Having left Rosthwaite in Borrowdale, on a bright morning in the first week of October, we ascended from Seathwaite to the top of the ridge, called Ash-course, and thence beheld three distinct views;—­on one side, the continuous Vale of Borrowdale, Keswick, and Bassenthwaite,—­with Skiddaw, Helvellyn, Saddle-back, and numerous other mountains—­and, in the distance, the Solway Frith and the Mountains of Scotland;—­on the other side, and below us, the Langdale Pikes—­their own vale below them;—­Windermere,—­and, far beyond Windermere, Ingleborough in Yorkshire.  But how shall I speak of the deliciousness of the third prospect!  At this time, that was most favoured by sunshine and shade.  The green Vale of Esk—­deep and green, with its glittering serpent stream, lay below us; and, on we looked to the Mountains near the Sea,—­Black Comb pre-eminent,—­and, still beyond, to the Sea itself, in dazzling brightness.  Turning round we saw the Mountains of Wastdale in tumult; to our right, Great Gavel, the loftiest, a distinct, and huge form, though the middle of the mountain was, to our eyes, as its base.

We had attained the object of this journey; but our ambition now mounted higher.  We saw the summit of Scawfell, apparently very near to us; and we shaped our course towards it; but, discovering that it could not be reached without first making a considerable descent, we resolved, instead, to aim at another point of the same mountain, called the Pikes, which I have since found has been estimated as higher than the summit bearing the name of Scawfell Head, where the Stone Man is built.

The sun had never once been overshadowed by a cloud during the whole of our progress from the centre of Borrowdale.  On the summit of the Pike, which we gained after much toil, though without difficulty, there was not a breath of air to stir even the papers containing our refreshment, as they lay spread out upon a rock.  The stillness seemed to be not of this world:—­we paused, and kept silence to listen; and no sound could be heard:  the Scawfell Cataracts were voiceless to us; and there was not an insect to hum in the air.  The vales which we had seen from Ash-course lay yet in view; and, side by side with Eskdale, we now saw the sister Vale of Donnerdale terminated by the Duddon Sands.  But the majesty of the mountains below, and close to us, is not to be conceived.  We now beheld the whole mass of Great Gavel from its base,—­the Den of Wastdale at our feet—­a gulf immeasurable:  Grasmire and the other mountains of Crummock—­Ennerdale and its mountains; and the Sea beyond!  We sat down to our repast, and gladly would we have tempered our beverage (for there was no spring or well near us) with such a supply of delicious water as we might have procured, had we been on the rival summit of Great Gavel; for on its highest point is a small triangular receptacle in the native rock, which, the shepherds say, is never dry.  There we might have slaked our thirst plenteously with a pure and celestial liquid, for the cup or basin, it appears, has no other feeder than the dews of heaven, the showers, the vapours, the hoar frost, and the spotless snow.