Letter of 1834 August 07

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Buttermere, Augt 7, 1834./

Dear Caroline,/

	Here in the midst of what I have always/
 considered the wildest and the simplest scenery of this romantic/
 country I sit down to give you a short and imperfect account/
 of my excursive rambles, independently of other feelings which/
 have daily, I might say with truth almost hourly prompted me/
 to write to you the knowledge of your love of the beauties/
 of Nature and your sympathy with my own feelings and/
 enjoyment of them gives me double pleasure in attempting to communicate to you what I can scarcely find words to/
 express.  I have just returned from an evenings stroll/
 along the margin of the Lake, the sun set beautifully behind the lower range of hills which form its western boundary,/
 while the loftier mountains to the south and east were cast/
 into deeper and more extensive shade, the outlines of the/
 more distant being relieved by the gleams of light below/
 the dark rolling masses of cloud, an effect which poor Robson/
 
Friday 8th./

The inhabitants of this secluded dell are early in their times of rest and uprising so/
 I reluctantly left them last night at the signal of the barring of the doors which seemed/
 to be repeated in rather a significant manner.  You will hardly be surprized[sic] that/
 my last waking thoughts should return with all the vivid reality which they derive/
 from the unfettered workings of the mind.  There was a large musical party, many/
 portraits were painted with that minute exactness which is singularly characteristic/
 of the pictures we contemplate in the brain's camera lucida.  Beethoven's Adelaide/
 was sang and never shall I forget the minute accuracy with which I heard not only/
 the air but every note of the accompaniament[sic].  Sandy Roche has often drawn/
 tears from me by his exquisite performance of that composition, and this time they/
 must have flowed abundantly, for poor Susan sang it.  There was a mixed company/
 of Lancaster and London friends.  You looked so beautiful, you would smile if/
 I were, as I could, describe the bonnet you wore, for with the incongruity of dreams/
 you had one on; and I felt such happiness and pride in introducing you to/
 my cousin and sisters.  This must be a true dream for when I awoke it was but/
 2 o'Clock, and those of the first sleep always come to pass.  I have been climbing to/
 Laya[?] mountain called Red Pike. from its summit I saw six lakes, all the principal/
 mountains of this district, the sea coast of Cumberland & Scotland, the/

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