172 IN WORDSWORTH'S COUNTRY. 



than it affords. The wool of the dams could hardly 

 be softer to the foot. The last of July the grass 

 was still short and thick, as if it never shot up a 

 stalk and produced seed, but always remained a fine, 

 close mat. Nothing was more unlike what I was 

 used to at home than this universal tendency (the 

 same is true in Scotland and in Wales) to grass, and, 

 on the lower slopes, to bracken, as if these were the 

 only two plants in nature. Many of these eminences 

 in the north of England, too lofty for hills and too 

 smooth for mountains, are called fells. The railway 

 between Carlisle and Preston winds between them, 

 as Houghill Fells, Tebay Fells, Shap Fells, etc. 

 They are, even in midsummer, of such a vivid and 

 uniform green that it seems as if they must have 

 been painted. Nothing blurs or mars the hue: no 

 stalk of weed or stem of dry grass. The scene, in 

 singleness and purity of tint, rivals the blue of the 

 sky. Nature does not seem to ripen and grow sere 

 as autumn approaches, but wears the tints of May in 

 October. 



