to send out, and little has it also to receive.' Now if this is a true account of the state of mines and quarries—and, of course, in the discoveries of thirty years it may have been proved untrue—there is really no need for a railway in the most beautiful and secluded part of the Lake Country. It has been alleged that the district is closed to people who are too weak to take one of the most lovely and exhilarating walks in England, and too poor to hire a dog-cart, or the gig of respectability. Granting that this is so, the question arises whether they would find any consolation in railways. They would gain nothing but a hurried glance at lakes, waterfalls, trees, and the interior of tunnels, which enjoyments can be had in endless variety in most parts of this country. Any peculiar charm of the meres and hills they would necessarily miss, while they would carry along with them the noise, the turmoil, the unsightly cuttings which are necessary accompaniments and conditions of speedy travel elsewhere, but are surely uncalled for by the side of Grasmere. Of course, if the invalids get their railway the country people will be able to use it, and will journey from Ambleside to Keswick much quicker than they used to do. At the same time they will lose the healthy exercise or the beautiful drive. Perhaps they are wiser than the Virgilian rustics, and know the blessings they enjoy; perhaps they do not appreciate them, and think that speed is as necessary
