Of the clouds we really cannot say
more than that they are often very beautiful, and sometimes
dress up the mountains in grandeur not their own;
but I have seen none that might not be Cornish clouds.
I am quite well. * * * For my sake be cheerful
and happy.
Thy very loving sister,
E.S.
To her Father.
SCALE HILL HOTEL, 8th of 9th Month, 1851.
MY BELOVED FATHER:--
On Seventh-day, after breakfast at Lodore,
we set off for a treat indeed--a canter up Borrowdale.
The morning splendid. Keswick Lake sparkling behind
us. The crags of Borrowdale in the blue misty sunshine
of morning overhung by not less beautiful shades.
We were quite glad to get to this sort of mountain
scenery again, which we had so enjoyed at Grasmere,
and leave smooth, bare, pyramidal Skiddaw and its
"ancient" fellows behind. We at last ascended the
steep zigzag which begins Sty Head Pass, confirming
our resolution now and then by admiring the plodding
industry of our mountain horses. It was indeed pleasant
when the last gate was opened and we were safe
within the wall of rough stones which headed the steep
ascent, and we could wind more at leisure beside the
foaming "beck" which runs out of Sty Head Tarn.
This desolate mountain lake was soon reached, and the
noble dark Scawfell Pikes--the highest mountain in
England, (3166 feet)--were its majestic background.
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