The scene is altered now; the neglect I noticed then seems to have been perpetuated, but there is now an indication of a revival. Next on our pilgrimage down Beresford Dale we came upon Pike Pool. The Pike stands in the midst of its pool, more covered with moss, and its head now overshadowed by the branches of trees which at the time of my last visit were not so prominent. On the Staffordshire side, high up among the rocks, is a cleft called Cotton's Cave, and not far away is "Lovers' Leap," a sheer and awful precipice much grander than that in Dove Dale. On the top of it is what was once, perhaps, a garden where the two anglers sat and smoked their pipes (so says Mr. Sheldon). In the fifth edition of "The Compleat Angler it was delightful to find the following paragraph written by Izaak Walton himself in a marginal note to Cotton's volume: "It is a rock in the fashion of a spire steeple, and almost as big. It stands in the midst of the river Dove, and not far from Mr. Cotton's house, below which place this delicate river takes a swift career betwixt many mighty rocks, much higher and bigger than St. Paul's Church before it was burnt." And then Walton goes on: "And this Dove, being opposed by one of the highest of them, has at last forced itself a way through it, and after a mile's concealment appears again with more glory and beauty than before that opposition, running through the most pleasant valleys and most fruitful meadows that this nation can justly boast of.” "This," says Mr. Thorne, "is an entire mistake. The Dove is nowhere concealed and it is not easy to tell how Walton could have so erred." My impression is, that in using the word ncealment Walton did not mean hidden underground like the Manifold, but that it is obscured by those "mighty rocks" and woods between which its sinuous course is hidden. Beresford Dale possesses beauties of its own, which have been so often described by more gifted pens than mine, that I need not make an attempt which could only end in failure. The only incident that interrupted our walk down this dale was the shriek of a rabbit on the other side of the river. A stoat had seized and was clinging to his throat. One of us threw a stone at him, and the stoat quitted his prey, and |