nt is a gradual one, leading chiefly through cultivated ground; but
the aspect of the south-eastern or Stretton side is wild in the extreme,
the whole face of the mountain being broken up into deep ravines, with
precipitous sides, where purple rocks project boldly through the turf,
and in many places even the active sheep and mountain ponies can scarcely
find a footing. Down each of these ravines runs a small stream of
exquisitely pure water, one of which, near the entrance of the valley,
becomes considerable enough to turn a mill for carding wool. This stream
falls over rocks at the head of the ravine, in a small cascade of a
considerable height called the Light Spout.

Many people have lost their lives among these hills at different times,
and places here and there bear such suggestive names, as "Dead Man's
Beach," "Dead Man's Hollow," &c. The last fair, too, which is held at
Church Stretton before Christmas is locally known as "Dead Man's Fair,"
several men have perished whilst attempting to return home after it
across the hill in the dark November night. No one, however, till this
winter has been lost for many years. Two drovers were the last persons
who perished here, and they lost their lives near a place called "The
Thresholds," in a deep snow which fell in April thirty-seven years ago.

The western slope of the Long Mynd is less strikingly picturesque and
more desolate, but the view from the top in this direction is the finest
of any. Almost unseen in a narrow valley at the foot of the mountain,
stand the village and church of Ratlinghope, the centre of a parish
numbering about three hundred souls only, but which stretches over miles
of mountain country, embracing a portion of the wild mining district of
the Stiper Stones. Beyond these hills the eye passes to the Welsh
mountains, and rests at last on the grand peaks of Cader Idris in one
direction, and Snowdon in the other, which may be seen in clear weather
sharply defined against a sunset sky.

Poor Ratlinghope was in sore need of some one to look after it when the
living was offered to me in September 1856. It had at that time been
left for many Sundays together without a service, the late incumbent
residing in Shrewsbury, twelve miles distant, and being frequently
prevented by ill health from coming over. There is no house in the
parish where a clergyman could live, or even procure tolerable lodgings;
and if there were, there is next to nothing, as