d so enjoyed at Grasmere,
and leave smooth, bare, pyramidal Skiddaw and its
"ancient" fellows behind. We at last ascended the
steep zigzag which begins Sty Head Pass, confirming
our resolution now and then by admiring the plodding
industry of our mountain horses. It was indeed pleasant
when the last gate was opened and we were safe
within the wall of rough stones which headed the steep
ascent, and we could wind more at leisure beside the
foaming "beck" which runs out of Sty Head Tarn.
This desolate mountain lake was soon reached, and the
noble dark Scawfell Pikes--the highest mountain in
England, (3166 feet)--were its majestic background.
But that we had been gradually inured to such scenes,
this would indeed have been the most impressive we
have beheld. On we rode till deep shady Wastdale
opened below us, and we found ourselves at the head
of the Pass.

I have enjoyed this journey very much more than I
expected, and the weather, on the whole, has been favorable.
I think of you all with double affection,
which accept very warmly from

Thy affectionate daughter,

E.S.
To her Sister.

PATTERDALE, 11th of 9th Month, 1851.

MY BELOVED L.:--

* * * This delightful morning, Ulleswater, which
we admired as much, if not more than any lake which
we have seen, was of the brightest blue, and the valley
behind as rich in loveliness, when we set off for Helvellyn.
The top is just five miles from the Inn. At
last the pony was tied to a stake, and we wound up the
Swirrel Edge. The rocks are almost perpendicular, and
strangely shivered, and we looked down on the Red
Tarn sparkling in the sun with, as it were, thousands
of stars. At last we reached the top, a bare smooth
summit, whence the wide misty landscape stretched all
around us. Six lakes should have been visible; but we
were obliged to be content with the whole stretch of
Ulleswater, eight miles behind us, Bassenthwaite to the
north, and perhaps a bit of Keswick; but I would not
have missed the scene for any reasonable consideration.
Scott, of course, stood on the top of the hill looking
down on the Tarn, with Striding Edge on his right.
Alas! no "eagles" are ever "yelling" on the mountain,
nor "brown mountain heather" is in sight--only common
mountain grass.

On the top of Helvellyn she wrote the following lines in a
sketch-book:--

How softly the winds of the mount