into thin slices, buttered, for my convenience. “If you require anything," said the little dame, "please ring the bell, sir;" and, with a smile of cheerfulness, she left me alone. The tea had been drawn, the egg was done to a nicety, and my meal was grateful.

The master, as the father of a family is designated in England, whether high or low, returned home, shortly after; but a formal recognition, as if he felt himself inferior to me, was all he uttered. The wife and child were like him, and neither of them ventured to converse with me, even at my solicitation. They preserved a respectful silence when I spoke, or replied in monosyllables, not knowing what to make of me. I did not persevere in my attempts to encourage them to sociability, as they were clearly unaccustomed to meet lodgers who put them on terms of equality.

I considered myself fortunate in obtaining a home with mine host, and after a short rest from a fatiguing walk, clambered up Loughrigg Fell, a bold jutting mountain which rises immediately at the head of the lake, and affords a comprehensive and magnificent prospect of the surrounding country. Windermere stretches away to the south, its shores lined with gradually sloping hills, while minor basins of water lie among the surrounding mountains, and rapid streams foam and roar at the foot of the rocky highland. Behind, to the north, the highest peaks loom up to the skies with their broken and irregular summits, while in the vale beneath lies the little town, with its church spire pointing to heaven, like a startled dove nestling under the broad shadow of the mountain. Rydal Knab or Knab Scar, near the residence of the poet Wordsworth, forms the background to the picture that way in connection with bold and towering cliffs, and to the west the scenery is wild and chaotic, giving a strong impression of what is the savage grandeur of more rugged mountain districts. At the foot of the hill in that direction there is a village, and beyond the valley rises the tower of a really beautiful church (surmounted by a cross), perched upon a knoll in a meadow of the brightest green, along the borders of which rushes a crystal stream which takes its rise among the springs of the Langdale Pikes, two high hills to the north-west. The view comprehends the principal mountains of that section of the island, and affords distant prospects of Coniston and other lakes in addition to Windermere.

One of the best walks about Ambleside is that along the western shore of the Rothay. The high cliffs of Loughrigg Fell and its neighboring hills overhang innumerable cottages and villas of great beauty, whose walls are partially hid by an umbrageous growth of ivy and clambering roses. The dark hills rise abruptly and precipitously behind these elfin haunts, and add greatly to the charms of the little domiciles. The village of Rydal contains but few dwellings, nearly all of which are of the character of those to which reference has just been made. Wordsworth's house is a secluded cottage, quietly perched upon the side of a towering and jagged mountain, which rises like a black wall behind it, while around is a thick growth of trees, and near by a modest little church. The lake is a sheet of transparent water about half a mile long, completely encircled by hills, whose frowning foreheads overshadow its glassy surface. A road winds along its shores, and at one point, at the northern end, the old highway leads over a rocky pass to the adjacent water of Grasmere, in the church of which village is Wordsworth's grave. The view from this road (which is only used by pedestrians at present) either way is splendid, and amply repays the tourist for climbing up its rugged and stony surface. The two sheets of water are small, clear, and picturesque, and present a scene of great splendor. Far away to the north of Grasmere village, which lies on the shores of the lake in a verdant valley, looms up Helm Crag, on whose summit nature has performed a singular freak, by so disposing some heavy fragments of rock as to form the perfect figure of a huge lion couchant, with flowing mane, and ponderous paw resting upon what appears to be the body of a dead lamb. The illusion is perfect, and the forms clearly and distinctly defined. Around, high hills rise up, and with the exception of a road leading over Dunmail Raise, a pass at the northern end of the valley, there is no apparent outlet from Grasmere. The aspect of the country under a bright sun is fine, but when the god of day departs, and evening's shadows fall on the sides of the hills, the prospect is one of singular beauty. The rich, soft, velvety verdure peculiar to the humid atmosphere of England becomes magnificent to the eye in the long twilight, and when the hills are covered with it, the effect is exquisite. I rambled for miles around the lakes named, and sought out secluded retreats by roaring cascades and rapid mountain rills, where it was pleasure

"To sit on rocks and muse o'er flood and fell,
Or slowly trace the forest's shady scene."

I never had a great partiality for the bards of the Lake School, and confess myself unable to comprehend much of Wordsworth's heavy verse; but I admire their haunts, and agree that they exhibited taste in the selection of their homes. Nowhere can the poet find scenery better calculated to win him from the world than in Cumberland and Westmoreland. Rude, rugged nature is