CHAPTER III. 



ROSTHERNE MERE. 



When the month of May 

 Is come, and I can hear the small birds sing, 

 And the fresh floures have begun to spring, 

 Good bye, my book ! devotion, too, good bye ! 



CHAUCER. 



HE path to the Ashley meadows offers the 

 best point of departure also for far-famed 

 Rostherne, for although the distance is some- 

 what less from the "Ashley" station, the old 

 route past Bowdon vicarage remains the 

 most enjoyable. Going behind it, through 

 a little plantation, we proceed, with many 

 curves, yet without perplexity, into the lane which 

 looks down upon the eastern extremity of the mere; 

 then, crossing the fields, into the immediate presence, 

 as rejoiced in at the margin of the graveyard of the 

 church, which last is without question one of the most 

 charmingly placed in England, and in its site excites no 

 wonder that it was chosen for the ancient Saxon con- 

 secration, as declared in the primitive name, Rodestorne, 



