His brother’s verses I have not seen, and having devoted more time to this subject than you may approve of, you had better now return to your inn—pay your moderate bill, and set out, passing the Elterwater powder works, and through the straggling village of that name—take a glance at the tarn with its reedy shores, and pushing on, you pass, unseen, far up on the height to your right hand, the farm houses called Hacket, formerly the residence of old Betty Yewdale, the heroine of one of the best passages in the “Excursion.” I allude to that in the fifth book, where the sage and eloquent wanderer describes his having been benighted amongst the hills— ——until a light High in the gloom appeared, too high, methought, For human habitation;—— But making for this light, he finds a matron “Drawn from her cottage on that aëry height, Bearing a lantern in her hand she stood, Or paced the ground—to guide her husband home.” As you have read “The Excursion,” or, if not, intend to correct that sin of omission without further delay, I need not quote farther. But I should tell you that the same Betty Yewdale also figures as the heroine of a section of that strange book “The Doctor,” or rather, I should say, she is the narrator of the chapter, for it was taken down from her own lips, and in her own language, by “the Doctor's” daughter, Miss Southey, and a friend. It is called “A true story of the terrible knitters i’ Dent”—is by far the best specimen of our local dialect that I know, and in truth to nature, interest of narrative, and as a picture of manners, is infinitely superior to the only production at all resembling it—the well-known “Borrowdale letter.” I must recommend it to you as well worthy a careful perusal, giving you the following short extract as a whet. She and her sister, I must premise, had been sent from Langdale to Dent, when she was “between sebben an’ eight year auld, and Sally twea year younger,” and tiring of the mode of living and the incessant knitting at Dent, which are most graphically described, they ran away. She gives a minute detail of their three days’ journey, and continues:—“It was quite dark afore we gat to Ammelside yat—our feet warr sair, an’ we warr naarly dune for—an’ when we turnt round Windermer Watter heead t'waves blasht sea dowly that we warr fairly heart-brossen. We sat down on a cauld steean an’ grat sair—but when we hed hed our belly full o’ greeting, we gat up an’ dreed on agean—slaw enough, ye may be sure, but we warr i’ kent rwoads.——We began ta be flayet at my fadder an’ mudder wad be angert at us for running away. It was tweea o'clock in t’ mwornin’ when we gat to our awn duir. I ca’d out ‘Fadder, fadder! Mudder, mudder!’ ower an’ ower agean. She hard us, an’ sed ‘That’s our Betty voice!’ ‘Thou’s nowt but fancies, lig still,’ sed my fadder—but she waddent, an’ sea gat up an’ open’t duir, an’ thear warr we stannin’ dodderin’ an’ daized wi’ cauld,