"Arrived at Coniston Hotel, the waiter said the same thing: 'It's too cloudy to ascend the "Old Man;"' but as soon as it was found that if it was too cloudy we did not intend to stay, it cleared off amazingly fast, and the ponies were ordered. I thought at first of walking up, but, having a value for my feet and not liking to misuse them, I mounted a pony and walked him. "He was beautifully stupid, but I could not help thinking of Henry Colman, the agriculturist, who, when in England, went on a fox-hunt. He said, 'Think of my poor wife's old husband leaping a fence!' "But I soon forgot any fear, for the pony needed nothing from me or the guide, but scrambled about any way he chose; and the scenery was charming, for although the mountains are not very high, they are thrown together very beautifully and remind me of those of the Hudson Highlands. Then the little lakes were lovely, and occasionally we came to a tarn or pond, and exceedingly small waterfalls were rushing about everywhere, without any apparent object in view, but evidently looking for something. And spite of the weatherwise head-waiter of the 'Salutation' and of him of Coniston Inn, the day was beautiful. We had to give up the ponies when we were half a mile from the top, and clamber up ourselves. The guide was very intelligent, and pointed out the lakes, Windermere, Coniston; and the mountains, Helvellyn, Skiddaw, and Saddleback; but at one time he spoke a name that I couldn't understand, and forgetting that I was in England and not in America, I asked him to _spell_ it. He replied, 'Theys call it so always.' He did not fail, however, to ask questions like a Yankee, if he couldn't spell like one. 'Which way be ye coming?'--'From America.'--'Ye'll be going to Scotland like?'--'Yes.'--'Ye'll be spending much money before ye are home again.' "When we were quite on top of the mountain I asked what the white glimmering was in the distance, and he said it was, what I supposed, an arm of the sea. "The shadows of the flying clouds were very pretty falling on the hills around us, and the villages in the valleys beneath looked like white dots on the green. "Sunday, Sept. 20, 1857. We have been to see Miss Southey to-day. I sent the letter which Mrs. Airy gave me yesterday, and with it a note saying that I would call to-day if convenient. "Miss Southey replied at once, saying that she should be happy to see me. She lives in a straggling, irregular cottage, like most of the cottages around Keswick, but beautifully situated, though far from the lake. "Southey himself lived at Greta Hall, a much finer place, for many years, but he never owned it, and the gentleman who bought it will permit no one to see it. "Miss Southey's house is overgrown with climbing plants, has windows opening to the ground, and is really a summer residence, not a good winter home. "When Southey, in his decline, married a second wife, the family scattered, and this daughter, the only unmarried one, left him.