ing he crept into bed, where he thought the matter over, and amid much that was bewildering groped his way to the conclusion that Captain Mulberry really had come into his room, had spent an hour with him, smoked cigars, drunk claret, and then gone off. He remembered standing at the head of the stairs shaking hands with him, and promising to dine with him at his club one day in the following week. Then he had gone back and lain on the couch, where, overcome with the unaccustomed tumbler of claret and dazed with the tobacco smoke, he had fallen asleep, dreamed, and rolled off on to the floor.

HENRY W. LUCY.

79

About Yorkshire.

VII. ROKEBY AND DEEPdale.

BARNARD CASTLE stillstandeth stately upon Teese' as it did in the days of old Leland. Indeed, the Castle and the town on one side so overhang the water, that the view from the Yorkshire bank of the quaint tall grey houses mirroring themselves in the beautiful river and of the scar beyond with its grass-grown sides crowned by the bold towers of Baliol's Castle, made to us about the most striking picture we had seen in Yorkshire. Beyond the Castle the view of the Tees flowing along between tree-shaded banks is enchanting, but this we could not see at the same time, for the bridge bars the view.

This Castle, called after its founder, Bernard Baliol, whose father came from Normandy with Duke William, gives its name to the little town, which, except on market day, is as quiet a long street of dull grey houses as can be met with; its distinctive features being that it is built on the side of a hill which goes down steeply to the river, and that about half-way it has a quaint eight-sided town hall (which seems to be used as an egg-and-butter market on market day), standing out in the middle of the wide street. This street has various names, and is about a mile long. Other streets branch off from it: in one of these is the church, also built, it is said, in 1130 by Bernard Baliol, now restored and rebuilt out of all recognition, except that an ancient font and a Norman doorway have been spared. From this point the street goes down very steeply, and is called The Bank. Here on the left is a most quaint old house called Blagrove's, once an Inn. In Raine's contemporary MS. it is stated that:- On the 24th Oct. 1648, Lieutenant-General Oliver Cromwell arrived at Barnard Castle on his way to Richmond;' a deputation of the chief inhabitants of the town met him and regaled him with burnt wine and shortcakes.' It is also said that he lodged at Blagrove's. I quote from the useful handbook to Barnard Castle, written, I believe, by Mr. Atkinson, the very intelligent bookseller of the town.

Beyond The Bank the street is called Thorngate, and here there are some curious old houses. Barnard Castle seems to be a thriving but somewhat sleepy place; it is really in Durham, but is a most excellent point from which to visit Teesdale, the Greta, and other points of interest.

We learned that Deepdale was only a short walk from the town,

and when we had passed Blagrove's we were told to take the first street on the right, called Bridgegate. There are some curious old houses in this street: and we got peeps of quaint interiors and little courts behind. When we reached the end, we saw the old bridge on our left, and before us the castle perched on the rock that goes straight down to the river. We crossed the bridge, and following the road on the right, soon got a grand view of the Castle overlooking the lovely river like some beast of prey ready to spring on its victim. Some little way on we quitted the high road, and when we reached a large mill, passed through a gate on the left, and at

once found ourselves in a scene full of beauty. This is the beginning of Deepdale, wide-mouthed at its entrance, but with an ever-rising bank on one side which soon changes into a grassed cliff about seventy feet high, with large trees here and there. At the foot is a clear brown beck rushing noisily over huge stones which its constant quarrel has rounded. On the mud bank beside it marsh marigolds sat in gorgeous clumps of gold and green;