informed.  He wished the money had been left to him, as he thought he could have put it to better use, for he had been an abstainer from intoxicating drinks for twelve years, whereas the man with the fortune, who at the moment was drinking in a beerhouse close by, had no appetite for eating and would soon drink himself to death.  What the fate of poor “Jim Topping” was we never knew, but we could not help feeling sorry for him, as he seemed to us one of those good-natured fellows who are nobody’s enemy but their own.  The man told us that Jim was a heavy drinker before he had the fortune left him.  He surmised that the place we had stopped at last night was Haverthwaite in Lancashire.  We saw a book of poems written in the Cumberland dialect, and copied the first and last verses of one that was about a Robin Redbreast: 

  REED ROBIN

Come into mey cabin, reed Robin! 
Threyce welcome, blithe warbler, to me! 
Noo Siddaw hes thrown a wheyte cap on,
Agean I’ll gie shelter to thee! 
Come, freely hop into mey pantry;
Partake o’ mey puir holsome fare;
Tho’ seldom I bwoast of a dainty. 
Yet meyne, man or burd sal aye share.

* * * * *

O whoar is thy sweetheart, reed Robin? 
Gae bring her frae hoosetop or tree: 
I’ll bid her be true to sweet Robin,
For fause was a fav’rite to me. 
You’ll share iv’ry crumb i’ mey cabin,
We’ll sing the weyld winter away—­
I winna deceive ye, puir burdies! 
Let mortals use me as they may.

On leaving our shelter, we passed a large mill, apparently deserted, and soon afterwards reached Newby Bridge, where we crossed the River Leven, which was rapidly conveying the surplus water from Windermere towards the sea.  Near this was a large hotel, built to accommodate stage-coach traffic, but rendered unnecessary since the railway had been cut, and consequently now untenanted.  We had already crossed the bridge at the head of Lake Windermere, and now had reached the bridge at the other end.  An old book, published in 1821, gave us the following interesting information about the lake: 

It was at one time thought to be unfathomable, but on the third and fourth of June, 1772, when the water was six feet below its greatest known height, and three feet above the lowest ebb, a trial was made to ascertain by soundings the depth and form of the lake.  Its greatest depth was found to be near Ecclesrigg Crag—­201 feet.  The bottom of the lake in the middle stream is a smooth rock; in many places the sides are perpendicular, and in some places they continue so for a mile without interruption.  It abounds with fish, and the Rivers Brathay and Rothay feed the lake at the upper end, and in the breeding-season the trout ascend the Rothay, and the char the Brathay only; but in the winter, when these fish are in season, they come into the shallows, where they are fished for in the night, at which time they are the more easily