and us there is a wide and a deep abyss. We have reached the summit of this long ascent, and you behold Blakerigg in all his majesty a foreground to Scafell and its Pikes, the highest land in England, softened by some leagues' distance, and belonging to another region—another province—another kingdom another world of the sublime. For the intercepting sky sometimes divides the great objects of nature in a mountainous country, into districts so distinct, that they lie without confusion before Imagination's eyes, while of each some mighty creature seems to be by right divine the monarch, and to bear sway in calm or tempest. Let us descend into the gulf profound, till we touch the foot of Blakerigg, and then shall we skirt his kingship all the way to the head of Seathwaite Tarn. We are now in a lonesome region-nor is it easy to imagine a much better place for a murder. But lo! the Tarn. What should you call its character? Why, such a day as this disturbs by delight, and confounds all distinction between the Sublime and Beautiful. These rocky knolls towards the foot of the Tarn, we should say are exquisitely picturesque; and nothing can be supposed more unassuming than their quietude, which is deepened by the repose of that distant height beyond-can it be Blackcoomb? And then how prettily rise out of the Tarn on the farthest side, those little islands, under the shadow of the first range of rocks that may be safely called majestic; while the second -as slowly your eyes are venturing up the prodigious terraces -justify the ejaculation-magnificent! Let's strip and have a swim. "Tis all nonsense about danger in "dookin" when you are hot. Besides, we are not hot; for, in disapparelling, the balmy breezes have already fanned our bosoms, till we are cool as leeks. Saw you ever my Lord Arthur Somerset? Here he goes. No bottom here, gents. Where the devil are you? All gone! You have taken advantage of our absence down below for a few minutes, and descended to Seathwaite. Well, we cannot call that handsome behaviour anyhow; and trust you will lose your way in the wilderness, and find yourselves among the quagmires of the Black Witch. Whew! are you there, ye waterserpents, snoring with your noses towards Ill-Crag! Save us --save us—save us! The cramp-the cramp-the cramp! |