Great Coursing Grounds. 377 



the South. The best coursing at Altcar is in two or 

 three of the meadows or marshes, commencing at Will 

 Warner's house. The fallows, from which the hares 

 are driven on to grass, were so full of " fur " this year, 

 that when we were all ranged by the side of the engine 

 meadows on the first day, more than a score cantered 

 down almost abreast, and there were more coming. 



A leisure hour in the neighbourhood of Skipton 

 found us at Chloe's home, which is about a nile from 

 Bolton Bridge, that inn dear to tourists and newly- 

 wedded pairs. The weather had broken the day 

 before, and we met two of the former toiling along into 

 Skipton under their knapsacks, grinning a most ghastly 

 smile, and trying to look as if they enjoyed the rain. 

 Next day the sun shone out, and the grass, as our 

 driver observed, was " pricking up famish" everywhere 

 in Craven from pastures which had been as brown as 

 a coffee-berry. A field of corn in those parts is a 

 rarity, and the one which was cut would not in ordi- 

 nary seasons have whitened for harvest so soon by six 

 or eight weeks. The Wharf e, which had been reduced 

 at Wetherby pretty nearly to a mass of dry shingle, 

 was rolling along once more past Bolton Abbey, which 

 is about a mile or so from Chloe's home. Our driver 

 was again most communicative : " My word, but they 

 are rarely bucked up for the occasion" was his obser- 

 vation on some of the lady visitors, who were prepar- 

 ing for that walk up the woods to the Strid. On 

 the architectural remains he was less diffuse. He 

 certainly did notice the east window, and remarked 

 that " Yon would take a rood of glass one time or 

 another to kep it going " but he dwelt most upon 

 the two greyhounds, which flank it, in memory of the 

 young De Clifford, who perished many years since in 

 the Strid. " They're greyhounds" he said, " but stone-^ 

 mason's made them a vast sight more like pointers" 

 As for their story, he referred me to the " History of 

 Craven," which records how the poor lad tried to jump 



