informed us, were used as lovers’ seats and wishing stones.  The “Frog and the Porpoise,” the “Oyster Rock,” the “Porpoise’s Head,” the “Sphinx,” the “Elephant and Yoke of Oxen,” and the “Hippopotamus’s Head” were all clearly defined.  The “Dancing Bear” was a splendidly shaped specimen, and then there was a “Boat Rock,” with bow and stern complete.  But on the “Mount Delectable,” as our guide called it, there was a very romantic courting and kissing chair, which, although there was only room for one person to sit in it at a time, he assured us was, in summer time, the best patronised seat in the lot.

We remunerated him handsomely, for he had worked hard and, as “England expects,” he had done his duty.  He directed us to go along a by-lane through Sawley or Sawley Moor, as being the nearest way to reach Fountains Abbey:  but of course we lost our way as usual.  The Brimham Rocks were about 1,000 feet above sea-level, and from them we could see Harrogate, which was, even then, a fashionable and rising inland watering-place.  Our guide, when he showed us its position in the distance, did not venture to make any poetry about it, so we quote a verse written by another poet about the visitors who went there: 

  Some go for the sake of the waters—­
    Well, they are the old-fashioned elves—­
  And some to dispose of their daughters,
    And some to dispose of themselves.

But there must be many visitors who go there to search in its bracing air for the health they have lost during many years of toil and anxiety, and to whom the words of an unknown poet would more aptly apply: 

  We squander Health in search of Wealth,
    We scheme, and toil, and save;
  Then squander Wealth in search of Health,
    And only find a Grave. 
  We live! and boast of what we own! 
  We die! and only get a STONE!

[Illustration:  FOUNTAINS AND THE RIVER SKELL.]

[Illustration:  FOUNTAINS ABBEY.  “How grand the fine old ruin appeared, calmly reposing in the peaceful valley below.”]

[Illustration:  THE CLOISTERS, FOUNTAINS ABBEY.  “Many great warriors were buried beneath the peaceful shade of Fountains Abbey.”]

[Illustration:  THE NAVE]

Fortunately we happened to meet with a gentleman who was going part of the way towards Fountains Abbey, and him we accompanied for some distance.  He told us that the abbey was the most perfect ruin in England, and when we parted he gave us clear instructions about the way to reach it.  We were walking on, keeping a sharp look out for the abbey through the openings in the trees that partially covered our way, when suddenly we became conscious of looking at a picture without realising what it was, for our thoughts and attention had been fixed upon the horizon on the opposite hill, where for some undefined reason we expected the abbey to appear.  Lo and behold, there was the abbey in the valley below, which we might