Perchance you now feel no insurmountable objection to visiting and inspecting the grand source of the prosperity of Conistone—the copper mines to wit. Miss Martineau tells you that—“The traveller should see the copper works at Conistone (if he can obtain leave,) both for their own sake, and for the opportunity it gives him of observing the people engaged there, and because they lie in his way to the tarns on Conistone Old Man, and to the summit of the mountain itself.” Should you happen to know this very eminent and excellent writer, pray tell her that she might have omitted the parenthesis which insinuates that leave to inspect the mines is sometimes refused; for I assure you and her, that such leave has never been refused during the reign of the present liberal and enlightened manager, and that has lasted upwards of twenty years, and will, I earnestly hope, last for upwards of twenty more. You will find that you have nothing to do but walk up to the office like a gentleman, as you are, (if you be not a lady,) send in your card, state your wishes, and you will not only obtain the wished permission, but the offer of a proper equipment, and candles, and be directed to a competent guide and cicerone. Very well, then; you may follow the same route you took at the commencement of your last ramble—that is to say, along the Lake side, by the slate-quays, over Yewdale Bridge, past the Church to the Black Bull, the end of which you pass, and soon come to a wooden bridge connecting the road with a number of cottages arranged in the form of an irregular square with a tail to it, and called “the Forge.” [Sidenote: WAY TO THE MINES.] As you saunter on towards the hills, you arrive at a huge inelegant building of three high stories, formerly a corn-mill, but now converted into eight roomy dwelling-houses, and a large public room. Immediately above this old corn-mill, on a gentle acclivity at the apex of the fertile triangular plain of Church Conistone, so close to the fells as to be almost overhung by them, and surrounded by richly-decorated grounds, stands Holy-wath, the residence of one to whom Conistone is mainly indebted for the prosperity she has for so many years enjoyed. Those interested in planting operations, especially in _trans_planting “adult trees,” may here see numerous examples of success in that difficult art; for all these large healthy trees in the grounds of Holy-wath were transplanted by Mr Barratt, some few years ago, from beyond the lake. The neat cottages beyond, smiling over the beauty below them, are called 'Boon Beck, and, like nine-tenths of the houses you have seen, are inhabited by miners. Pass through the Fell-gate, taking the road to the right, and a pretty stiff pull you will find it. [Sidenote: GHYLL AND FALLS.]