On Seventh-day, after breakfast at Lodore,
we set off for a treat indeed--a canter up Borrowdale.
The morning splendid. Keswick Lake sparkling behind
us. The crags of Borrowdale in the blue misty sunshine
of morning overhung by not less beautiful shades.
We were quite glad to get to this sort of mountain
scenery again, which we had 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.