bathing. The sad news brought the members down to the waterside for a painful object-lesson in the necessity of life-saving apparatus. By private effort, in the absence of public authority, life buoys and lines have now been provided at the boathouses and piers, and it is hoped that all will co-operate in the proper use of such means in case of need.

We have now passed the boathouse of Coniston Bank on the left, and Coniston Hall on the right. Between the two the lake is at its broadest—nearly half-a-mile. Land's Point on the right narrows the lake to a third of a mile. Looking back, Yewdale Crag stands finely over the waterhead; Brantwood is opposite. Between Coniston Bank and Brantwood (fishermen and boat sailors may note) there is a shoal nearly rising to the surface in low water—a bank of stiff clay, about 50 yards off the east shore. On the right hand, in the second field below Land's Point, the dark-looking bank just above the foreshore is a mass of slag, the remains of an ancient bloomery or smelting furnace; and in the next field called the "Springs," half a mile below Land Point, there is another bloomery site, marked by a tree-grown hillock. Behind these, plantations cover the site of the ancient deer park of Coniston Hall. Exactly opposite the "Springs" bloomery is a promontory formed by Beck Leven, on which Ruskin's seat marks a favourite point of view embracing the whole of the waterhead and the crags around. Across the road from this seat and close to the beck are the slag mounds of another bloomery.

We are now crossing the deepest part of the northern basin of the lake, where Dr. Mill found over 150 feet of water. The bottom rises, when we pass Hoathwaite boathouse on the right, to little more than 125 feet, and off Fir Island deepens again, attaining 184 feet half a mile farther down—making this the deepest of the lakes after Wastwater, Windermere, and Ullswater, as its 5-1/2 miles of length makes it the longest except Windermere and Ullswater. Its normal level is 143 feet above the sea, though it rises and falls in drought and damp weather as much as six feet. Of the form of its bed Dr. Mill says:—"If the water were reduced to sea level, there would remain two small lakes, the southern measuring one mile and a half in length, and a quarter of a mile in breadth, and having a maximum depth of 42 feet; the northern one, separated by a quarter of a mile, being only 9 feet deep, three-quarters of a mile long, and perhaps 200 yards wide at the most. Quite possibly the two might be connected by a channel, and give a long shallow lake of two and a half miles" (Bathymetrical Survey of the English Lakes, p. 39). This bank or dam between the two deeps is not caused by filling up from any stream like that at the steamer pier; it points to the fact, more strikingly seen in Windermere, that these long lakes, like most of the long valleys, are not mere troughs or grooves ploughed in the rock, but a series of basins, partly filled up with glacial débris, and partly joined together by glacial erosion, which broke and planed away the dividing barriers.

Fir Island (formerly from its owner called Knott Island, now the property of Arthur Severn, Esq., R.I., J.P.) is low and close to the water's edge, hardly distinguishable except by its grove of Scotch firs from the rest of the coast. In very dry weather it becomes a peninsula, but usually a boat can make the circumnavigation, though there is risk of shipwreck on the sharp rocks to the landward side. Near it, beyond the road which winds prettily along the uneven and craggy shore, are the ruins of Copland's Barn; and above it the great larch woods of the Heald, on a noble slope of nearly 700 feet from the brow of the fell to the lake. The western shore is formed by the long and varied slope of Torver Common, down which runs the Moor Gill. At its foot, exactly opposite Copland's Barn, is the most extensive of the bloomeries, with the ruins of an old hearth still to be found.

At last the continuous skylines are broken. On the left, a steep dingle runs up among rocks and woods to Parkamoor, a lonely farm on a bleak brow top; and on the right, the valley of Torver begins to open out, with glimpses of Dow Crags and the Old Man in a new aspect, showing their precipices boldly against the sky, and beneath them Sunny Bank and Oxness at the mouth of Torver Beck.

Peel Island is now before us, a crag standing romantically out of the water, and rich with varied foliage. From its western brink the bed of the lake runs rapidly down to a depth of more than 100 feet.

The island itself was for a while known as Montague Island, from its owner. It was sometimes called the "Gridiron," for it is made up of a series of bars of rock, so to say, with a long projecting "calf rock" that stood for the handle. It might as well be called the ship, with the cockboat astern. But the old original name was Peel Island, which to a student of place-names indicated that it once was used as a fortress; and permission being asked from the agent of the owner, the Duke of Buccleugh, some little excavations were made, which revealed ancient buildings and walls, with pottery of an early mediæval type and other remains, which can be seen in the Coniston Museum. But Peel Island is such a jewel of natural beauty that antiquarian curiosity hardly justified more than the most respectful disturbance of its bluebells and heather.

Below this, the shores become more indented and more picturesque; the hills around do not fall off into tameness, as at the feet of some of the lakes. On the right is the Beacon, with its cairn conspicuous at 835 feet above sea; on the left, Selside rises to 1,015 feet. Opposite is Brown How, or Brown Hall, prettily built at the water's edge; and on the long nab that stretches half-way across the lake is the old mansion of Water Park (A. P. Bridson, Esq.).

The gondola slows down and rounds to the little pier, on one of the loveliest bits of all our lakeland scenery. Five minutes' walk takes you up to the Lakebank Hotel, and from its terrace—still better from the knoll above it when the surrounding trees are bare or lopped—the view embraces (beginning from the left) the Beacon, Dow Crags, the Old Man, and Weatherlam; Helvellyn, with Yewdale Crag and Raven Crag beneath; Fairfield and Scandale Head, with Loughrigg below (Red Screes and Ill Bell are not visible), and the lake's whole length with all its wooded promontories. To the right, across the water, the village of Nibthwaite, with cottages nestling under the steep and rocky mountain edge, and ruined quay which formed, before the railway tapped the traffic of Coniston, the terminus of its ancient waterway.

Formerly this lake, like Derwentwater, boasted a floating island—a mass of weeds and water plants detached from the bottom, and carrying enough solid matter to make it a kind of natural raft. In the floods and storms of October, 1846, it was stranded near Nibthwaite, and remained thenceforward indistinguishable from the rest of the shore.

Thurston Water used to be famous for its char, which were thought to be even finer and better than those of Windermere. Sir Daniel Fleming of Rydal notes in his account book, under the date February 19th, 1662 (1663, new style):—"Given unto Adam Fleming for bringing eleven dozen of charres from Conistone, for four pies 1s. 6d.;" and he used to send presents of Coniston char pies, as the most acceptable of delicacies, to his distinguished friends in London. In the middle part of the nineteenth century the turbid or poisonous matter washed into the lake by the streams from the copper mines, then in full work, is said to have killed off both char and trout; but it is an ill-wind that blows nobody good, and the cessation of copper mining has left the water pure again. The