On the upper side of the road, you have a steep fell-side consisting of grey rock, alternating with green pasturage, and on the lower a high and dry stone wall, and when you come to a gate therein, you may rest, and look over, or through it, at the dale and village from a new point of view. It is “devoutly to be wished” that, when wearied in the up-hill journey through life, we may always find a resting-place pleasant as this. You are, of course, delighted, for the beauty of Conistone is of that sterling character that, from whatever direction you gain a peep at it, you are struck with renewed admiration, and you are always inclined to fancy that it is seen to most advantage from the place whence you then happen to be looking. But all earthly delights must end, and you must not stand all day gazing so eagerly at the landscape through the gate—reminding one of a hungry monkey eyeing gingerbread nuts through the bars of his cage. So resume your walk, and when the wall terminates, you have in its place a deep rugged ravine, with the soap-_suddy_ beck brawling and foaming along its jagged course at the bottom. And here the lover’s leap might commodiously be perpetrated, as one of Mr George Robins’ advertisements said in its enumeration of the attractions of a property he had to sell hereabouts some years ago. But you had better, if you contemplate such an exploit, defer the execution of it, until once I have shown you all that is worth seeing around this same Conistone; and then, if you still wish to quit a world containing a locality so beautiful, why, the sooner such an insensate animal makes his exit, the better for all parties concerned. About half way up the ghyll, you come to a waterfall of about forty feet, where the water, being much broken by the inequalities above, and upon the broad ledge it falls from, spreads out like a huge white apron _gathered_ a little at the waist. A hundred yards higher is another fall, and, higher still, a third, where the stream is split into three by two sharp projecting rocks, and, about half way down, falls upon a sort of “slantindicular” shelf, whence, white as butter-milk, it makes a second fall at right angles to the first, and forms altogether a highly interesting subject of contemplation. [Sidenote: CHRONOLOGICAL DATA.]