Passing out of the churchyard to the river-side we come to the well-known “Bishop’s Walk,” a raised causeway that runs beside the moat which encloses the palace. This pleasing path, which commands the grounds, is the playground of boys, but is not without its dangers. There used to be a notice: “This path is dangerous.” “Whether the danger arises from the episcopal cows which graze peacefully on the water-meadows adjacent, and, with their sleek coats and calm, sleepy eyes, seem as little mischievous as possible, or from more occult sources of peril, it is not easy to determine. But a passer-by is better informed: ‘It’s the kids,’ he states succinctly. And it seems that the children of the neighbourhood ‘snatch a fearful joy’ in fishing for sticklebacks and newts from the grassy margin of the episcopal moat, and some have tumbled in and been drowned.” Nothing strikes us so much as the fine old trees and the numerous yews which rise sadly and solemnly beside the Bishop’s Palace. The view from The Walk of the placid, solemn retirement of the grounds, with the cheerful old red of the house and its tiled roof peeping through the trees, is very pleasant. The late Samuel Read, who had a charming gift for catching the spirit of these old houses, and whom a practical publisher of Christmas numbers once praised as “_the best moated-granger he knew_,” would have revelled here. Entering by the gate, left open, we stroll up to the rather grim-looking quadrangle of solemn black and red brick in a diapered pattern. Nothing can be more pleasing than the still retirement of the inclosure with its circular and waterless basin in the centre, and the imposing doorway facing the archway. The windows are long and diamond-paned, and flush with the wall--lank and gloomy-looking. There is the picturesque lantern over the hall or chapel. No one is to be seen. It is scarcely wonderful that Dr. Temple should be fond of this sequestered place, or should have abandoned and shut up his town mansion. If we pursue the river bank we come to Hurlingham, a fine old mansion, the scene of many a fashionable joust--polo, and the rest. Many a traveller by the River Thames will have noted the Crab Tree Inn, a quaint and old--very old--house of entertainment. Indeed there are numerous old houses, some of historic interest, but rapidly tumbling into decay: such is old Munster House, at the corner of Munster Road, which is as awry and contorted with age as an ancient crone is with “the rheumatics,” behind whose high walls is seen a large stretch of grounds, solemn nodding yews, and gloomy foliage. Passing on to Parson’s Green we shall find plenty of fine old houses, architectural even in style--Duncannon House and others. We may note also Arundel House, by the road-side, with its quaint grounds and projecting pavilion at the rear. So many old trees and old gardens are found here that the birds, as it may be imagined, flourish exceedingly.