Other fields gradually lead on towards Moston, several of them containing large "pits," or ponds, where, in July the white water-lily may be seen in its lustrous bloom, and the Comarum, covered with its deep-red blossoms and ripening fruit; and from there the way is easily found into the clough, which is entered about the middle. On the left, from this point, there is an enticing field-path by the side of the stream to the Blackley road; on the right we mount into the sylvan part, and see for ourselves how well merited is the reputation of this once-affrighting haunt of the boggart. All the charms of a leafy and flowery solitude are there assembled. Not those of the old, old forest, perfect in forest-ways, these we must not look for; but of the gentle ravine, wherein we cannot be lost, and which often pleases so much the more because less grand, since in all things while it is the great and sublime that we _admire_, that which we _love_ is the little and measurable. Beautiful trees are here, that among their boughs give ever-pleasing glimpses of soft scenery, and in its season, white patches of bridal May, The milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale, and that never hinder the sight of the azure overhead; and if while pushing our way through the brown remains of last year's ferns, brambles with their long arms and claws always seeking to clutch at the traveller, insist on plucking off one's cap just to show that the way is "on sufferance;" well, never mind, a lively little rill running in parts through beds of wild mint makes a pleasant noise, and wherever a sparkle is wanted to relieve the still and motionless, a silver eye or a glittering rapid is not awanting. Of course we must take with us a disposition to enjoy. "A song," says some author, "is thrown away that is not in the same key as the listener."