He Took Us
To His House, And We Felt That We Were Not, After All, In A Strange
Love and kindness are the home of all souls, and show us what
heaven must be.
The thing that impressed me most was the dim light of the English
day, the soft, undefined shadows, compared with our brilliant
sunshine and sharply defined shade - then the coloring of the houses,
the streets, the ground, of every thing; no bright colors, all
sober, some very dark, - the idea of age, gravity, and stability.
Nobody seems in a hurry. Our country seems so young and vehement;
this so grave and collected!
Now I will tell you something about my visit to my dear friend
Harriet Martineau, whose beautiful little books, "Feats on the
Fiord," "The Crofton Boys," and the others, you love so much to
read. She lives at Ambleside, in what is called the Lake Country.
Ambleside is a beautiful country town in the valley of the Rotha,
and not far from Lake Windermere. Around the town rise high hills,
which perhaps may be called mountains. These mountains are not, like
many of ours, clothed to the summit with thick wild forests, but
have fewer trees, and are often bare at the summit. The mixture of
gray rock and green grass forms such a beautiful coloring over their
graceful and sometimes grotesque outline that you would not have
them other than they are.
The Ambleside houses are of dark-gray stone, and almost all of them
have ivy and flowers about them.
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