brick-and-mortar purlieus of home, and in company with two young
friends, commenced this excursion. The diversified chain of the
Hambleton Hills, bounding the fruitful valley of Mowbray, rose at the
distance of six miles before us; and whose summit we intended reaching
before breakfast. The varying aspect of these rocky eminences requires
the descriptive charms of Sir Walter Scott, or the pencil of Salvator
Rosa, to do them justice. Within two miles of them, you might imagine
yourself in the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, whose circular walls
reared their dark-gray forms to the heaven; and the inimitable
description which Byron has given us of that edifice, occurs to the
recollection; though no waving weeds and dew-nurtured trees crown the
apparent ruin--

"Like laurel on the bald first Caesar's head."

On a nearer view, they change their appearance, and you might suppose
that the remains of some fortified castle, typical of the feudal system,
looked over the heather which clothes their rocky sides; whilst the
detached pieces of rock, which rolled from the summit eighty years ago,
appear amongst the furze, like the tombs of Jewish patriarchs in the
valley of Jehosaphat at Jerusalem, darkened by the lapse of ages. To the
right of our path lay the solitary and frail memorials of the monastery
of Hode, founded by Roger de Mowbray, and afterwards attached to the
abbey of Byland. Shortly after passing Hode, we arrived at the base of
Hambleton, and began to ascend its rocky front; we had climbed half the
ascent, when, on cautiously turning ourselves, an indescribable picture
presented itself in the vale and its objects below; the solemn silence
of the early hour--the first greeting of the morning sun--the glittering
and distant lake of Gormire, guarded by towering hills to the
right--and, to the left, rocks which have stood whilst generations of