The clough is not distinguished by anything special in the way of plants, though we have gathered there fine sprigs of the sweet woodruff. As a retreat, however, from the noise and bustle of the town, and the only place of the kind in that direction, it must always be precious to the lover of nature. Unfortunately, the path has of late years become very much disturbed through the falling away of the bank, the steepness of which, and the weight of the trees, unprovided with sufficient anchorage by reason of the lightness of the soil, causes continual landslips, so that now there are in many places rather dangerous declivities. Many of the trees that once stood erect upon the brows, now lie ingloriously with their heads in the brook beneath, and their roots in the air. The increase of buildings about Newton and Failsworth, and the consequent incessant raids of destroying boys, have also tended of late years to mar the place considerably; and now, in 1882, it has to be said with deep regret, that the regular Sunday resort to Boggart-hole of the lowest roughs of the neighbouring villages, leaves it for the week-day visitor tattered and torn and soiled beyond recovery. The signal, with every new season, for renewed mischief, is the opening of the golden sallow-bloom, now not a tenth in quantity of what it was even in 1850. These roughs are the thousand times more affrighting boggarts of to-day, masters, permittedly by the authorities, of a place once another Kelvin Grove, Where the wild rose in its pride Paints the hollow dingle side, And the midnight fairies glide, Bonnie lassie, O!