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which the highest hills stood out like islands, a mighty ocean, 
tranquil as the primeval silence, and beautiful as that described 
by Asia, in ‘‘ Prometheus Unbound,”’ 
“ Behold it rolling on 
Under the curdling winds, and islanding 
The peak whereon we stand, midway, around, 
Encinctured by the dark and blooming forests, 
Dim twilight lawns, and stream-illumined caves, 
And wind-enchanted shapes of wandering mist; 
And far on high the keen sky-cleaving mountains!” 
Not, perhaps, quite so transcendently beautiful as that, but 
considering that the scene of which I speak was only just above 
the tops of the factory chimneys, it was surely not much amiss, 
and perhaps the difference was not worth while going all the 
way to the Himalayas or the ‘‘ Realm of Demogorgon”’ to see. 
The difference between one scene and another is not near so 
great as we may observe in the same scene beheld under differ- 
ent lights and atmosphere.s Towneley Park and the Cliviger 
hills and woods, seen at different times and seasons for forty 
years, afford as wonderful variety of charm as any the tourist 
finds in his often foolish enough ramblings. 
‘Tf dewy morn, and odourous noon, and even, 
With sunset and its gorgeous ministers, 
And solemn midnight’s tingling silentness ; 
If Autumn’s hollow sighs in the sere wood, 
And Winter robing with pure snow and crowns 
Of starry ice the grey grass and bare boughs— 
If springs voluptuous pantings when she breathes 
Her first sweet kisses,”’ 
if these have at any time made beautiful the Trossachs, or 
the islands of Winander, or the craggs of Snowdon, or gently 
flowing Avon, or sylvan Wye, it is almost certain that at or about 
the same time they have been weaving the same spell over 
Thieveley and the woods of Holme, over Hurstwood, and Thurs- 
den, and Cockden, and Walverden, over Roughlee, and Fence, 
and Blackhill, and Whalley, and the time-worn slopes of Pendle. 
Emerson said he was wearied of people who praised this scene over 
that, and that scene over every other, when he could not open 
his eyes anywhere without seeing beauty and grace. There is, 
however, this benefit in travelling, that it makes us better to see 
and appreciate the things we have at home. Hvyery country and 
district has something peculiar, some strongly marked feature, 
which you cannot fully feel and understand till you have seen it 
in contrast with some other different, or like but not quite like. 
After seeing the hills of Derbyshire and the Sussex downs [ better 
realise the beauty of our own moorlands. The streams of the 
south are not like ours. South country people hardly realise as 
we do the music of the babbling brook, till they come north, and 
