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voice, there was no heart that could stand before it. In his
hour of emotion, he swept away all hearts, whithersoever he
would. No less striking was it to see him in a mood of
repose, as he was seen when steering the packet-boat that
used to pass between Bowness and Ambleside, before the
steamers were put upon the lake. Sitting motionless, with
his hand upon the rudder, in the presence of journeymen and
market-women, and his eye apparently looking beyond
everything into nothing, and his mouth closed above his
beard, as if he meant never to speak again, he was quite as
impressive and immortal an image as he could have been to
the students of his moral philosophy class, or the comrades
of his jovial hours. He was known, and with reverence and
affection, beside the trout-stream and the mountain tarn,
and, amidst the damp gloom of Elleray, where he could not
bring himself to let a tree or a sprig be lopped that his
wife had loved. Every old boatman and young angler, every
hoary shepherd and primitive dame among the hills of the
district, knew him and enjoyed his presence. He made others
happy by being so intensely happy himself, when his brighter
moods were on him; and when he was mournful, no one desired
to be gay. He is gone with his joy and his grief; and the
region is so much the darker in a thousand eyes.
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Instead of returning to his inn the way he came, the
stranger may make a moderate and pleasant walk by going
through Bowness on the Ambleside road, and round by Cook's
House. The first noticeable abode that he will see is
Rayrigg,- a rather low, rambling, grey house, standing on
the grass near a little bay of
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