of ascertaining, for we neither saw nor met any one on the way, nor did we see any house until we reached the ancient-looking village of Kirby Malham.  Here we got such very voluminous directions as to the way to Malham that neither of us could remember them beyond the first turn, but we reached that village at about ten o’clock.  We asked the solitary inhabitant who had not retired to rest where we could find lodgings for the night.  He pointed out a house at the end of the “brig” with the word “Temperance” on it in large characters, which we could see easily as the moon had not yet disappeared, and told us it belonged to the village smith, who accommodated visitors.  All was in darkness inside the house, but we knocked at the door with our heavy sticks, and this soon brought the smith to one of the upper windows.  In reply to our question, “Can we get a bed for the night?” he replied in the Yorkshire dialect, “Our folks are all in bed, but I’ll see what they say.”  Then he closed the window, and all was quiet except the water, which was running fast under the “brig,” and which we found afterwards was the River Aire, as yet only a small stream.  We waited and waited for what seemed to us a very long time, and were just beginning to think the smith had fallen asleep again, when we heard the door being unbolted, and a young man appeared with a light in his hand, bidding us “Come in,” which we were mighty glad to do, and to find ourselves installed in a small but very comfortable room.  “You will want some supper,” he said; and we assured him it was quite true, for we had not had anything to eat or drink since we left Settle, and, moreover, we had walked thirty-five miles that day, through fairly hilly country.  In a short time he reappeared with a quart of milk and an enormous apple pie, which we soon put out of sight; but was milk ever so sweet or apple pie ever so good!  Forty-five years have passed away since then, but the memory still remains; and the sweet sleep that followed—­the rest of the weary—­what of that?

(Distance walked thirty-five miles.)

Saturday, October 21st.

One great advantage of staying the night in the country was that we were sure of getting an early breakfast, for the inns had often farms attached to them, and the proprietors and their servants were up early to attend to their cattle.  This custom of early rising also affected the business of the blacksmiths, for the farmers’ horses requiring attention to their shoes were always sent down early to the village smithy in order that they could be attended to in time to turn out to their work on the roads or in the fields at their usual hour.  Accordingly we were roused from our sound slumber quite early in the morning, and were glad to take advantage of this to walk as far as possible in daylight, for the autumn was fast coming to a close.  Sometimes we started on our walk before breakfast, when we had a reasonable prospect of obtaining it within the compass of a two-hours’ journey, but Malham was a secluded village, with no main road passing through it, and it was surrounded by moors on every side.