dently come from his very heart.
When he used prose upon that journey his language was probably
stronger. It is no wonder, then, that ordinary folks who have only a
limited time in which to enjoy themselves, free from the fetters of
toil, resent wet days. They are worst of all when we are touring on the
Continent, where it is a popular fallacy to suppose the skies are
always smiling, but at home they are bad enough. In Scotland, nobody
but a Scotchman believes in fine weather, and consequently there is no
disappointment; in England the Lake District is, perhaps, the most
unfortunate spot for folks to be caught in by rain, because if there is
no landscape there is nothing. _Spectare veniunt_, and when there are
only the ribs and lining of their umbrellas to look at, their lot is
hard indeed.

Wastwater is a charming place in sunshine--almost the only locality in
England where things are still primitive and pastoral; but in rain! I
hate exhibitions, but rather than Wastdale in wet weather, give me a
panorama. Serious people may talk of 'the Devil's books,' but even a
pack of cards, with somebody to play with you, is better under such
circumstances than no book.

There is no limit to what human beings may be driven to by stress of
weather, and especially by that 'clearing shower,' by which the
dwellers in Lakeland are wont euphemistically to describe its
continuous downpours. The Persians have another name for it--'the
grandmother of all buckets.' I was once in Wastdale with a dean of the
Church of England, respectable, sedate, and a D.D. It had poured for
days without ceasing; the roads were under water, the passes were
impassable, the mountains invisible; there was nothing to be seen but
waterfalls, and those in the wrong place; there was no literature; the
dean's guide-books were exhausted, and his Bible, it is but charitable
and reasonable to suppose, he knew by heart. As for me, I had found
three tourists who could play at whist, and was comparatively
independent of the elements; but that poor ecclesiastic! For the first
few days he occupied himself in remonstrating against our playing cards
by daylight; but on the fourth morning, when we sat down to them
immediately after breakfast, he began to take an enforced interest in
our proceedings. Like a dove above the dovecot, he circled for an hour
or two about the table--a deal one, such as thimble-riggers use,
borrowed, under protest, from his own humble bedroom--and t