From a Photo taken with a No. 5 Poco Camera by M. Heavisides. It is a charming afternoon when we set out to explore the far famed woods of Deepsdale. We cross Barney’s old stone bridge, turn to the right past the flax mills, and opposite to the girder bridge, which spans the Tees, enter a gateway. For about half a mile our way lies over open ground by the side of the stream. Hearing the sharp crack of a rifle, we see ahead of us a party of volunteers practising at the targets. Desiring to be out of harm’s way, we strike an upward path, but unexpectedly find ourselves at a stile which gives access to the fields. As we desire to be in the sheltered woods, for it is a scorching day, we descend amid the thick undergrowth with no little hurry as we hear sharp rifle reports from the shooting range not far distant. All goes well, however, and we gain a well-defined pathway, where we enjoy the cool and pleasant shade of the overhead foliage and listen to the merry song of Deepdale’s rill.