LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
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Memoir of Francis Hodgson
Bishop Samuel Butler to Francis Hodgson, [July? 1826]

Vol. 1 Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II. 1794-1807.
Chapter III. 1807-1808.
Chapter IV. 1808.
Chapter V. 1808-1809.
Chapter VI. 1810.
Chapter VII. 1811.
Chapter VIII. 1811.
Chapter IX. 1811.
Chapter X. 1811-12.
Chapter XI. 1812.
Chapter XII. 1812-13.
Chapter XIII. 1813-14.
Vol. 2 Contents
Chapter XIV. 1815-16.
Chapter XV. 1816-18.
Chapter XVI. 1815-22.
Chapter XVII. 1820.
Chapter XVIII. 1824-27.
Chapter XIX. 1827-1830
Chapter XX. 1830-36.
Chapter XXI. 1837-40.
Chapter XXII. 1840-47.
Chapter XXIII. 1840-52.
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My dear friend,—I am all the better for my residence here, where I shall stay a week longer. You may think how much better I am than when we parted, when I tell you that I climbed a mountain 1,500 feet high yesterday, and, with the assistance of my friend Mr. Mathew, built an ancient fort on the top of it, and came down to dinner without feeling fatigued. I attribute this renovation to great amusement in the fishing department, and the peculiarly nourishing and well-flavoured properties of the Westmoreland mutton. Your historical annotations amused me much, but do not alter my opinion. As to the independence of Westmoreland, it is all a farce. The 1,300 voters for Brougham are as much the slaves of Lord Thanet and his friends, as the 1,760 for the Lowthers are the slaves of Lord Lonsdale. There are a few independent voters on both sides, and the rest sell their sweet voices or give them as they are bid; and what does it matter to you, or me, or them, whether the man’s name whom they vote for begins with a B or an L?

I think Archdeacon Wrangham is very appro-
priately fixed at Humanby, and therefore I cannot consent to let him exchange livings with you. We carry on the war here against the tyrants of the lake very successfully, and meditate a battle royal tomorrow and the next day on a celebrated lake—Wyborne Water—at the foot of Helvellyn, in the Vale of St. John, where are the fairy rocks and castle sung of in the ‘
Bridal of Triermain.’ The scenery here is indeed magnificent, particularly about Wyborne Water, and the rock called the Raven’s Crag, almost twice the height of Matlock High Tor, perpendicularly over the head of the lake. Coniston, too, with its gigantic old ruin, and its bare and rugged rocks, full of copper-mines, is very grand; while Windermere, with its wide valley and undulating hills and promontories, is full of milder beauties. But the most sublime of all is Ulleswater, in its two last reaches of Lyulph’s town and Paterdale, in rowing through which I had the satisfaction (and it was a satisfaction of the highest order) to be drenched with a thunderstorm. But the spirits of the clouds and the Fells spoke in angry and fearful tones.

My best regards to Mrs. H.

S. B.