--We are still at Newby Bridge, and nothing has occurred of
remarkable interest, nor have we made any excursions, beyond moderate
walks. Two days have been rainy, and to-day there is more rain. We find
such weather as tolerable here as it would probably be anywhere; but it
passes rather heavily with the children,--and for myself, I should prefer
sunshine. Though Mr. White's books afford me some entertainment,
especially an odd volume of Ben Jonson's plays, containing "Volpone,"
"The Alchemist," "Bartholomew Fair," and others. "The Alchemist" is
certainly a great play. We watch all arrivals and other events from our
parlor window,--a stage-coach driving up four times in the twenty-four
hours, with its forlorn outsiders, all saturated with rain; the steamer,
from the head of the lake, landing a crowd of passengers, who stroll up
to the hotel, drink a glass of ale, lean over the parapet of the bridge,
gaze at the flat stones which pave the bottom of the Liver, and then
hurry back to the steamer again; cars, phaetons, horsemen, all damped and
disconsolate. There are a number of young men staying at the hotel, some
of whom go forth in all the rain, fishing, and come back at nightfall,
trudging heavily, but with creels on their backs that do not seem very
heavy. Yesterday was fair, and enlivened us a good deal. Returning from
a walk in the forenoon, I found a troop of yeomanry cavalry in the
stable-yard of the hotel. They were the North Lancashire Regiment, and
were on their way to Liverpool for the purpose of drill.
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