, at this blessed moment we behold the beauty of all its
intermingling isles. There they are--all gazing down on their own
reflected loveliness in the magic mirror of the airlike water, just as
many a holy time we have seen them all agaze, when, with suspended oar
and suspended breath--no sound but a ripple on the Naiad's bow, and a
beating at our own heart--motionless in our own motionless bark--we
seemed to float midway down that beautiful abyss between the heaven
above and the heaven below, on some strange terrestrial scene composed
of trees and the shadows of trees, by the imagination made
indistinguishable to the eye, and as delight deepened into dreams, all
lost at last, clouds, groves, water, air, sky, in their various and
profound confusion of supernatural peace. But a sea-born breeze is on
Bowness Bay; all at once the lake is blue as the sky: and that
evanescent world is felt to have been but a vision. Like swans that had
been asleep in the airless sunshine, lo! where from every shady nook
appear the white-sailed pinnaces; for on merry Windermere--you must
know--every breezy hour has its own Regatta.

But intending to be useful, we are becoming ornamental; of us it must
not be said, that

"Pure description holds the place of sense"--

therefore, let us be simple but not silly, as plain as is possible
without being prosy, as instructive as is consistent with being
entertaining, a cheerful companion and a trusty guide.

We shall suppose that you have left Kendal, and are on your way to
Bowness. Forget, as much as may be, all worldly cares and anxieties, and
let your hearts be open and free to all genial impulses about to be
breathed into them from the beautiful and sublime in nature. There is
no need of that foolish state of feeling called enthusiasm. You have but
to be happy; and by-and-by your happiness will grow into delight. The
blue mountains already set your imaginations at work; among those clouds
and mists you fancy many a magnificent precipice--and in the valleys
that sleep below, you image to yourselves the scenery of rivers and
lakes. The landscape immediately around gradually grows more and more
picturesque and romantic; and you feel that you are on the very borders
of Fairyland. The first smile of Windermere salutes your impatient eyes,
and sinks silently into your heart. You know not how beautiful it may
be--nor yet in what the beauty consists; but your finest sensibilities
to nature are tou