They showed me a centurial stone built into the wall of their house just above the door, and protected by the wooden porch. Beside it are two other Roman stones with very clear broaching. They told me they had shown them to only one other visitor since they came to live there eight years ago. When I left, the farmer kindly insisted on coming with me as far as the Wall, to make sure I did not miss my way. He brought me to the "long strip of the Wall in an encouraging state" mentioned by Dr. Bruce. It is planted with oaks--quite large trees; and its ditch at this point is very impressive. {188} It is in this neighbourhood that the Wall and the Vallum approach each other within 35 yards. At Old Wall, the next farm, many Roman stones are seen in the buildings, and there are great piles of them lying in the roadway, amongst them what looks like a lintel. The Wall-ditch is clearly seen between the road and the house. It came on to rain as I approached Old Wall, but, hoping that it would not be much, I pushed on. I thought I could get to Wallhead and then strike down into the Carlisle Road. A drove-road runs along the site of the Wall, a grassy lane with high hedges, so I could follow this; but before I reached Bleatarn the rain came down in such torrents that I was compelled to leave the Wall and get down into the main road as quickly as possible. So I turned south until I saw ahead of me the gleam of the rain on a macadamized surface. The rain was still streaming down, "like knitting-needles," as some one has said, and there seemed to be no one about. At High Crosby I inquired for an Inn, and was told there was one at Low Crosby. By this time I was so wet I should have been glad to get in anywhere, but the landlady of the Stag at Low Crosby was quite uncompromising. "We don't give beds," said she. I asked for supper. No, she could not give supper either. "Might I come in and write a letter?" "Ay, ye can do that." So I threaded my way {189} amongst the men who were sitting round little tables, with their pipes and beer, in the only room of the Inn, conscious that I was leaving a wet trail in the sawdust on the floor; and I found a little table in a corner and wrote my letter. Then I called the landlady, and, giving her a shilling, I asked if she could have my letter delivered at a house in the neighbourhood early the next day. She took the shilling and held it up between her finger and thumb. "Do I deliver this with the letter?" said she. "No; that's for yerself," came in a chorus from the men sitting round, who had been taking more interest than I knew!