just entered the inn, and sat down, when 

 the coach, having changed horses, proceeded 

 on its journey. No previous intimation 

 having been given of my intended visit to this 

 rarely-sought and secluded spot, I was appre- 

 hensive that I should meet with indifferent 

 accommodation. Fortunately, however, the 

 landlord had not retired to rest, and imme- 

 diate directions were given which insured me 

 a most desirable and well-arranged bed- 

 chamber, — an Englishman's delight. The win- 

 dow of my room looked out upon the Greta; 

 but the darkness of the night quite prevented 

 the discernment of any particular object. 

 Yet was the rushing of the river in its on- 

 ward course music to my ears. Forcibly 

 did it call to my mind the time when I had 

 disported in its streams, — when I had gathered 

 hazel-nuts on its banks, and sought for birds' 

 nests in its woods ; and I longed for the 

 morning light that I might once again gaze 

 upon its well-remembered streams. At break 

 of day, I was at the window ; all anxiety to 

 view the prospect that awaited me. There 

 lay the opposite bank, richly fringed with 

 full-grown trees ; and already the swallows 

 were following each other in rapid flight, to 

 and fro, in close pursuit of their insect food ; 

 dipping at intervals the surface of the river, 

 as they skimmed under the single arch of the 

 ancient bridge, from which the village de- 

 rives its name. 



The morning meal over, I sallied forth. 

 Divided from the inn by the great northern 

 high road, lay the demesne of RoKEBY,whose 

 charms Sir Walter Scott has so graphically 

 and beautifully described in his Poem of that 

 title. 



" Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 

 Seats of my youth, when every sport could 



please, 

 How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, 

 Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ! 

 How often have I paused on every charm, 

 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm!" 



So sings our sweet poet, Goldsmith. 



How often have I, too, participated in the 

 charms of this most lovely retreat in my early 

 days ! 



As it was needful to be provided with an 

 order of admission before I could pass the 

 gates of the Park, I bent my way up the left 

 side of the river to the romantic dell of Brig • 

 nail, — a spot most favored by me in my 

 youth. Poets and painters have rivalled 

 each other in celebrating the beauties of this 

 glen and the scenery adjacent. Creswick 

 has frequently exhibited charming views of 

 the Glens of the Greta : and Turner's draw- 

 ings of the woods and valleys of the Greta 

 and the Tees (now in the collection of 



Windus, Esq.), are among the choicest pro- 

 ductions of his pencil. 



Sir Walter thus sings of this most lovely 

 dale : — 



t l Oh, Brignall banks aje wild and fair, 

 And Greta woods are green; 

 And you may gather garlands there, 

 Would grace a summer queen." 



Garlands may indeed be gathered there, 

 and of exceeding beauty. Thyme, purple 

 heath, and wild flowers of every variety, 

 spring up on all sides and the grand throat- 

 wort, or Canterbury bell (campanula lati- 

 folia), grows here in great profusion. 



Reaching the small antique Church, which 

 stands lonely by the river side, I found it in 

 ruins. I was afterwards informed that a new 

 village church had been erected at some 

 distance, in a more convenient situation. 

 The river however appeared unchanged ; its 

 channel was the same as it had been perhaps 

 for centuries. The deep pool, from its con- 

 tiguity to the holy fane, called Brignall Pool 

 (almost every deep bed of the river bears a 

 name), was an especial object of interest. 

 Here I had been accustomed, during the sul- 

 try heat of the summer, to resort with my 

 companions. While the youngest and less- 

 experienced took to the safe and shallow 

 streams of the river, the more skilful and 

 strong swimmer would disport in the depths 

 of the pool. Dark and inky were its waters 

 — calm was its surface ; yet was the river 

 above, or below this place, either foaming 

 over huge rocks, which had fallen from the 

 impending cliffs, or running in shallow cur- 

 rents over pebbly sands, — its waters gleam- 

 ing under the sun's rays in amber light, 



" Matching in hue, the favorite gem 

 Of Albin's mountain diadem." 



Darksome however as the deeps of the 

 river appeared, the water was so transparent 

 that objects were distinctly visible many feet 

 below the surface ; and the path of the 

 swimmer could be clearly seen as he dived 

 far beneath. Often have we placed young 

 frogs on its bosom, and watched with delight 

 the graceful ease with which they moved 

 their supple limbs. Fain would we have 

 imitated the motions of these tiny creatures. 

 They swam without any apparent effort. 



Here let me note the wild majesty of the 

 scene on the bank of the Greta, opposite 

 the old church. It is indeed of most sur- 

 passing grandeur. Turner has faithfully 

 delineated, and Scott has most poetically 

 described it : 



" He turn'd— 



To where the bank opposing show'd 



Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood. 



One, prominent above the rest, 



Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast: 



Around its broken summit grew 



The hazel rude, and sable yew; 



A thousand varied lichens dyed 



Its waste and weather-beaten side, 



