Leaving the hall, the road descends rapidly towards the river, here crossed by a stone bridge, shortly before reaching which there are some cottages upon the left. At one of these, with the name "Thomas Ingham" over the door, a nice tea may be obtained. It is not a very attractive place to look at, but the parlour (at the back) is as comfortable as any lady could desire; the provision is excellent, the attendance prompt and respectful, and the charge so moderate that it seems wonderful how it can pay. Forget not that in visiting such places the obligation is mutual. Excursionists have no sort of claim upon private houses, and should be glad to recompense with liberality the kindly willingness to accommodate, save for which they might have to plod for miles hungry and tired. Tea disposed of, we have a walk homewards even more pleasing than the first, by taking, that is, the contrary or Lancashire side of the river, and thus passing through the very woods admired an hour previously from the hall and the crest of the hill. The way is first over the stone bridge, then for a little distance up the hill, descending thence into the field-path, found by means of a large circular brick structure in one of the meadows, seemingly the ventilation mouth of a coal-mine. There is a path quite close to the river, if preferred, entered almost immediately after crossing the bridge, but the water after wet weather is apt to be disagreeable, and in autumn there is a thick and laborious jungle of butter-bur leaves. The hill-side at this point is decidedly the best place for viewing the hall, which crowns the tall cliff immediately in front of it. It is hard to think, as we contemplate its lovely adjuncts, how so romantic a site could have been deserted. The woods hanging the hill-sides with their beautiful tapestry, the river creeping quietly in the bottom, but seen only in shining lakelets where the branches of the trees disentangle themselves, and make a green lacework of light twig and leaf, just dense enough to serve as a thin veil, and just open enough to let the eye pierce it and be delighted; the perfect calm of the whole scene, and the sweet allurement of the path with every additional step, how came they to be ignored? Approaching Reddish the woods are unfenced, and the path lies almost beneath the trees. At the end of May these woods are suffused with the brightest blue in every direction,--the bloom of the innumerable wild hyacinth, which clusters here in great banks and masses, so close that the green of the foliage is concealed. The ground being a slope, and viewed from below, the effect is most singular and striking. Shakspeare speaks of "making the green one red;" here we have literally the green made blue. In the same woods grows the forget-me-not, in abundance only exceeded in the Morley meadows. One might almost fancy that the nymphs of ancient poetry had been transmigrated into these sweet turquoise-coloured flowers. Among