the summit of each, and not many yards above their highest
elevation; we shall then see stretched at our feet a number of vallies,
not fewer than eight, diverging from the point, on which we are supposed
to stand, like spokes from the nave of a wheel. First, we note, lying to
the south-east, the vale of Langdale,[50] which will conduct the eye to
the long lake of Winandermere, stretched nearly to the sea; or rather to
the sands of the vast bay of Morcamb, serving here for the rim of this
imaginary wheel;--let us trace it in a direction from the south-east
towards the south, and we shall next fix our eyes upon the vale of
Coniston, running up likewise from the sea, but not (as all the other
vallies do) to the nave of the wheel, and therefore it may be not
inaptly represented as a broken spoke sticking in the rim. Looking forth
again, with an inclination towards the west, we see immediately at our
feet the vale of Duddon, in which is no lake, but a copious stream,
winding among fields, rocks, and mountains, and terminating its course
in the sands of Duddon. The fourth vale, next to be observed, viz. that
of the Esk, is of the same general character as the last, yet
beautifully discriminated from it by peculiar features. Its stream
passes under the woody steep upon which stands Muncaster Castle, the
ancient seat of the Penningtons, and after forming a short and narrow
aestuary enters the sea below the small town of Ravenglass. Next, almost
due west, look down into, and along the deep valley of Wastdale, with
its little chapel and half a dozen neat dwellings scattered upon a plain
of meadow and corn-ground intersected with stone walls apparently
innumerable, like a large piece of lawless patch-work, or an array of
mathematical figures, such as in the ancient schools of geometry might
have been sportively and fantastically traced out upon sand. Beyond this
little fertile plain lies, within a bed of steep mountains, the long,
narrow, stern, and desolate lake of Wastdale; and, beyond this, a dusky
tract of level ground conducts the eye to the Irish Sea. The stream
that issues from Wast-water is named the Irt, and falls into the
aestuary of the river Esk. Next comes in view Ennerdale, with its lake
of bold and somewhat savage shores. Its stream, the Ehen or Enna,
flowing through a soft and fertile country, passes the town of Egremont,
and the ruins of the castle,--then, seeming, like the other rivers, to
break through the barrie