and to-day, passed from waterfall to waterfall, through the solemn and desolate Langdales, under the twin mountain Pikes, “throned among the hills,” dived into the awful recess of Dungeon Ghyll, where the rock, with scarcely a crack to part it, stands high on each side of the foaming torrent, which dashes perpendicularly down the gorge, then out upon the sunny vale, and home through the brotherhood of mountains to our quiet dwelling of Grasmere; surely all this, and much, much more, has made the days very precious for present enjoyment and for future recollections.  The moon is bright as ever I saw it, and we have lately returned from the smooth, still Grasmere, where there was hardly ripple enough to multiply its image; and where we could have sat for hours, nourishing the calm and solemn thoughts we had just brought from the quiet corner of the churchyard where we had sat by Wordsworth’s grave.  It was growing dark, but we could just read on the plain slate head-stone the sole inscription, “William Wordsworth.”

* * * But I cannot make you fully imagine these scenes, so varied, so picturesque.  How little pleasure I had in anticipating this journey, while those formidable things lay between!  The thought of the mountains seemed not worth a straw, and now looking back to only this day week is wonderful.  Home still smiles upon me like a lake that catches a sunbeam; and sometimes I feel truly thankful that the way that I knew not has led me here. * * *

  The thought of seeing you is bright indeed.

  Thy loving daughter,

  ELIZA.

To her Sister.

  LODORE INN, 5th of 9th Month, 1851.

  MY BELOVED M.:—­

* * * I am glad to say that we still have very fine weather.  At Keswick we were planning how we could see Frederick Myers, but that evening his widow was returning to the parsonage with her three fatherless children, and we could only look on the family vault in the lovely churchyard, the school-room, library, etc., and think of his anticipations, now no doubt so happily realized, of the “‘well done,’ which it will be heaven to hear.”  A fine black storm hung over Skiddaw and Saddleback, and such a rainbow spanned it.  The western sky was full of the sunset, and the lake lay in lovely repose beneath.  Of the clouds we really cannot say more than that they are often very beautiful, and sometimes dress up the mountains in grandeur not their own; but I have seen none that might not be Cornish clouds.

  I am quite well. * * * For my sake be cheerful
  and happy.

  Thy very loving sister,

  E.S.

To her Father.

  SCALE HILL HOTEL, 8th of 9th Month, 1851.

  MY BELOVED FATHER:—­