or of course you know--the name of this exquisite valley
up which I am looking."

"Gwynnant. You must go up it when you are well enough; and see the
lakes; they are the only ones in Snowdon from the banks of which the
primaeval forest has not disappeared."

"Indeed? I must make shift to go there this very afternoon, for--do not
laugh at me--but I never saw a lake in my life."

"Never saw a lake?"

"No. I am a true Lowlander: born and bred among bleak Norfolk sands and
fens--so much the worse for this chest of mine; and this is my first
sight of mountains. It is all like a dream to me, and a dream which I
never expected to be realised."

"Ah, you should see our Irish lakes and mountains--you should see
Killarney!"

"I am content with these; I suppose it is as wrong to break the tenth
commandment about scenery, as about anything else."

"Ah, but it seems so hard that you, who I am sure would appreciate fine
scenery, should have been debarred from it, while hundreds of stupid
people run over the Alps and Italy every summer, and come home, as far
as I can see, rather more stupid than they went; having made confusion
worse confounded by filling their poor brains with hard names out of
Murray."

"Not quite so hard as that thousands, every day, who would enjoy a meat
dinner, should have nothing but dry bread, and not enough of that. I
fancy sometimes, that, in some mysterious way, that want will be made up
to them in the next life; and so with all the beautiful things which
travelled people talk of--I comfort myself with the fancy, that I see as
much as is good for me here, and that if I make good use of that, I
shall see the Alps and the Andes in the world to come, or something much
more worth seeing. Tell me now, how far may that range of crags be from
us? I am sure that I could walk there after luncheon, this mountain air
is strengthening me so."

"Walk thither? I assure you they are at least four miles off."

"Four? And I thought them one! So clear and sharp as they stand out
against the sky, one fancies that one could almost stretch out a hand
and touch those knolls and slabs of rock, as distinct as in a
photograph; and yet so soft and rich withal, dappled with pearly-grey
stone and purple heath. Ah!--So it must be, I suppose. The first time
that one sees a glorious thing, one's heart is lifted up towards it in
love and awe, till it seems near to one--ground on which one may freely
tread, because one apprecia