On descending to the highroad, we notice the level strath where doubtless the fishponds lay. Soon afterwards we come to Little Stretton, a tranquil hamlet charmingly located in a nook of the Longmynd, over against the beautifully-wooded hill of Ragleth. The cottagers, we observe, take a curious delight in garnishing their doorways with derelict cannon-shot, which they find in the neighbouring gullies after artillery practice on the Longmynd. Blackleaded and brightly polished, they stand sentinel on either side the rustic porch; an innocent billet indeed for these truculent bullets!
At the farther end of the village two humble inns, the Green Dragon and the Crown, stand vis-à-vis on either side the highway; and, in these modest hostelries, visitors may possibly identify the rival 'houses' that figure in Beatrice Harraden's story of Shropshire life, entitled 'At the Green Dragon.'
Pushing on now to Marsh Brook, we turn sharp to the left at the rural post-office, and work our way up-hill to Acton Scott, a high-lying place some 700 feet above sea level--'Acton-super-Montem' it is called in ancient documents.
Passing through the churchyard wicket, we pause beneath an enormous hollow yew tree to scan the rare prospect over the rolling Stretton hills, and a glimpse down the vale towards Ludlow. Of the church itself there is little to be said, save that it has a good plain old oak roodscreen; so we stroll on beneath an avenue of noble beech trees, and presently come in sight of Acton Scott Hall.
As may be seen in our sketch, the mansion is a simple, massive brick structure, with stone quoins at the angles, mullioned windows, and clustered chimney shafts; altogether a very fair specimen of an ancestral abode of the gentlefolk of a bygone period. And the place has an added interest for all local antiquaries, as the home of the late Mrs. Stackhouse-Acton, author of 'Castles and Mansions of Shropshire.' Acton Scott Hall was in all probability erected by a certain Edward Acton, who flourished about the middle of the sixteenth century; and it has been noticed that the mansion bears a considerable resemblance to its contemporary, the so-called 'Whitehall' at Shrewsbury.
A steep 'pitchy' lane, descending the hill past the cosy-looking vicarage, now leads us across a stretch of rough common-land, where the cottagers' geese seem disposed, more suo, to contest our right-of-way. Thence by narrow lanes draped with ferns and wild flowers we travel on to a place called Alceston, and at an elbow of the road come face-to-face with the old derelict homestead that figures below; its weather-stained roofs tufted with green mosses and house-leeks, and overshadowed by a few ragged fir trees; while the black old timbers upon its faded front are wrought into balusters and quatrefoil patterns.