From Castle Hill, a quarter of an hour’s walk from Keswick. Borrowdale and Scawfell Pike are well seen in the middle background; the islands from left to right, are Rampsholme, Lord’s Isle, and St. Herbert’s Island.] That was in 1715. A thousand years before, the large island far up the lake was the home of Saint Herbert, the _fidus Achates_ of the venerable Saint Cuthbert who often visited him here. So great was their mutual love and esteem that they expressed a desire that both should die at the same time “so that their souls might wing their flight to Heaven in company.” And although on Saint Herbert’s Island, “The hermit numbered his last day Far from Saint Cuthbert, his beloved friend, These holy men both died in the same hour.” The splash of white in the gorge to the left of the island is the Fall of Lodore, rendered famous by Southey, the Keswick poet laureate. But a detailed description of Friar’s Crag and its surroundings is beyond the scope of this book, as well as of the writer’s ability, so perhaps we had better pass on to fresh scenes. The best general view of Derwentwater is to be obtained from the eminence Castle Head, and indeed, for the amount of effort entailed, this is perhaps the best view in all Lakeland. From the actual top, the whole of the lake with its beautiful islands is visible. It occupies the place of honour in the foreground and is surrounded by mountains of almost every shape and variety. The craggy group at the head of Borrowdale--Scawfell and its satellites--the long grassy sweep of Maiden Moor, Catbells, and, round to the right, the double hump of Causey Pike rising above Barrow and Swinside, with Grisedale Pike beyond; and thence away to pointed Skiddaw, Blencathra and the Dodds of Helvellyn, present a diversity of form and colour that it would be difficult to surpass. Gilpin (no relation, by the way, to John of that ilk) described the lake as “Beauty lying in the lap of Horror.” That was in the eighteenth century. Just the other day an old Keswick woman expressed the opinion that “there’s nowt to mak’ sec’ a fuss about, for efter aw its nobbut a mix up of t’ fells, wood and watter.” Our attitude towards the mountains has undoubtedly changed in the last two hundred years and familiarity has, in some cases, bred contempt. If the tourist has not yet attained to the latter stage, he ought not to leave the district until he has seen Derwentwater from Castle Head.