The “huge nameless rook” has no gloom in its shadow;
    It catches the sun, it has found it a name;
  And the mountain grass covers like the turf of the meadow
    The arms of Helvellyn and Catchedecan.

  There is not on earth a dark city’s enclosure,
    Or vast mountain waste, where the traveller may roam,
  That peace may not soothe with its balmy composure,
    And love may not bless with the joy of a home!

To her sister.

  ULVERSTON, 15th of 9th Month, 1851.

  MY BELOVED M.:—­

  Thy very welcome letter yesterday met me
  soon, after returning from Swarthmore, where, of course,
  we had a very different assembly from yours.

It was very interesting, having been at Pardsey Crags last week, where the thousands had listened to George Fox’s preaching, now to see Swarthmore and remember how things used to be when he “left the north fresh and green;” but G. Fox never saw the meeting-house.  It was built, I believe, after his death, though the inscription “Ex dono G.F.” is over the porch.  His black-oak chairs stand in the meeting-room, and his two bed-posts are at each side of the foot of the stairs.  Swarthmore Hall is an ancient-looking, high farm-house, with stone window-frames, as we have seen it drawn.  The Hall, where the meetings used to be held, looks very antique:  black-oak panels remain in parts.  Judge Fell’s study is just inside, and his desk in the window, whence he could hear what passed, though he never went to the meetings.  The house is in sad repair.  It seems strange to lay aside our daily companions, the map and the guide-book, and tarn our backs wholly on the mountain land, for the level and busy plains of England, with their “daily round and common task.”  But I know that the bright and beautiful mountain-scenes will often come again before the mental eye—­“long-vanished” beauty that “refines and paints in brighter hues;” and I hope the pleasure will long be gratefully remembered.

The new home was reached on the 16th, from whence she writes,—­

To her sister.

  EDGBASTON, 20th of 9th Month, 1851.

  MY BELOVED L.:—­

* * * I do not like to end this eventful week without trying to send you a few lines. * * * Please tell mother, with my dear, dear love, how very acceptable her note was, and how much I hope that her kind good wishes may be realized, and how frequent a thought of pleasure it has been while we have been setting things in order, that before long I may enjoy to show our little territory to her and father,—­to have her kind advice and opinion about my little household. * * * I yet feel as strongly as ever a daughter’s love to the home of my childhood.  When I think of you, I can fully share in the illusion thou spoke of, fancying that before long I shall be among you just as before. * * *

To her sister, P. Tregolles.