ed, representing him in a
recumbent position, and bearing an inscription from the pen of Wordsworth,
his more than literary friend for many years, and his successor to the poet-
laureate-ship. A new and beautiful church, erected at the eastern part of
the town by the late John Marshall, Esq., adds much to the quiet repose of
the scene. Mr. Marshall became Lord of the Manor by purchasing the forfeited
estates of Ratcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater, from the Commissioners of
Greenwich Hospital, to whom they were granted by the Crown. The town
contains a well-stocked public library, purchased from funds left for that
purpose by Mr. Marshall; two museums, containing numerous specimens
illustrating natural history and mineralogy; and a model of the Lake
District, made by Mr. Flintoff, and the labour of many years. The residence
of the poet Southey (Greta Hall) is, however, perhaps the most interesting
object in the neighbourhood to visitors. The house is situated on an
eminence near the town. Charles Lamb, describing it many years since,
says:--"Upon a small hill by the side of Skiddaw, in a comfortable house,
quite enveloped on all sides by a nest of mountains" dwells Robert Southey.
The poet himself, who delighted in his beautiful and calm mountain-home, and
in the charming scenery by which he was surrounded, remarks:--"Here I possess
the gathered treasures of time, the harvest of so many generations, laid up
in my garners, and when I go to the window there is the lake, and the circle
of mountains, and the illimitable sky." On another occasion, when dallying
with the muse, he says, in his finely-descriptive verse:--

"'Twas at that sober hour when the light of day is receding,
And from surrounding things the hues wherewith the day has adorned them
Fade like the hopes of youth till the beauty of youth is departed:
Pensive, though not in thought, I stood at the window beholding
Mountain, and lake, and vale, the valley disrobed of its verdure;
Derwent retaining yet from eve a glassy reflection,
Where his expanded breast, then smooth and still as a mirror,
Under the woods reposed; the hills that calm and majestic
Lifted their heads into the silent sky, from far Glaramara,
Bleacrag and Maidenmawr to Grisedale and westernmost Wythop;
Dark and distant they rose. The clouds had gather'd above them,
High in the middle air huge purple pillowy masses,
While in the west beyond was the last pal