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lonely road to Buttermere upBorrowdale; tout still lie 

 cannot escape the lakers, who cross him. at every turn 

 of the dale. Three "boats have just discharged their 

 living freight at the head of the lake as he passes Low- 

 dore; under the lee of the Bowder stone sits a Cam- 

 bridge youth, who is studying for honors, with his 

 tutor at his side, cramming him with choice morsels 

 from Vince and Wood's alas ! how unlike Kay's, of 

 the Albion dry and insipid, though solid course. On 

 the top, on a three-legged portable stool, is seated an 

 artist sketching ; and at the base is a member of the 

 Geological Society, hammer in hand, chipping off spe- 

 cimens, which his lady carefully gathers up and depo- 

 sits in her reticule the future foundations of another 

 new theory of the earth. At Hosthwaite greater annoy- 

 ance awaits him ; for there does he behold, in that here- 

 tofore quiet and secluded spot, a party of young men 

 and maidens quadrilling it to the melancholy waih'ngs 

 of a pale-faced young gentleman's flute ; and on arriving 

 at Buttermere, tired, and out of humour with himself, 

 the lakes, and their visitors, he finds that he can only 

 be lodged in a double-bedded room, where he is enter- 

 tained all night with a trombone solo, from the nose 

 of a stout gentleman who occupies the other bed, and 

 whose double-base quaver, which is a repeat, con stre- 

 pito, every half hour, he vainly hopes is the effect of 

 strangulation. Finding no delightful solitude out of 

 doors, nor rest in his bed, he returns to town by the 

 1st of September; and finds, in the deserted walks and 



