Clitheroe. 229 



the glimpse still obtainable of lofty Stonyhurst, which 

 ever and anon recalls th^ inimitable ode, "Ye distant 

 spires, ye antique towers." Each and every element in 

 turn invites a pause, and linger as one may, Clitheroe is 

 still too near, and reached too soon. 



Arrived, there is new pleasure in inspection of the 

 remains of the ancient castle, one of the most interest- 

 ing feudal relics in the county, built towards the close 

 of the twelfth century by one of the De Lacy family, 

 whose landed possessions extended from this neighbour- 

 hood uninterruptedly to Pontefract. It never was a 

 castle in the thorough sense of the word, merely a 

 stronghold to which the lords of the house came at 

 intervals, to receive tribute and to dispense justice. 

 There never was room for much more than a donjon, 

 the rock upon which the little fortalice was erected, 

 rising out of the flat like an islet, a sort of Beeston rock 

 in miniature. There were buildings no doubt upon the 

 slope, predecessors of the present, the former including a 

 chapel, but these were quite external to the castle 

 ipsissima. The view from the summit is delightfully 

 picturesque, and when this has been enjoyed, there is, as 

 at Smithills, that curious blending of past and present, 

 old and new, which always awakens gratitude to the 

 gardener, for here, in this ancient keep, leaning against 

 stones laid in their places nearly eight centuries ago, is 

 one of the glossy little cotoneasters of northern India, 

 unknown in England before 1825. 



From Clitheroe we do well to proceed to Chatburn, 



