The rivers keep us in pleasant companionship, but, happily, the rain is absent. Before we cross the Ribble we get sight of the ancient hall of Little Mitton, lying among the trees; on the left a gabled mansion built by the Catteralls in the days of the seventh Henry, which, though it has been modernised and part rebuilt in recent years, still retains its spacious entrance hall, with the original arched timber roof, the exquisitely carved oaken screen, and the gallery above. With the exception of the great hall at Samlesbury it is the finest room in any house in the country, and its erection must well-nigh have laid a forest prostrate. Well might Whitaker express the hope that “it might never fall into the hands who have less respect for it than its (then) owner; and that no painter’s brush or carpenter’s hammer might ever come near it, excepting to arrest the progress of otherwise inevitable decay.” Thomas Catterall, the last of the name who held Little Mitton, granted the manor in 1579 to his daughter Dorothy, and her husband, Robert Sherburn, a younger son of the house of Stonyhurst, and their grandson, Richard Sherburn, in the reign of Charles the Second, sold it to Alexander Holt, of the ancient family of Holt of Grislehurst. Subsequently it passed by purchase to John Aspinall, Esq., and his grandson, Ralph John Aspinall, Esq., of Standen Hall, the late High Sheriff of Lancashire, is the present possessor; Mr. John Hick, formerly M.P. for Bolton, being the occupant. The village of Milton is finely embosomed among tufted trees upon a slope that rises gently from the valley, watered by the Ribble and its tributary streams, and is as thoroughly picturesque and “old English” as you would wish to see. As you approach, the grey embattled tower of its venerable church peeping above the umbrage forms a pleasing object, but its appearance does not improve on a closer acquaintance, for the hand of the spoiler has been busy, and a coating of coarse stucco effectually conceals the ancient masonry. It should be said, however, that a good deal has been done in recent years to atone for the tasteless barbarism of bygone churchwardens, and Nature has lovingly aided in the work by spreading a mantle of living green so as to hide many of the tasteless deformities. The church is a small and unpretending structure, though of considerable antiquity, some parts dating as far back as the reign of the third Edward, and probably it occupies the site of a still earlier building. The tower is of much later date, and like many other old churches the exterior, by its architectural diversities, gives ample proof of alterations and “improvements” at distant periods. The churchyard delights you by its placid beauty, and the little hamlet sleeping peacefully at the foot is in perfect harmony with the scene. When we entered the enclosure the doors of the church were fastened, but the sexton, who was pursuing his