Since that time he has made further explorations of the pit, but has not learned much to add to the foregoing particulars.

The perils of exploring pot-holes are not always seen.

occasion Mr. Dawson and some friends wished to make a descent in winter time. The hole chosen was one with an elliptical opening, and its mouth was partially covered over by the snow. In the neighbourhood of Ingleborough the snow, when it falls at all, comes down handsomely, and on this occasion it had descended in heavy quantities and lay thickly upon the moorland. The men who held the ropes stood at one end of the mouth and let down the explorer. But the cold and the darkness were too much for him, and he promptly signalled to be drawn back to the surface. The hauling-in began, but, to the dismay of the workers, the rope began to cut through the bank of snow overhanging the brink, and when the man on the rope finally did come to the top of the pit it was found that his head was under a thick covering of snow; just as if he had got under the ice of a pond or stream. He was not too luxuriantly clad with hair, and by the time he had been worked through the snow his head was numb with cold. The humour of the situation was duly appreciated, but imagine the feelings of the haulers-in when they found that they had been standing over the very pit itself while working at the rope! Their ground was a floor of frozen snow which might have collapsed at any instant and precipitated them to the bottom of the awful depths.

One of the most fearful of the pot-holes, Gaping Ghyll, was only completely explored so recently as August 1895, and the honour of fathoming its mysteries fell not to an Englishman, but a Frenchman. That was M. Martel, of Paris, a scientific gentleman who has for many years paid great attention to these natural pits. The average outsider can understand but partially the great labour that is involved in descending a pot-hole such as this, for amongst other precautions which it was necessary to take was that of diverting altogether a stream of water which runs into the Ghyll, and in time of heavy rains leaps over the brink and disappears with an awful roar into the abyss.

For many weeks M. Martel made his preliminary arrangements for the descent, and all was in readiness on August 1. The stream had been diverted, and a very large amount of tackle got to the place. This apparatus consisted of three rope ladders, a stout hemp rope about 100 yards long, and an oak post. The post was firmly driven into the ground at the brink, then the rope was fastened to it and the ladders to the rope. M. Martel was equipped

with a telephone 600 feet long, and magnesium wire and candles. With the telephone he communicated regularly, reporting progress to the anxious crowd at the brink, in which was his wife. The preparations for the descent occupied three hours, and the ascent alone took twenty-eight minutes, so that the arduous nature of the upward climb can be readily appreciated. The total depth of the Ghyll was found to be 330 feet, and the chamber at the bottom 450 feet long, from 120 to 130 feet broad, and between go and 100 feet high. The Frenchman found that the water which falls into the Ghyll percolates into the soil, and that there are several main outlets which are so much choked up with sand and boulders as to be unexplorable without great labour. Perhaps these channels will, when cleared out, reveal wonders that are as yet undreamed of. They are, even now, the cause of hungry desire on the part of several Englishmen who wish to get to the very core of these subterranean mysteries. Appended are interesting particulars of some of the chief pits within six miles of Ingleton. Rowen Pot is called by Mr. Harry Speight, the well-known writer about the beauties of Yorkshire, the most awful fissure in the dale. The circumference is 90 feet long by 12 yards wide, diminishing to 4 yards. An exploring party once descended to a depth of 351 feet, when, following a horizontal passage for a considerable distance, they met with a perpendicular opening, and lowering themselves by successive stages ultimately reached a depth of 600 feet; but this was not the bottom. Marble Pot has a drop of 90 feet, and much water is carried to a hole in it, the known depth of which is 50 feet. Juniper Pot is full of water to a depth of 80 feet, and no attempt has been made to explore it. Raspberry Pot is a deep rift with a long drop. Nothing is known of it, as it has never been explored. The Fluted Hole is of great depth, but nothing is known of it. The Pillar Hole is so narrow that one can stride over it. It has been plumbed to a depth of 150 feet, but has never been descended. The Long Kin Hole (West) is narrow at the surface, and shaped like the letter L. It has been plumbed to 300 feet; but this cannot with certainty be declared to be the full depth. Rosebay Pot, Fern Pot, Moss Hole, Mudfoot Hole and Cave Pot have never been descended, and nothing is known of them. They are very wet. The Boggart's Roaring Hole, which is full of water in wet weather, has a vertical drop of 145 feet. Jingle Pot has a depth of 48 feet, a length of 70 feet, and a width of 10 feet. It is generally full of water. Mere Ghyll is a gap 240 feet long. The water disappears in an abyss, the depth of which is unknown. There are other pot-holes without either names or known dimensions.

WALTER WOOD,

TABLE TALK.

TH

A CALENDAR OF THE INNER TEMPLE RECORDS.

HE process of calendaring our national records, first started by my old friend Sir Thomas Duffus Hardy and continued with unabated zeal by succeeding Keepers of the Records, has spurred other custodians of important documents to emulative effort, and it seems likely that another half century or less will see all manuscript treasures of importance, if not placed beyond the chances of loss by theft, burning, or decay, at least rendered available for purposes of scholarship. Among the earliest of the great public bodies to calendar the more important of these documents is the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple, the first volume of whose records has been edited by Mr. F. A. Inderwick, Q.C., and published by order of the Masters of the Bench. Mr. Inderwick is a well-known antiquary, who in the pauses of incessant profession at labour has found time to write "Side Lights on the Stuarts," "The King's Peace," "The Story of King Edward and New Winchelsea," and "The Prisoner of War." The task of calendaring could scarcely have been entrusted to more trustworthy or competent hands. But one volume has as yet appeared, a herald of more to come. This deals with the period between 21 Henry VII. (1505), when surviving records begin, and 45 Elizabeth (1603). The records are ushered in by an historical introduction, which is to some extent a digest of what is most valuable in the contents, and a history, not only of the Inner Temple, but of the Temple as a whole. Not the earliest records are those of the Inner Temple, those of Lincoln's Inn going farther back. They are earlier, however, by some years than the records of Gray's Inn, and begin about the same time as those of the Middle Temple, supporting thus the idea which is borne out in other respects that the place in which the documents appertaining to both the Temples were originally kept was the same.

H. Sotheran & Co.

SOM

THE HOOSIER POET.

COME few years ago I had the privilege of meeting at a brilliant gathering Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, the American poet, and of hearing him recite one or two of his short poems. So simple, touching, and pathetic were these, dealing generally with children, that his subsequent work has been followed by me with extreme interest. In England Mr. Riley is known to the few; in America he has won widespread recognition, and those who follow the best American magazines, Scribner's or the Century, look out in them for his sweet, homely, thoroughly human lyrics, ordinarily in what is known as the Hoosier dialect. Whence is derived the word Hoosier -unfamiliar, doubtless, to my readers as myself—I know not. It is now, however, in current use in the United States, and is applied to the supposed speech of the inhabitants of Indiana. Americans have reached a point at which interest in dialects and local customs is natural, and are beginning to look after their own antiquities. More than any living writer, Mr. Riley has popularised the dialect of his own state, and his Hoosier poems are among the most characteristic productions of the present day. Mr. Riley's writings are, however, not confined to dialect poems, or indeed to poems, since as a prose writer he is with some even more popular than as a poet. In the mingled humour and pathos of his prose narratives he comes nearer Dickens than any other writer. In his child poems he is chiefly noteworthy for the delicacy and fidelity of his descriptions, his insight into child life, and his sympathy with childish preconceptions and aspirations. Our own Robert Louis Stevenson has been happy in his treatment of child themes and his appeal to children. I doubt, however, whether his sympathy even is as full as that of Mr. Riley.

MR. RILEY'S VERSE AND PROSE.

HE latest volume of Mr. Whitcomb Riley's poems is entitled "A Child-World," and is published in Indianapolis and Kansas City. It lends itself not very readily to quotations, which indeed to any adequate extent I may not attempt. A few lines, not at all the best, are all on which I venture. After giving a picture of an Indiana home, its occupants and visitors, the volume is made up of sketches and stories narrated to or by the children. The child-world itself consists of

'Indianapolis, The Bowen-Merrill Company; London, Longmans & Co.

A simple old frame house-eight rooms in all-
Set just one side the centre of a small

But very hopeful Indiana town,

The upper story looking squarely down

Upon the main street and the main highway
From east to west-historic in its day.

The first inhabitants of the town

Will make that old road blossom with romance
Of covered vehicles of every grade
From ox-cart of most primitive design,
To Conestoga wagons with their fine
Deep-chested, six-horse teams, in heavy gear,
High hames and chiming bells-to childish ear
And eye entrancing as the glittering train
Of some sun-smitten pageant of old Spain.

Following the description of the spot comes that

Of the five happy little Hoosier chaps

Inhabiting this wee world all their own.

Very sorry am I that I cannot introduce my readers to them allJohnty the leader, his "little tow-head brother" Bud, with his delight in tales of giants, trolls, and fairies, then Maymie of the "blue skies of eyes," and Alix and Lizzie. The more I seek, however, to convey to my readers an estimate of the beauty and tenderness of the whole, the more impressed do I become with my incapacity to do so. Abandoning then an attempt after the impossible, I will just give, at second hand, the end of a prose story containing a little love sketch that Dickens need not disown. extract is, I believe, genuine Hoosier :

This

Well, Annie had just stooped to lift up one o' the little girls when the feller turned and the'r eyes met. "Annie, my wife!" he says; and Annie, she kind o' gave a little yelp like, and come a flutterin' down in his arms, and the jug of wortar rolled clean acrost the road, and turned a somerset and knocked the cob out of its mouth and jist laid back and hollered "Good-good-good-good-good!" like ef it knowed what was up, and was jist as glad and tickled as the rest of us. Neither in Rabelais nor Molière does a bottle speak better than that.

SYLVANUS URBAN.