ecame too indistinct to follow easily.
Lealholm Station lay in the valley on my right, but I could find no road
leading there, and I wasted precious time in frequent consultations with
the map. Coming to a farm, I inquired the way, and was directed over a
number of muddy fields, which gradually brought me down into the valley.
It was now sufficiently dark for all the landmarks I had noticed to be
scarcely visible, but, on inquiring at a cottage, I was told that it
would take only ten minutes to walk to the station. I had a clear
quarter of an hour, and, hurrying forward, soon found myself on a
railway-bridge over a deep cutting. There was just enough light to see
that no station was in sight, and it was impossible to find in which
direction the station lay. There was no time to go back to the cottage,
and there were no others to be seen. Looking at the map again, I could
not discover the position of this bridge, for it was on no road, as it
seemed merely to connect the pastures on either side. However, I felt
fairly certain that I had rather overstepped the station, and therefore
climbed down the bank into the cutting, and commenced walking towards
the west. Coming out into the open, I thought I saw the lamps on the
platforms about half a mile further on; but on pressing forward the
lights became suddenly bigger, and in a minute my train passed me with a
thundering rush. Evidently Lealholm was to the east, and not the west of
that cutting. It was then 5.40, and the next train left for Whitby at
about a quarter to ten. When the tail-lights of the train had
disappeared into the cutting, I felt very much alone, and the silence of
the countryside became oppressive. It seemed to me that this part of
Yorkshire was just as lonely as when Canon Atkinson first commenced his
work in Danby parish, and I was reminded of his friend's remark on
hearing that he was going there: 'Why, Danby was not found out when they
sent Bonaparte to St. Helena, or else they never would have taken the
trouble to send him all the way there!'

The ruined Danby Castle can still be seen on the slope above the Esk,
but the ancient Bow Bridge at Castleton, which was built at the end of
the twelfth century, was barbarously and needlessly destroyed in 1873. A
picture of the bridge has, fortunately, been preserved in Canon
Atkinson's 'Forty Years in a Moorland Parish.' That book has been so
widely read that it seems scarcely necessary to refer to it here, but