had not written of travelling in trios, quartettes, and even quintettes, with persons of various ages and denominations." How Miss Cassandra would dislike being spoken of as a "denomination”! We telegraphed at once to Angela to say how glad we should be to have her with us and the sooner the better. It will seem like old times, like Roman days and days in Venice and at the Villa d'Este, to have the child travel with us again. VI WHERE POETS LIVED AND LOVED "OLD ENGLAND," BOWNESS, July 26th. WE came to this most lovely spot last night, dearest Margaret, and are revelling in the comfort of a good inn as well as in the beauty of our surroundings. The house is built so near the water's edge that the drawing-room, in whose great bay window I am writing, seems to reach out into Lake Windermere. It is so pleasant to be settled down for a few days after knocking about, from pillar to post, that we are taking life very quietly and not making any excursions to-day, although several coaching parties started from here this morning. As we set out for a stroll around the little town of Bowness, the church, another St. Martin's and quite ancient, dating back to 1485, drew us irresistibly, and we were rewarded for our "early piety," as Walter is pleased to call it, by finding some interesting old stained glass which has been carefully restored, some shockingly new frescoes, and a number of very quaint epitaphs. One of them, over the grave of a slave, Rasselas Belfield, a native of Abyssinia, bears these grateful lines upon the tombstone: A Slave by birth I left my native Land, And found my Freedom on Britannia's Strand This afternoon we made a tour of Lake Windermere, the winding lake, in and out among the lovely islands, near Belle Isle and on toward the north end of the lake where the mountains form a natural amphitheatre. Even if occasional showers forced us to take refuge in the cabin, the sun shone forth gaily between times, permitting us to have a glimpse of Mrs. Felicia Hemans's "Dove Nest," which is perched upon the eastern slope of Windermere. Christopher North's Elleray is also on this lake, and here he was working on his "Isle of Palms" when Shelley brought his child bride to Chestnut Hill, some miles beyond, near Keswick, where is still the "lovely orchard garden," smaller and less charming than when Shelley and his wife and Eliza Westbrook enjoyed there some fleeting hours of happiness, before this apostle of atheism "descended upon Ireland with propagandist intent." It was at Briery, the home of Sir James Kay Shuttleworth, near Windermere, that Mrs. Gaskell first met Charlotte Brontë and found her the lovely person that she described her, with her sweet voice, expressive dark eyes, and gentle hesitating manner of speaking. What the rich and varied beauty of this region was to the little authoress, after the bleak outlook of her own moors, we gather from her letters, and we do not wonder that she longed to drop out of the Briery carriage and "explore for herself these grand hills and sweet dales," of which she had "only seen the similitude in dreams, waking or sleeping." At Fox How, which we saw yesterday on our way hither, Miss Brontë was invited to drink tea with the Arnolds, and described it as a "nest half buried in flowers and creepers, the valley and hills around as beautiful as imagination could dream." Walter says that I enjoy this visit of Charlotte Brontë's to the Lakes as much as if I had been with her, and I really believe that I do. The thought of this brave little woman coming out of her lonely, desolate home, from which her two sisters had recently been taken, into all the brightness and beauty of Ambleside and Grasmere, and into the genial companionship of Mrs. Gaskell and the Arnolds, is quite enough to make one happy. AMBLESIDE, July 28th. Yesterday being a perfectly clear day with an air blowing like that of October at home, we made the excursion to Keswick, passing by Fox How and having a glimpse of Rydal Mount through the trees. As there are no relics of Wordsworth here, and as the place is not shown to visitors, none of the coaching party thought it worth while to descend from their perches to get a nearer view of the house; and then we expect to walk over here some day and see all of these interesting places by ourselves and at our leisure-Nab Cottage, Elleray, and · all the rest. Do you remember Christopher North's "Foresters"? It must have been written at Elleray, as the descriptions of the Lake country are so perfect. I wish I could find a copy of it, but, like many another good book, I fancy it is out of print. Not far from Rydal Mount is the picturesque miniature lake, Rydal Water, whose silver bosom reflects its tiny islets and emerald shores. The long reeds that grow far out in the water fringe the lake with their slender shafts and |