While we are wandering in this neighbourhood there must not be forgotten a word or two about Mr. Joseph Williamson (who died about 1841) and his excavations at Edge-hill. As I believe there is no authentic record of him, or of them, so far as I can recollect, a brief description of him and his strange works may not be uninteresting to the old, who have heard both spoken of, and to the present generation who know nothing of their extent and his singularity. It certainly does appear remarkable, but it is a fact, that many people possess a natural taste for prosecuting underground works. There is so much of mystery, awe, and romance in anything subterranean, that we feel a singular pleasure in instituting and making discoveries in it, and it is not less strange than true that those who once begin making excavations seem loth to leave off. Mr. Williamson appears to have been a true Troglodite, one who preferred the Cimmerian darkness of his vaulted world, to the broad cheerful light of day. He spent the principal part of his time in his vaults and excavations, and literally lived in a cellar, for his sitting room was little else, being a long vault with a window at one end, and his bedroom was a cave hollowed out at the back of it. In his cellar it was that he dispensed his hospitalities, in no sparing manner, having usually casks of port and sherry on tap, and also a cask of London porter. Glasses were out of use with him. In mugs and jugs were the generous fluids drawn and drank. When Williamson made a man welcome that welcome was sincere. Before I say anything about the excavations, a few "Recollections" of Joseph himself are worthy to be recorded. He was born on the 10th of March, 1769, at Warrington, and commenced his career in Liverpool, with Mr. Tate the tobacco merchant, in Wolstenholme-square. Williamson used to tell his own tale by stating that "I came to Liverpool a poor lad to make my fortune. My mother was a decent woman, but my father was the greatest rip that ever walked on two feet. The poor woman took care that all my clothes were in good order, and she would not let me come to Liverpool unless I lodged with my employer. I got on in the world little by little, until I became a man of substance, and I married Betty Tate, my master's daughter. When the wedding day arrived I told her I would meet her at the (St. Thomas') church, which I did, and after it was all over I mounted the horse which was waiting for me, and told Betty to go home and that I would come to her after the Hunt. I was a member of the then famous 'Liverpool Hunt,' and when I got to the Meet somebody said, 'Why, Williamson, how smart you are!'--'Smart,' said I, 'aye!--a man should look smart on his wedding day!' 'Wedding day,' exclaimed some of the fellows, 'Who have you married?' 'I haven't married anybody,' I said, 'but the parson has married me to old Tate's daughter!' 'Why, where's your wife?' 'She's at home, to be sure, where