A more delightful neighbourhood for a great residence it would be difficult to find. Everywhere in the vicinity alike of Stonyhurst and of the two Mittons, the country constantly reminds one of the south. Upon foot it is impossible to go astray, for if in rambling we do not reach the particular point that was contemplated at the outset, meadows, running water, woodlands, and the sweet spectacle of hills, both near and distant, and of all chaste hues, are everywhere our own, and the last hour is no less animating than the first. A very lovely walk in particular is that one from Mitton to Clitheroe, keeping the Lancashire side of the stream. The babble of the broad and shining water, the patient expectancy of many anglers, majestic Pendle upon the right, a thousand green trees, and by turning the head a little, after the manner of ... travellers oft, at evening's close, When eastwards slowly moving, the glimpse still obtainable of lofty Stonyhurst, which ever and anon recalls the inimitable ode, "Ye distant spires, ye antique towers." Each and every element in turn invites a pause, and linger as one may, Clitheroe is still too near, and reached too soon. Arrived, there is new pleasure in inspection of the remains of the ancient castle, one of the most interesting feudal relics in the county,--built towards the close of the twelfth century by one of the De Lacy family, whose landed possessions extended from this neighbourhood uninterruptedly to Pontefract. It never was a castle in the thorough sense of the word, merely a stronghold to which the lords of the house came at intervals, to receive tribute and to dispense justice. There never was room for much more than a donjon, the rock upon which the little fortalice was erected, rising out of the flat like an islet, a sort of Beeston rock in miniature. There were buildings no doubt upon the slope, predecessors of the present, the former including a chapel, but these were quite external to the castle _ipsissima_. The view from the summit is delightfully picturesque, and when this has been enjoyed, there is, as at Smithills, that curious blending of past and present, old and new, which always awakens gratitude to the gardener, for here, in this ancient keep, leaning against stones laid in their places nearly eight centuries ago, is one of the glossy little cotoneasters of northern India, unknown in England before 1825.