It speaks not a little for the vigorous and buoyant life of the immediate neighbourhood of our town that so few examples are to be met with of decay and ruin. Turn whichever way we will, we find new houses, new factories, new enterprises, but scarcely an instance of wasting away and dilapidation. The nearest important relic of the feudal times is Beeston Castle, just described; and the nearest memorial and sepulchre of those brave, good men who, while the rulers of our country were fighting and oppressing, conserved within the convent walls learning, religion, charity, and a hundred other things that kept the national civilisation moving until the aurora of the Reformation, is Whalley Abbey, also more than thirty miles away. Excepting a few old houses of little significance, everything about us is intact, occupied usefully, and a fine testimony to the intelligence and the energy of the province. Let a stranger visit any part of the country within the radius indicated, and he will feel that he is in a place where life is concentrated: everything bespeaks nerve; whatever has died seems to have been succeeded on the instant by a more powerful thing. Like a laurel-tree, we are dressed in this district in the foliage of perennial and vehement vitality; while there is plenty of solid stem to mark honourable antiquity, the leaves that have gone have but made way for new and larger ones. These reflections have been suggested by a visit to Arden Hall, the solitary exception to the strong, unyielding life of the vicinity. Upon this account alone it is a place of interest. The situation, also, is one of the most delightful ever selected for a country residence. The locality may be described, in general terms, as on the Cheshire bank of the river Tame, about half-way between Stockport and Hyde. The Tame separates Lancashire from that odd bit of Cheshire which, running up in a kind of peninsula at its north-east corner, terminates with Mossley and Tintwistle, the Etherowe forming its boundary on the opposite side, and dividing it from Derbyshire. Few would suppose it possible, but the county of Cheshire is at this point scarcely more than two miles across! The ruin itself is easily found, the way to it being by Levenshulme and Reddish,[16] inquiring there for the Reddish paper-mills, which lie in the valley on the Lancashire side of the river, and are approached by a steep descent, with beautiful views of the surrounding country in front and upon the left. Crossing the river by the mills, mounting the hill, going through a few fields and a grove of trees, right before us, sooner than expected, stands the hall, a large, tall square building of grey stone. At first sight, it appears to be in tolerable preservation. The remains of the old sun-dial are still visible, the diamonded casements of some of the windows are perfect, and the exterior generally is undefaced. But the illusion soon passes away. Penetrating to the inside, the great hall--a noble