The foot of the lake
is just above Newby Bridge, and it widens from that point, but never to
such a breadth that objects are not pretty distinctly visible from shore
to shore. The steamer stops at two or three places in the course of its
voyage, the principal one being Bowness, which has a little bustle and
air of business about it proper to the principal port of the lake. There
are several small yachts, and many skiffs rowing about. The banks are
everywhere beautiful, and the water, in one portion, is strewn with
islands; few of which are large enough to be inhabitable, but they all
seem to be appropriated, and kept in the neatest order. As yet, I have
seen no wildness; everything is perfectly subdued and polished and imbued
with human taste, except, indeed, the outlines of the hills, which
continue very much the same as God made them. As we approached the head
of the lake, the congregation of great hills in the distance became very
striking. The shapes of these English mountains are certainly far more
picturesque than those which I have seen in Eastern America, where their
summits are almost invariably rounded, as I remember them. They are
great hillocks, great bunches of earth, similar to one another in their
developments. Here they have variety of shape, rising into peaks,
falling in abrupt precipices, stretching along in zigzag outlines, and
thus making the most of their not very gigantic masses, and producing a
remarkable effect.
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