The Calder, which is a very sinuous stream, runs a most irregular but charmingly diversified course as it winds under scout and scar, now gliding smoothly past belts of woodland or by long stretches of fair pastoral field, or again in narrower channel foaming more rapidly through wild ravine or over rocky weir, only again to slip into more tranquil waters, pleasantly gladdening as with quiet familiarity village and thorpe. Leaving Todmorden the tourist passes on the right the precipitous woods of Erringden, the dene or valley of the Irringas, where of yore probably dwelt a branch of the family of the Aruns; and on the other hand, towering far away on the heights to the north may be seen the bleak, solitary, altar-like mass of rock known as Llads-Law, conjectured by some to be a Druidical ruin. The Celt lived here beyond all doubt, though but few are the traces he has left behind in cromlech or cairn, in speech or blood. The Roman, we know, cut his way through the primeval forests, and on these very mountains laid down his military roads, the long lines of which we can map out, and oft-times does the plough turn up fragments of rusted sword and broken spear which tell how the pierced hand had to drop them for ever. On and near these roads, after the iron legions had ceased to tramp them, sprung up many a Saxon “ton” or town and Danish “by.” There, on the one hand, upon the heights still difficult to scale except to born mountaineers, is perched Saxon Heptonstall, with its grand old tower of Saint Thomas à Becket and antique homesteads clustering around; and yonder, on the far opposite slope to the south-east, is Danish Sowerby, taking us back in thought to the times when the Vikings settled down and fortified their “by” in the forest fastnesses of the hill. Here, too, to this Sowerby came later the Earl of Warren and built himself a castle, and took to his own possession vast tracts of mountain slope and wooded glen, which long retained the name of the Forest of Hardwick, and therein he hunted in right baronial style the boar and the wild deer. Sowerby with its Danish and Norman memories has a not uninteresting story in later ages, and is not a little proud in having given birth to John Tillotson, one of England’s most illustrious primates. Haugh-End, the quaint old house where he was born, is on the southern slope of the hill, and many the pilgrims who turn aside to have a look at the grey old roof sheltered behind the trees and the ivied high wall. Not a bow-shot from the riverside, and nearly opposite Sowerby, is Eawood Hall, the birthplace of Bishop Ferrar, the martyr. Eawood, snugly and picturesquely nestled under the greenwood scars of Midgley, has a conspicuous place in the ecclesiastical history of the county. Here John Wesley preached on several occasions, on one of which he remarked, “I preached to near an hour after sunset. The calmness of the evening agreed well with the