as in the lovely landscape before him, or dreary and desolate, as in the heathy forest wastes they were about to traverse.  While breathing the fresh morning air, inhaling the fragrance of the wild-flowers, and listening to the warbling of the birds, he took a well-pleased survey of the scene, commencing with the bridge, passing over Whalley Nab and the mountainous circle conjoined with it, till his gaze settled on Morton Hall, a noble mansion finely situated on a shoulder of the hill beyond him, and commanding the entire valley.

“Were I not owner of Downham,” he observed to Richard, “I should wish to be master of Morton.”  And then, pointing to the green area below, he added, “What a capital spot for a race!  There we might try the speed of our nags for the twenty pieces I talked of yesterday; and the judges of the match and those who chose to look on might station themselves on yon knoll, which seems made for the express purpose.  Three years ago I remember a fair was held upon that plain, and the foot-races, the wrestling matches, and the various sports and pastimes of the rustics, viewed from the knoll, formed the prettiest sight ever looked upon.  But, pleasant as the prospect is, we must not tarry here all day.”

Before setting forward, he cast a glance towards Pendle Hill, which formed the most prominent object of view on the left, and lay like a leviathan basking in the sunshine.  The vast mass rose up gradually until at its further extremity it attained an altitude of more than 1800 feet above the sea.  At the present moment it was without a cloud, and the whole of its broad outline was distinctly visible.

“I love Pendle Hill,” cried Nicholas, enthusiastically; “and from whatever side I view it—­whether from this place, where I see it from end to end, from its lowest point to its highest; from Padiham, where it frowns upon me; from Clithero, where it smiles; or from Downham, where it rises in full majesty before me—­from all points and under all aspects, whether robed in mist or radiant with sunshine, I delight in it.  Born beneath its giant shadow, I look upon it with filial regard.  Some folks say Pendle Hill wants grandeur and sublimity, but they themselves must be wanting in taste.  Its broad, round, smooth mass is better than the roughest, craggiest, shaggiest, most sharply splintered mountain of them all.  And then what a view it commands!—­Lancaster with its grey old castle on one hand; York with its reverend minster on the other—­the Irish Sea and its wild coast—­fell, forest, moor, and valley, watered by the Ribble, the Hodder, the Calder, and the Lime—­rivers not to be matched for beauty.  You recollect the old distich—­

’Ingleborough, Pendle Hill, and Pennygent,
Are the highest hills between Scotland and Trent.’

This vouches for its height, but there are two other doggerel lines still more to the purpose—­

’Pendle Hill, Pennygent, and Ingleborough,
Are three such hills as you’ll not find by seeking England
thorough.’