A.D. 1805.—­On the 7th of November, on a damp and gloomy morning, we left Grasmere Vale, intending to pass a few days on the banks of Ullswater.  A mild and dry autumn had been unusually favourable to the preservation and beauty of foliage; and, far advanced as the season was, the trees on the larger Island of Rydal-mere retained a splendour which did not need the heightening of sunshine.  We noticed, as we passed, that the line of the grey rocky shore of that island, shaggy with variegated bushes and shrubs, and spotted and striped with purplish brown heath, indistinguishably blending with its image reflected in the still water, produced a curious resemblance, both in form and colour, to a richly-coated caterpillar, as it might appear through a magnifying glass of extraordinary power.  The mists gathered as we went along:  but, when we reached the top of Kirkstone, we were glad we had not been discouraged by the apprehension of bad weather.  Though not able to see a hundred yards before us, we were more than contented.  At such a time, and in such a place, every scattered stone the size of one’s head becomes a companion.  Near the top of the Pass is the remnant of an old wall, which (magnified, though obscured, by the vapour) might have been taken for a fragment of some monument of ancient grandeur,—­yet that same pile of stones we had never before even observed.  This situation, it must be allowed, is not favourable to gaiety; but a pleasing hurry of spirits accompanies the surprise occasioned by objects transformed, dilated, or distorted, as they are when seen through such a medium.  Many of the fragments of rock on the top and slopes of Kirkstone, and of similar places, are fantastic enough in themselves; but the full effect of such impressions can only be had in a state of weather when they are not likely to be sought for.  It was not till we had descended considerably that the fields of Hartshope were seen, like a lake tinged by the reflection of sunny clouds:  I mistook them for Brotherswater, but, soon after, we saw that lake gleaming faintly with a steelly brightness,—­then, as we continued to descend, appeared the brown oaks, and the birches of lively yellow—­and the cottages—­and the lowly Hall of Hartshope, with its long roof and ancient chimneys.  During great part of our way to Patterdale, we had rain, or rather drizzling vapour; for there was never a drop upon our hair or clothes larger than the smallest pearls upon a lady’s ring.

The following morning, incessant rain till 11 o’clock, when the sky began to clear, and we walked along the eastern shore of Ullswater towards the farm of Blowick.  The wind blew strong, and drove the clouds forward, on the side of the mountain above our heads;—­two storm-stiffened black yew-trees fixed our notice, seen through, or under the edge of, the flying mists,—­four or five goats were bounding among the rocks;—­the sheep moved about more quietly, or cowered beneath their sheltering places.  This is the only part