" with the Yorkshire Naturalists:' 5 



the sky above ns, and the glory of the scene around us, it 

 is perhaps not surprising that a naturalist grew ssnti- 

 mental, and showed me a scrawl at the back of an envelope 

 which began 



I stood on the top of a moss-clad hill, 



Where I stood twenty long years ago ; 

 I hear the soft dash of the mountain rill 



As it steals to the valley below. 

 I see the streams as they ling'ring run 



To the lake with its fringe of red rushes, 

 Now baring its bosom to the warmth of the sun 



Now in the forest hiding its blushes. 

 I feel the glow of the heavens above 



And the perfume of the breezes that blow, 

 I feel all the life, the glory, the love, 



I felt twenty long years ago. 



***** 



No, not all I miss the maid with the soft blue eye 

 And cheeks tinged with the loveliest hue. 



I miss the lips so tremblingly shy 

 I kissed — 



I interrupted by asking my friend if he had ever seen a 

 '■ moss-clad hill,'' on which he folded up his scrawl, and 

 said I should read it when it had got the finishing touches 

 to it. 



Leaving this delightful spot, which, as was said of it, 

 as well as of a fine ragged peak near Greenfleid, would 

 be an attraction to visitors for miles round if situat-ed in a 

 place with celebrity as a fashionable resort, like Winder- 

 mere, we began the climb to the top of BroadheaJ 

 Moss. The mountain side is rugged and steep —almost 

 perpendicular in some places, and the task tried the 

 lungs of us all. It is a hill, too, that delights in 

 prac ical jokes, for we often thought that we had 

 gained the brow, when really we had only reached a 

 ledge that led us to a steeper climb. However, there 

 is an end to everything— even a Lancashire and York- 

 shire train arrives at last — and we did, at length, reach 

 the top. We then went across the moor, stepping 

 briskly on the black peat, soft and springy as a Turkey 

 carpet, and seemingly anything but likely to become a 

 bed of coal, which, Mr. J. W. Davis assured us in the 

 evening is its destiny. A few drops of rain fell here, 

 but the cloud soon passed away, though in the distance 

 we could see that it was raining in torrents. We passed 

 over Black Moss, and after a walk, or rather a series of 

 jumps, of about a mile, over boggy and lumpy ground, we 

 found ourselves at Redbrook Reservoir and Standedge, 

 whence we v^ent fo Bicike Lee, where the other sections of 

 the Naturalists' Union concentrated, and we all made a 

 hearty attack upon a substantial tea. 



After tea references were made to the programme of the 

 proceedings, wtiere was found a glowing description of the 



