Pott Shrigley. 115 



When the time arrives to descend, dip westwards, curve 

 round by the water, and through the fields which lead 

 into the Disley road, thence into Pott Shrigley village. 

 No description can convey a perfect idea of the loveliness 

 of this part of the walk at the season indicated. The 

 long-extended survey of hill and dale, the innumerable 

 trees, clothing the slopes at agreeable distances with the 

 most picturesque of little woodlands, bright and cheerful 

 in their unsullied raiment of leaves that are only yet 

 learning the sweetness of sunshine ; the rise and fall of 

 the ground; the incessant turns and sinuosities of the 

 pathway, every separate item is a treat, and yet the 

 ravishing spectacle of all, at the season referred to, has 

 still to be named. This consists in the inexpressible, the 

 infinite multitude of the bluebells, which far surpasses 

 that of the old Reddish valley. They saturate every 

 slope and recess that is in any degree shady, and diffuse 

 themselves even upon the otherwise bare hillsides, not 

 in a thin and niggardly way, but with the semblance 

 of an azure mist. In many parts, at the edges of the 

 little groves, where the ground is steep, they seem to be 

 flowing in streams into the meadows beneath, and where 

 there are breaks among the nearer trees they actually 

 illuminate the opening. When the spectacle of the blue- 

 bells comes to an end, the walk continues along a 

 beautiful green arcade, straight, level, and uninterrupted 

 into the village. 



By whichever of the two routes we prefer to go to 

 Macclesfield, that ancient and celebrated town becomes 



