Country Rambles, and Manchester Walks and Wild Flowers

The past twenty-five years, it is to be feared, have told as heavily upon the Lepidoptera as upon the primroses and the cowslips, the latter also now far between. The birds, likewise, have greatly diminished in numbers, partly in consequence of the extreme severity of the trio of hard winters which commenced with that of 1878-9. We have also to lament the death of Mr. Edleston.

CHAPTER III.
ROSTHERNE MERE.

When the month of May
Is come, and I can hear the small birds sing,
And the fresh flourès have begun to spring,
Good bye, my book! devotion, too, good bye!

CHAUCER.

THE path to the Ashley meadows offers the best point of departure also for far-famed Rostherne, for although the distance is somewhat 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 consecration, as declared in the primitive name, Rodestorne, "the lake (or tarn) of the Holy Cross." The peculiar charm of Rostherne Mere, compared with most other Cheshire waters of similar character, comes of its lying so much in a hollow, after the manner of many of the most delicious lakes of Westmoreland, Cumberland, and the romantic parts of Scotland; the area of the surface being at the same time so considerable that there is no suggestion, as sometimes with smaller meres when lying in hollows, of the gradual gathering there of the produce of rain-torrents, or even of the outcome of natural springs. At Rostherne one learns not only what calmness means, and what a broken fringe of diverse trees can do for still water. Contemplating it from the graveyard, we seem to have a fragment of the scenery of our beautiful world as it showed,-begging pardon of the geologists and the evolutionists,-"When the morning-stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." The depth of the water is remarkable. About a third of the distance across, from near the summer-house, it is over a hundred feet, thus as nearly as possible two-thirds of the depth of the English Channel at the Straits of Dover, where the lead sinks lowest; and a third of what it is anywhere between Dover and the Eddystone lighthouse, so that our lovely Rostherne Mere may well assert its claim to be of almost maritime profundity. The area of the surface is one hundred and fifteen statute acres. In the church there is a monument which it is worth all the journey to see,-Westmacott's sculptured marble in memory of Miss Beatrix Egerton.

Rostherne, in turn, is the pleasantest way of pedestrian approach to Tatton Park, so liberally opened to visitors by Lord Egerton, on compliance with certain rules. Visitors bent on seeing Tatton only, should go part way from Bowdon by vehicle; for here, as at Cotterill, we want, as in a picture-gallery, every minute, and to let too much time be consumed in mere travel is a mistake. To make a too hasty and thoughtless use of our opportunities of pleasure is in any case to throw away the half of them; the pleasure of the country beyond all others requires a calm and unhurried step, a free and unwistful mind and eye, such as cannot possibly be if, by waste or extravagance, we are "tied to time,"-only when, by a wise economy of our resources in this respect, we liberate ourselves from care about trains and timebills, do we catch nature's sweetest smiles. The boundary measurement of this beautiful park is upwards of ten miles, and of its two thousand one hundred and thirty-five acres no fewer than four hundred are occupied by woods and plantations, with seventy-nine acres of water. Here we may stroll beneath green vaults of foliage, and be reminded of the aisles of cathedrals. Here we may contemplate the viridis senectus of glorious old oaks that have watched the flow of generations. Here, in autumn, we learn, from a thousand old foresters-from beech, and chestnut, and elm-that brave men, though overtaken by inclemencies there is no withstanding, still put a good face upon their fallen fortunes, and, like Cæsar, who drew his purple around him, die royally; and at Christmas, when the wind seems to mourn amid the denuded boughs, here again we feel how grand is the contrasted life of the great, green, shining, scarlet-beaded hollies that in summer we took no note of. The gardens, including conservatories and fernery, access to all of which is likewise liberally permitted, are crowded with objects of interest-one hardly knows whether inside their gates, or outside, is the more delectable. The park was up till quite recently, the play-ground of nearly a thousand deer, and still (1882) contains many hundreds. The sight of them is one of the pleasures of the return walk to Knutsford, to which place Tatton Park more especially pertains.

Knutsford, an admirable centre, is reached immediately, by train. But it must not be overlooked that there is a very pleasant field-way thereto from Mobberley, and that the path to Mobberley itself, one of the most ancient of the Cheshire villages, is always interesting,-starting, that is to say, from Ashley station. Every portion of it is quiet and enjoyable, and those who love seclusion would scarcely find another so exactly suited to their taste. Soon after entering the fields, the path dives through a little dell threaded by the Birkin (an affluent of the Bollin), then goes on through lanes which in May are decked plenteously with primroses. The way, perhaps, is rather intricate,-so much the better for the exercise of our sagacity. Let not the "day of small things" be despised. The Birkin is one of the little streams that in the great concourse called the Mersey does honour at last to the British Tyre. Drayton notices it in the Poly-olbion (1622)-

From hence he getteth Goyte down from her Peakish spring,
And Bollen, that along doth nimbler Birkin bring.[7]

The church, as would be anticipated, presents much that is interesting to the ecclesiologist. Near the chancel stands the accustomed and here undilapidated old village graveyard yew, emblem of immortality, life triumphing over death, therefore so suitable,-this particular one at Mobberley the largest and most symmetrical within a circuit of many miles. Across the road, hard by, an ash-tree presents a singularly fine example of the habit of growth called "weeping,"-not the ordinary tent-form seen upon lawns, but lofty, and composed chiefly of graceful self-woven ringlets, a cupola of green tresses, beautiful at all seasons, and supplying, before the leaves are out, a capital hint to every one desirous of learning trees-as they deserve to be learned. For to this end trees must be contemplated almost every month in the year, when leafless as well as leafy. A grand tree is like a great poem-not a thing to be glanced at with a thoughtless "I have read it," but to be studied, and with remembrance of what once happened on the summit of mount Ida.

On the Cotterill side of Mobberley, or Alderley way, the country resembles that in the vicinity of Castle Mill, consisting of gentle slopes and promontories, often wooded, and at every turn presenting some new and...