ng the latter
place, we had to travel by coach. But no matter how one travels here, he
travels at a more rapid rate than in America. The distance from Langholm
to Carlisle, twenty miles, occupied only two and a-half hours in the
journey. It was a cold day and I had to ride on the outside, as the
inside had been taken up. We changed horses, and took in and put out
passengers with a rapidity which seems almost incredible. The road was
as smooth as a mirror.

We bid farewell to Scotland, as we reached the little town of Gretna
Green. This town being on the line between England and Scotland, is
noted as the place where a little cross-eyed, red-faced blacksmith, by
the name of Priestly, first set up his own altar to Hymen, and married
all who came to him, without regard to rank or station, and at prices to
suit all. It was worth a ride through this part of the country, if for
no other purpose than to see the town where more clandestine marriages
have taken place than in any other part in the world. A ride of eight or
nine miles brought us in sight of the Eden, winding its way slowly
through a beautiful valley, with farms on either side, covered with
sheep and cattle. Four very tall chimneys, sending forth dense columns
of black smoke, announced to us that we were near Carlisle. I was really
glad of this, for Ulysses was never more tired of the shores of Ilion
than I of the top of that coach.

We remained over night at Carlisle, partaking of the hospitality of the
prince of bakers, and left the next day for the Lakes, where we had a
standing invitation to pay a visit to a distinguished literary lady. A
cold ride of about fifty miles brought us to the foot of Lake
Windermere, a beautiful sheet of water, surrounded by mountains that
seemed to vie with each other which should approach nearest the sky. The
margin of the lake is carved out and built up into terrace above
terrace, until the slopes and windings are lost in the snow-capped peaks
of the mountains. It is not surprising that such men as Southey,
Coleridge, Wordsworth, and others, resorted to this region for
inspiration. After a coach ride of five miles (passing on our journey
the "Dove's Nest," home of the late Mrs. Hemans), we were put down at
the door of the Salutation Hotel, Ambleside, and a few minutes after
found ourselves under the roof of the authoress of "Society in America."
I know not how it is with others, but for my own part, I always form an
opinion of th