I have a good deal to say in connection with this same Church and Parsonage, but I suppose it must be deferred, for after your long ride you must be somewhat athirst, and an unromantic feeling of emptiness most likely renders you insensible to the charms of scenery as well as sentiment. Your pony, who has been here before, has for sometime shewn an impatient consciousness of the proximity of Edward Stables’ corn-chest, and, in fair time of day, here you are at the door of his public, which, though of rather unpromising exterior, has the wherewithal inside to furnish forth a plain, but plentiful, savoury, and to a man, in your circumstances, satisfactory feed— “And here the ale is foaming up, And genuine is the gin, And you may take a liberal sup To cheer your soul within.” I am not sure that I quote correctly, but you will find that the facts are correctly given. If it be about the end of the week, you will probably fall in with my friend Dan Birkett, “t’ heead Captain of Seeathwaite Tarn-heead Mines,” who will not require much pressing to take a glass of grog, and whose varied conversation may amuse you, whilst your ham and eggs are being cooked. Amongst other matters, he will tell you that, in the Longhouse Close, on the side of Walna Scar, with which you shall be made acquainted by and bye, are to be seen the remains of an ancient British town, consisting of the ruins of several stone-built huts, and a large enclosure, where Dan says they secured their flocks from the wolves: he also says that they wore no clothes except a coat, but painted their legs blue, and lived out upon the bare hill-sides, that they might preserve the bottoms, which were then covered with wood, for hunting in. [Sidenote: ANTIQUITIES AND ANECDOTE.] Whilst you are taking your ease at your Inn, you may note from the yard thereof a very fine, precipitous and rocky height upon the farther side of the stream, which it is impossible to pass by unnoticed. It bears the fine rolling name of Walla-barrow Crag, and, upon its further side, the remains of a Roman castrum are said to exist, and, though I, when I made the attempt, was unable to trace them, they may be there for all that. Looking along the heights to the south of Walla-barrow Crag, you will be struck with the appearance of trees and “A field or two of brighter green, or plot Of tillage-ground, that seemeth like a spot Of stationary sunshine!” indicating the situation of a farm called Stoneythwaite, perched like an eagle’s nest on the summit of the precipice, with some of its fields upon ledges half-way down. “The laurel-honouring Laureate” says, respecting this portion of Duddon vale,—“The _chaotic_ aspect of the scene is well marked by the expression of a stranger, who strolled out while dinner was preparing, and, at his return, being asked by his host, “What way he had been wandering?” replied, “As far as it is _finished_!” [Sidenote: A SINGLE WORD ON SCENERY.]