The small hill called Butterlip How, which stands about half-way between the Red Lion and the Swan, affords a fine panoramic view. A walk to Red Bank, the point where the Langdale road crosses the Loughrigg ridge, will disclose scenery of great beauty; indeed this, in our opinion, is the best station for viewing the lake and vale of Grasmere; and we cannot but think that it was the view from this place which called from Mrs. Hemans her sonnet, entitled—

A REMEMBRANCE OF GRASMERE.

"O vale and lake, within your mountain urn,
Smiling so tranquilly and set so deep!
Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return,
Colouring the tender shadows of my sleep,
With light Elysian ;-for the hues that steep
Your shores in melting lustre, seem to float
On golden clouds from spirit lands remote,
Isles of the blest ;-and in our memory keep
Their place with holiest harmonies. Fair scene
Most loved by evening and her dewy star!
Oh! ne'er may man, with touch unhallow'd, jar
The perfect music of the charm serene!

Still, still unchanged, may one sweet region wear

Smiles that subdue the soul to love, and tears, and prayer!"

Red Bank has been selected as a station for one of the outline views.

Grasmere in 1769, long before the natural beauty of the vale had been tutored and refined. The sketch was made in descending from Dunmail Raise:

"The bosom of the mountains, spreading here into a broad basin, discovers in the midst Grasmere Water; its margin is hollowed into small bays, with eminences, some of rock, some of soft turf, that half conceal and vary the figure of the little lake they command: from the shore, a low promontory pushes itself far into the water, and on it stands a white village, with a parish church rising in the midst of it; hanging enclosures, corn fields, and meadows green as an emerald, with their trees and hedges, and cattle, fill up the whole space from the edge of the water; and just opposite to you is a large farm-house, at the bottom of a steep smooth lawn, embosomed in old woods, which climb half-way up the mountain-sides, and discover above a broken line of crags that crown the scene. Not a single red tile, no staring gentleman's house, breaks in upon the repose of this unsuspected paradise; but all is peace, rusticity, and happy poverty, in its sweetest, most becoming attire."

About a mile from Grasmere, on an eminence, over which the old road to Ambleside passes, and exactly opposite to the middle of the lake, is the Wishing-Gate. It has been so called, time out of mind, from a belief that wishes formed or indulged there have a favourable issue. Apart from any adventitious interest, the gate is an excellent station for viewing the lake. "The tall steeps of Silver How," are seen on the opposite margin across the island; a little to the left is the slack in Loughrigg Fell, called Red Bank, over which the road to Langdale passes. The village and church of Grasmere stand at the head of the lake, whilst, more to the right, Helm Crag rises like a wedge from the valley. A glimpse into Easdale is afforded between Helm Crag and Silver How. The beautifully formed depression of Dunmail Raise is seen to advantage dipping between Steel Fell and Seat Sandal. Wordsworth's verses, which we take the liberty of transcribing, are worthy of so beautiful a scene.

"Enough that all around is fair,
Composed with nature's finest care,
And in her fondest love:
Peace to embosom and content,
To overawe the turbulent,
The selfish to reprove.

"Yea! even the stranger from afar,
Reclining on the moss-grown bar,
Unknowing and unknown.

The infection of the ground partakes,
Longing for his beloved-who makes
All happiness her own.

"Then why should conscious spirits fear
The mystic stirrings that are here,
The ancient faith disclaim?
The local Genius ne'er befriends
Desires whose course in folly ends.
Whose just reward is shame.

"Smile if thou wilt, but not in scorn,
If some, by ceaseless pains outworn,
Here crave an easier lot;
If some have thirsted to renew
A broken vow, or bind a true
With firmer, holier knot.

"And not in vain, when thoughts are cast, Upon the irrevocable past

Some penitent sincere

May for a worthier future sigh,

While trickles from his downcast eye
No unavailing tear.

"The worldling pining to be freed

From turmoil, who would turn or speed
The current of his fate,
Might stop before this favour'd scene,
At nature's call, nor blush to lean
Upon the Wishing-Gate.

"The sage, who feels how blind, how weak
Is man, though loth such help to seek,
Yet passing here might pause,
yearn for insight to allay

And

Misgiving, while the crimson day
In quietness withdraws;

"Or when, the church-clock's knell profound To time's first step across the bound

Of midnight makes reply;

Time pressing on with starry crest,
To filial sleep upon the breast
Of dread eternity!"