A Night in the Snow | Page 2

that the large sum of 400 or 500 pounds should thus be realised in a single season.
The appearance of this Long Mynd mountain on the northern side, looking towards Shrewsbury, presents no feature of striking interest, and the ascent 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 one of the parishioners said to me the other day, "to find coals to warm it with." It is scarcely to be wondered at that under these circumstances, when the living became vacant in the summer of 1856, there was no suitable person to be found who was willing to accept so desirable a piece of preferment. The parish of Wolstaston, of which I have the charge, and in which I reside, is situated on high ground on the eastern slope of the Long Mynd, i.e. exactly on the opposite side of the mountain to Ratlinghope. Above Wolstaston the ground rises steadily for about a mile and a half till you come to the unenclosed moorland, which stretches away for many miles of open country, covered with heather and gorse. It was under the circumstances that I have already mentioned that the living of Ratlinghope was offered to me. I was aware that it would be impossible to attend to the parish as one would wish to do, with four miles of this wild hill country to cross between the two villages. Still, as no one else could be found to take it, and I thought that the Ratlinghope people might think that "half-a-loaf was better than no bread," I consented to accept the living, and do the best I could for it; so I altered my second service at Wolstaston from three o'clock in the afternoon to six, which enabled me to give an afternoon service at Ratlinghope every Sunday.
I soon found, however, that the task I had undertaken was no very light one, as the only access from Wolstaston to Ratlinghope was by mountain tracks, over the highest part of the Long Mynd, unless indeed one drove round the base of the hill, a distance of at least twelve miles. The ride was pleasant enough in fine weather, but less enjoyable when fogs hung heavy over the hill, when the tracks were slippery with ice, or when falling snow concealed every landmark.