and down these the water tumbles, seething, boiling, churning itself into tawny fury, whirling round and round in eddies--now seeming to fight in the pools it has worn in the huge irregular slabs of limestone that pave the river, and sending up white dazzling spray, with a bellowing roar of strength, as it falls heavily over yet another ledge. We heard that we were peculiarly fortunate: for

the rain of the last few days had greatly increased the volume of the Force, which does not always reach across from one wooded bank to the other, as it did when we saw it; certainly its volume and grandeur went far beyond our expectations. The banks are highly picturesque, but the grandeur of the waterfall rivets the eye with a fascination that made us unwilling to leave it.

We

heard that in dry weather it is possible to go on beside it to the other fall above. Mr. Willis took us round there by the fields. This fall is very interesting, but less impressive than the first one. Then we went on to the hill, and through the arch of the ivycovered bridge saw the upper fall-a most lovely sight. It makes a charming picture, framed in by the ivy-wreathed arch-trees tower over the waterfall and overhang the sides of the wild, stony glen, with the rushing torrent in its midst. Close by is Bare Park, formerly a possession of the Metcalfes, who seem to have been once a powerful family in Wensleydale. The present owner of Bare Park has staunchly resisted the attempt of a railway company who wish to bring yet another line of rails through this beautiful region. Carperby seemed to us one of the healthiest spots in the dale, and we were told that comfortable lodgings could be had in the village.

We had intended to visit West Burton, a pretty and quaint village in Bishopdale, but the uncertain weather obliged us to give up this and many other points of interest in this part of Yorkshire.

Swaledale is easily reached either from Askrigg or Hawes ; but it must be visited in fine weather, as its best points can only be seen by walking. We heard much of a walk to Hawes by Muker Pass, and the curious pits called the Butter-tubs. Muker Pass seems to command about the finest scenery in Yorkshire. The top of the pass between Askrigg and Reeth also commands a fine view of the surrounding hills. Bold, rugged scars, waterfalls, lofty hills, and rushing streams give constant variety; one scarcely loses the roar of one fall before one hears the distant murmur of another-and in the case of Whitfield Gill this makes itself heard long before the fall itself comes in sight; indeed, it lies so far away from the track that we were advised to take a guide across the steep pathless hills. The first part of the walk took us past the mill served by the lovely little beck that feeds both this and Mill Gill Force, and then we began to mount the hill on the right.

It was a very fatiguing climb up Dismal' Hill, as we thought the boy who was guiding us called it—he reproved us for speaking of Addleborough, and told us it was Addlebruff when we stopped to admire the view of the hills all round us, for when we reached the top of the ridge they seemed to tower above us as if we had not been climbing for more than half an hour. Then we went on for another half-hour over more level ground, and very soon heard the murmur of the fall. Till now the country had been open, and we fancied how bitterly cold it must be in winter; but on before us was a wood, and after a while, the noise of the fall making itself more

and more distinct, we left the road and began to descend through this wood to the head of the Force. The ground was very steep and slippery, and when at last we came in sight of the wild glen our guide cautioned us not to tread near the edge of the path lest it should break away. Before us in the wood was a quiet-looking beck, but as this fell over the edge of the semicircle of rock, screened with slender bushes, the water fell straight down into a foaming pool, a height of more than forty feet below us, with a roar that was deafening. The glen below is lovely, narrower than that at Mill Gill, and, if possible, wilder; but although the height of the fall is less here, for at Mill Gill the water falls sixty-nine feet, Whitfel is the most impressive. It is so intensely solitary, lost in the wood; through the opening at the end of the long wooded glen, the grand hills appear with stormclouds resting on them and, close by us, the water falling in one powerful unbroken column into the dark rock-girt pool. It is difficult to realise that this quiet beck above, taking its way so merrily through the wood, is the parent of both Whitfell and Mill Gill Forces, or Fors, according to their ancient titles. We came home by a shorter and easier road, very glad to escape the descent of Dismond.

Nappa Hall, the old manor-house of the Metcalfes, is within an easy walk of Askrigg, just below the same lofty ridge called Woodhall Moor, which forms a background to this quaint little grey town among the hills.

Nappa is a picturesque dwelling of the fifteenth century, with a large castellated tower at one end, and a smaller one at the angle where a small wing projects from the face of the building. Outside it is in excellent preservation, and its pearly grey stones are partly clad in foliage. We were fortunate in seeing the house under the guidance of the last lineal representative of the Metcalfes of that ilk. It is a pity that so very interesting a specimen of old English domestic architecture should now be possessed by strangers.

We entered through an arched doorway into a vestibule. On the left is the Great Hall, a fine room, though shorn of much of its interest. Beyond is another handsome room, now used as a kitchen, and here is a newel staircase leading into what have been three rooms in the large tower. I say have been, for they have been ruthlessly mutilated, the solid black oak joists having been wrenched away from the beams by order of the present owner. Every bit of the oak panelling, and the ancient furniture which had for generations formed a part of the old house, has also been removed. Among these spoils was a carved bedstead,

VOL. XLVIII. NO. CXCII.

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slept in by Queen Mary when, during her imprisonment at Bolton, she was permitted to spend two nights at Nappa as the guest of Sir Christopher Metcalfe. She left behind her a pair of hawking gloves; these, however, are now in the possession of Mr. Barwick of Low Hall, Leeds.

The spirit of Queen Mary is said to visit Nappa. I give the account of her appearance to a lady who was staying at Nappa in 1878: I was in the hall,' she writes, playing hide-and-seek with the farmer's little girl, a child about four years old. The hall was dimly lighted by a fire and by the light from a candle in a room in

Nappa Hall, Wensleydale.

the east tower. While at play some one entered the hall from the lower end, and walked towards the dais. Thinking it was the farmer's wife, I ran after her, and was going to touch her when she turned round, and I saw her face; it was very lovely. Her dress seemed to be of black velvet. After looking at me for a moment, she went on and disappeared through the door leading to the winding stone staircase in the angle turret of the west tower. Her face, figure, and general appearance reminded me of portraits of Mary, Queen of Scots.'

At the time of this vision, the bedstead slept in by Mary was still at Nappa. There is also a haunted bedchamber at the eastern end of the house. We went up there; and certainly the room has not a cheering aspect: the walls are panelled and painted a dull green, and one or two of these panels open and reveal closets within them. The wife of the farmer who now tenants Nappa laughed, however, as she showed them, and said she never saw any ghosts. Behind, a green hill covered with wild-flowers rises steeply: this is said to have given its name to the house, Nappa signifying 6 hill of flowers.' The house is small, and the outside walls, windows, &c., are nearly perfect, so that, if the interior had not been disgracefully plundered, there would not be much difficulty in restoring the hall to a semblance of its former state; the newel staircase is perfect, and a very fine specimen-one almost wonders that it has been spared in the work of spoliation.

We had been told that the scenery round Hawes was less interesting than the rest of Wensleydale; but its first aspect is delightful. The dale broadens here, there is wider space between the hills; but there are so many to be seen in one view, that the position of the little town, seated on a green knoll, surrounded by trees, among these bare bleak hills, is most picturesque-a study for a landscape painter. The town, however, is not attractive on nearer inspection; and, without lingering, we followed the course of the Yore for some distance, and then took our way across some fields on the left through one of the singular openings in the stone wall common to this part of Yorkshire-openings which are sometimes so narrow that no very stout person could squeeze through them. The river had lost much of its beauty here. Spite of the recent rains, it was in places more than half choked with stones and gravel, sometimes dwindling to a little puny brook on one side of its wide bed. For some distance our way lay up hill, though the country seemed to tower above us, one huge hill rising behind another; but at last we reached the top of a ridge, and looking down into Fossdale we saw a village lying below us, while a dull roar warned us that we were approaching the famous Hardraw Foree.