boats are safe enough, and most skilfully managed by their rowers and the stranger can enjoy no better treat than gliding along, for hours of the summer day, peeping into the coves and bays, coasting the islands, and lying cool in the shadows of the woods. The clearness of the water is a common surprise to the resident in a level country; and it is pleasant sport to watch the movements of the fish, darting, basking, or leaping in the sunshine, or quivering their fins in the reflected ray. What the quality of the trout and char is, the tourist will probably find every day, at breakfast and dinner.

BY

FIRST TOUR.

NEWBY BRIDGE AND ULVERSTONE ΤΟ FURNESS ABBEY, RETURNING BY CONISTON, HAWKSHEAD, AND THE FERRY.

Of the three extended tours which we should advise the stranger to take from his Windermere quarters, that to Furness should be the first, because it traverses the least mountainous parts of the district.

He will go down to Newby Bridge either by steamer, or by the road, which passes the grounds of Storrs, and cuts over hill and dale, and winds among the copses, till it crosses the bridge, opposite the inn. It is eight miles hence to the cheerful little town of Ulverstone, which is now reached by the railway from Whitehaven ; and from Ulverstone, the railway stretches south, past Furness Abbey, to the margin of the sea. From Ulverstone to Furness, it is only seven miles. is a good inn,- (though not cheap, as cheapness is not to be expected in the precincts of secluded ruins :) and here the tourist should bespeak his bed, if he means to study the Abbey.

There

The Abbey was founded in A.D. 1127. Its domains extended over the whole promontory in which it lies, and to the north, as far as the Shire Stones on Wrynose. They occupied the space between Windermere on the east and the Duddon on the west. The Abbot was a sort of king; and his abbey was enriched, not only by

B

King Stephen, but by the gifts of neighbouring proprietors, who were glad to avail themselves, not only of its religious privileges, but of its military powers for the defence of their estates against border foes, and the outlaws of the mountains, the descendants of the conquered Saxons, who inherited their fathers' vengeance. The Abbey was first peopled from Normandy,

a sufficient number of Benedictine monks coming over from the monastery of Savigny to establish this house in honour of St. Marye of Furnesse. In a few years, their profession changed: they followed St. Bernard, and wore the white cassock, caul and scapulary, instead of the dress of the grey monks. It is strange now to see the railway traversing those woods where these grey-robed foreigners used to pass hither and thither, on their holy errands to the depressed and angry native Saxons dwelling round about. The situation of the Abbey, as is usual with religious houses, is fine. It stands in the depth of a glen, with a stream flowing by, the sides of the glen being clothed with wood. A beacon once belonged to it; a watch tower on an eminence accessible from the Abbey, whose signalfire was visible all over Low Furness, when assistance was required, or foes were expected. The building is of the pale red stone of the district. It must formerly have almost filled the glen: and the ruins give an impression, to this day, of the establishment having been worthy of the zeal of its founder, King Stephen, and the extent of its endowments, which were princely. The boundary-wall of the precincts inclosed a space of sixty-five acres, over which are scattered remains that

have, within our own time, been interpreted to be those of the mill, the granary, the fish-ponds, the ovens and kilns, and other offices. As for the architecture, the heavy shaft is found alternating with the clustered pillar, and the round Norman with the pointed Gothic arch. The masonry is so good that the remains are, even now, firm and massive; and the winding staircases within the walls are still in good condition, in many places. The nobleness of the edifice consisted in its extent and proportions; for the stone would not bear the execution of any very elaborate ornament. The crowned heads of Stephen and his Queen Maude are seen outside the window of the Abbey, and are among the most interesting of the remains. It is all triste and silent now. The Chapter-house, where so many grave councils were held, is open to the babbling winds. Where the abbot and his train swept past in religious procession, over inscribed pavements, echoing to the tread, the stranger now wades among tall ferns and knotted grasses, stumbling over stones fallen from the place of honour. No swelling anthems are heard there now, or penitential psalms; but only the voice of birds, winds, and waters. But this blank is what the stranger comes for. Knowing what a territory the Abbots of Furness ruled over, like a kingdom, it is well to come hither to look how it is with that old palace and mitre, and to take one more warning of how Time shatters thrones, and dominations and powers, and causes the glories of the world to pass away.

The stranger will be among the ruins late, by moon or by star light; and again in the morning, before the

dew is off, and when the hidden violet perfumes the area where the censer once was swung, and where the pillars cast long shadows on the sward. But he must not linger; for he has a good circuit to make before night.

This

The lake of Coniston, which is his next object, is in the district between Windermere and the Duddon, which has already been mentioned as formerly belonging to Furness Abbey. From Ulverstone, his road commands the estuary of the Leven for a few miles, and then approaches the foot of Coniston Water, which it reaches at eight miles from Ulverstone. Seven miles more bring him to the New Inn at Coniston, which, built under the direction of Mr. and Mrs. J. G. Marshall, is one of the most comfortable hotels in England. lake, like Windermere, is flanked by low hills at the south end, and inclosed by magnificent mountains at the head, where Mr. J. G. Marshall's house and lands are more gloriously situated than almost any other in the region. The little town of Church Coniston, and the New Inn, are a mile short of Waterhead; and the stranger must stop, and look through the place, while his early dinner is preparing. The Old Man, eleventh in height of the mountains of the district, (2,576 feet) towers above him, and the abodes of the people will shew him that he is in the neighbourhood of a copper mine. There is one, some way up the mountain; and he may see the winding road up to it. Higher up, where there is an evident hollow, he is told that he would find a deep black tarn; and higher up, another. But to climb the mountain is a day's work, with much doubt of success, (that is, of a clear summit,) and he