with the rough mountains whence it has descended, or the turbulent torrents by which it is supplied.  Many persons content themselves with what they see of Windermere during their progress in a boat from Bowness to the head of the Lake, walking thence to Ambleside.  But the whole road from Bowness is rich in diversity of pleasing or grand scenery; there is scarcely a field on the road side, which, if entered, would not give to the landscape some additional charm.  Low-wood Inn, a mile from the head of Windermere, is a most pleasant halting-place; no inn in the whole district is so agreeably situated for water views and excursions; and the fields above it, and the lane that leads to Troutbeck, present beautiful views towards each extremity of the Lake.  From this place, and from

AMBLESIDE,

Rides may be taken in numerous directions, and the interesting walks are inexhaustible[47]; a few out of the main road may be particularized;—­the lane that leads from Ambleside to Skelgill; the ride, or walk by Rothay Bridge, and up the stream under Loughrigg Fell, continued on the western side of Rydal Lake, and along the fell to the foot of Grasmere Lake, and thence round by the church of Grasmere; or, turning round Loughrigg Fell by Loughrigg Tarn and the River Brathay, back to Ambleside.  From Ambleside is another charming excursion by Clappersgate, where cross the Brathay, and proceed with the river on the right to the hamlet of Skelwith-fold; when the houses are passed, turn, before you descend the hill, through a gate on the right, and from a rocky point is a fine view of the Brathay River, Langdale Pikes, &c.; then proceed to Colwith-force, and up Little Langdale to Blea Tarn.  The scene in which this small piece of water lies, suggested to the Author the following description, (given in his Poem of the ‘Excursion’) supposing the spectator to look down upon it, not from the road, but from one of its elevated sides.

              ’Behold! 
    Beneath our feet, a little lowly Vale,
    A lowly Vale, and yet uplifted high
    Among the mountains; even as if the spot
    Had been, from eldest time by wish of theirs,
    So placed, to be shut out from all the world! 
    Urn-like it was in shape, deep as an Urn;
    With rocks encompassed, save that to the South
    Was one small opening, where a heath-clad ridge
    Supplied a boundary less abrupt and close;
    A quiet treeless nook,[48] with two green fields,
    A liquid pool that glittered in the sun,
    And one bare Dwelling; one Abode, no more! 
    It seemed the home of poverty and toil,
    Though not of want:  the little fields, made green
    By husbandry of many thrifty years,
    Paid cheerful tribute to the moorland House. 
    —­There crows the Cock, single in his domain: 
    The small birds find in Spring no thicket there
    To shroud them; only from the neighbouring Vales
    The Cuckoo, straggling up to the hill tops,
    Shouteth faint tidings of some gladder place.’