visiting. One could not but gaze with interest on a little square cottage by the river side, half hidden by trees, with the date of 1674 over the door. This was the fishing-house built by Charles Cotton, where he entertained his dear companion, and the dear companion of us all-Izaak Walton. The river winds. almost completely round the cottage, and in front there are two trees with seats near them. It was a classic spot to my eyes, and I lingered round about it loth to go away. Inside, the cottage is comfortable and solidly built, and I could not but think that there is many a worse place in the world even now in which a man might spend his days. Much pleasanter would it be to live in that cottage amid sunshine and flowers than in the finest house in London amid darkness and fog. But I had to turn my back upon it, and upon Beresford Dale with its beautiful ferns and wild flowers, and its sweetly flowing river, though not until I had wandered far below Pike Pool, a lovely spot in the valley, where a rock stands out of the stream like a huge fish. When I got back to the inn I took a trap and drove over wild outlandish roads, nearly due north, to Hope and Castleton, almost twenty long miles, with lovely views all the way. Coming down a very steep hill, I saw a little old man harnessed as it were to the strangest little cart ever seen out of a museum. Its wheels were no bigger than those of a child's go-cart, and consequently it was almost on the ground, so that the entire weight of its contents must have dragged heavily on the old man's shoulders. There were three tin boxes and a

bag on this diminutive cart, and the old man was miles away from any town, or even a house. I stopped to speak with him, and he told me he was seventy-eight years of age, and that he sold blacking, black-lead, good-stuff, and "things for women." He hoped to get rid of a fair share of these at Flagg, whither he was then going.

"You must have invented that cart yourself?" said I.

"So I did, sir, and I found it hard to get the wheels made. They are bound with lead so as to make 'em last."

"If they were larger wheels you would draw your load easier. All the weight is on you now."

"No, sir-it goes quite easy. But I am getting old, and cannot walk so far as I used to. I have been going round this country over forty year."

"Selling goodstuff and things for women?"

66

'Yes, sir, anything to turn an honest penny."

66 Then you can turn six honest pennies all at once," said I, handing him that small coin, for which he gave me many more thanks than it was worth. Then he hitched himself to again, and dragged on his little gocart at the rate of a mile or so an hour. I, too, went my way, through Taddington, Miller's Dale, Tideswell, and thus to Hope, passing nothing more remarkable on the road than an old house with the date on it of 1540. I intended to have made Hope my quarters for the night, but the "Hall Inn" was in sad disorder with

G

carpenters and masons, and therefore I pushed on to Castleton, and found food and shelter at the "Castle Inn." The fair maiden who brought me my dinner promoted me at once to the rank of captain in the army, and received me as an old friend. Knowing something of the queer things which often happen in provincial towns where our gallant forces are stationed, I somewhat anxiously explained that I was not the person supposed-not a captain of any sort, not even of militia.

"Oh," said the waitress, "that won't do. Why I remember you very well with the other officers at Manchester-that time I was there with Betsy Miller. Of course you recollect her?'

It is always tiresome to go on endeavouring to disabuse people's minds of a mistaken impression, and so after a little more of this I gave in. "And how is Betsy Miller?" I asked. "Is she as pretty as

ever?"

"She's married to that young fellow as was always after her a good job, wasn't it?" said the girl in a knowing way. I even thought she gave a kind of wink, but it may have been only my imagination. "I suppose so," said I, feeling rather sheepish, although as regards Betsy Miller my withers were unwrung. "They were jolly times," said the handmaid with a sigh. It seemed to me that as I had now to bear the responsibility of what occurred at this festive period, it was rather hard some one else should have had all the

jollity; but at that moment a party of tourists arrived, and the young woman's attention was called off in another direction, and before she had time to renew her reminiscences of the army I had beaten a retreat for the night.

CHAPTER VIII.

CASTLETON AND THE PEAK.

A Fine Morning.-Caves or Hills?-Edale Valley.-View from the Hills.-A Solitary Farm.- Lonely Paths and Moors.-Edale Bridge and Cross.-A Long Way round by a Short Cut.-The Man with the Wooden Leg.-Two Unpleasant "Hakes.”—In quest of the "Grapes."-A Village Problem.-Bad Trade.

I STARTED off from Castleton with everything in my favour that a reasonable man could desire-good health, good spirits, a morning with a fresh breeze, a bright sun, and not a cloud to be seen in the sky. Such a day had scarcely been known once before in the gloomy year of 1879, and it served to remind one how great is our loss in England from being so often deprived of the blessed rays of the sun. For under its inspiriting beams the whole country looked as the land of promise must have looked to the eye of the prophet of old, all radiant and beautiful. The hills stood out sharp and clear against the blue Italian sky, the valleys were bathed in a celestial light. What happiness steals through every vein on such a heavenly morning! I anointed myself, so to speak, with the oil of gladness from head to foot, and bounded towards the hills.