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A HISTORY OF DERBYSHIRE.

Ex Libris
C K. OGDEN

POPULAR COUNTT HISTORIES.

HISTORY OF DERBYSHIRE.

BY

JOHN PENDLETON,

AUTHOR OF 'OLD AND NEW CHESTERFIELD.'

LONDON :
ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.

1886.

DA

(,16

LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY , TFo

S/,

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.
The County's Characteristics

CHAPTER I.

Derby — Its Early History — A Brave Princess — Pestilence
— Some Important Events — Notable Buildings and
Strange Stories — Celebrated Citizens — A Humorous
Ballad — Modern Progress -----

CHAPTER II.

Ashbourne — A Quaint Town — An Illustrious Family — The
Sculptor's Art — Dr. Johnson— Canning — Tom Moore —
Ham — Dovedale and its Beauties

CHAPTER III.

Wirksworth and its Borders — Singular Mining Customs —
The Church and its Monuments — A Curious Epitaph —
Homely Folks — George Eliot and ' Dinah Bede ' — Weil-
Dressing — A Giant's Tooth — Tradition — Old English
Life — A Marvellous Escape — Cromford and Sir Richard
Arkwright ------

TACE

xi

CHAPTER IV.

29

- 40

Matlock Bath— Man's Energy— The Bath Years Ago— Lord
Byron — The Water Cure — Rocks and Caverns — Matlock
and its Church — A Remarkable Woman - - - 54

vi Contents.

CHAPTER V.

PAGE

Darley Dale — Its Scenery — A Poetic Tradition — A Curious
Will — The Darley Yew Tree — A Great Frost — The Pea-
cock at Rowsley — Old Butcher the Angler — Which Way ? 61

CHAPTER VI.

Old Chatsworth — Mary Queen of Scots — The First Duke
of Devonshire — Pulling a Colonel's Nose — The Revolu-
tion of 1688 — New Chatsworth and its Treasures of Art
and Literature — The Gardens and Park — Edensor and
its Historic Graves - - - - - 70

CHAPTER VII.

Haddon— A Feudal Mansion—' The King of the Peak '—
Rough Justice — A Quaint Place of Worship— A Roman
Altar— The Banqueting-Hall — The Dining-Room and its
Carvings — The Long Gallery — A Night Flight - - 84

CHAPTER VIII.

Bakewell— A Quiet Country Town — Its History — A Noted
Church — Some Famous Tombs and Curious Epitaphs —
The Stone Cross — A Strange Petition — An Extraordinary
Marriage — Living without Food — A Pathetic Ballad —
An Heroic Exploit - - - - - - 93

CHAPTER IX.

Some Peak Villages— Ashford and its Customs— Little
Longstone — Hassop — A Brave Royalist — Baslow — The
Dog Whipper — Scenery and Health — A Pretty Valley
— Stony Middleton — Chief Justice Denman — Rocky
Grandeur — A Love-Sick Maiden's Leap - - - 107

CHAPTER X.

Eyam — An Ancient Village — Its Geological Peculiarities —
A Hideous Pestilence — A Singular Story — The Eyam
Cross — Eminent People — Quaint Customs — Eccentric
Characters - - - - - - - t 17

Contents. vii

CHAPTER XI.

PAGE

Tideswell— 'The Cathedral City of the Peak'— A Curious
Tenure — The Church — A Good Bishop — An Eminent
Vocalist— The ' Drunken Butcher of Tideswell '—An
Amusing Ballad - - - - - - 125

CHAPTER XII.

Castleton— Peveril of the Peak— A Tournament— An Old
Custom — A ' Breeches ' Bible — An Enthusiastic Geologist
— The Devil's Cave — The Speedwell Mine — Eldon Hole
and a Peasant's Adventure — The Blue John Mine — The
Winnats and Mam Tor — Ferns and Fossils— A New
Railway - - - - - - - 137

CHAPTER XIII.

Buxton Once an Ocean's Bed — St. Anne and Lord Crom-
well's Crusade against Crutches — The Ancient Baths —
Curious Charges — Distinguished but Thirsty Visitors in
Elizabeth's Reign — Mary Queen of Scots and the Tepid
Waters — The Town's Popularity— Monsal and Miller's
Dale - - - - - - - 147

CHAPTER XIV.

Around Kinderscout— A Sad Episode — ' Under the Snow '
— 'The Apostle of the Peak'— A Staunch Royalist —
Famous John Bradshaw — The Titan of the Peak— An
Uncommon Occurrence — A Merchant and his Monu-
ment — Glossop — A Pretty Custom and a Curious
Wedding — Over the Moors to Ashopton - - -159

CHAPTER XV.

Hathersage — Little John's Grave— A Sorrowful Ballad— A
Wild Country— A British Fort— Fox House— Beauchief
Abbey— Banner Cross— A Glimpse of Sheffield - - 175

viii Contents.

CHAPTER XVI.

PAGE

Toil and Smoke— A Thorough People— Sheffield Men and
the Picturesque — A Pretty Glen — The Wyming Brook
—A Moorland Path — Another Look at the Peak- - 186

CHAPTER XVII.

Sheffield Years Ago— The Cutlers' Feast— A Crestfallen
Dignitary — The Parish Church — Singular Incidents —
Poetry and Sculpture — Ruskin's Museum — The Mappin
Gallery — ' Less Black than Painted ' - - - 194

CHAPTER XVIII.

In Derbyshire Again — A Region of Iron and Coal —
Chantrey's Birthplace— Unlucky Dronfield— A Strange
Tradition— A Famous Cottage - - - 208

CHAPTER XIX.

Taking Life Easily— The Revolution House — England
Two Centuries Ago — The Conspirators at Whittington —
The Dash for Liberty— An Historic Picture— A King's
Flight - - - - - - - 214

CHAPTER XX.

The Benefits of the Revolution — A Memorable Centenary
— Festivities a Hundred Years Ago — The Coming
Bi-Centenary — A Rollicking Song ... 224

CHAPTER XXI.

Chesterfield in the Past— Some Obsolete Customs— About
the Streets— The Memorial to George Stephenson— The
Grammar School and its Noted Scholars — The Old
Church — A Crusader's Prowess — The Crooked Steeple
and its Traditions ------ 232

CHAPTER XXII.

Bolsover — A Tranquil Village — The Norman Fortress —
Ivy-clad Ruins — Feasting a King — Sir Charles Cavendish
— Another Railway ..... 247

Contents. ix

CHAPTER XXIII.

PAGE

Hardwick Hall— The Old House— An Illustrious ' Shrew '
— The Elizabethan Mansion — Its Relics of the Past —
Some Old Pictures, and the Stories they Tell - - 256

CHAPTER XXIV.

Wingerworth Hall — A Valiant Race — Curious License to
Travel— The Roundheads at Ashover— A Frank Letter
— Wingfield Manor — A Queen's Prison — Babington's
Pitiful Prayer— The Civil War— Back to Derby - - 267

INTRODUCTION

If Oliver Goldsmith's ' Discontented Wanderer ' had
continued his travels into Derbyshire, he would have
been a happier man. The modest loveliness of the
lowland meadows and country lanes would have
calmed his querulous spirit. The wilder and grander
beauty of the northern part of the county would
certainly have excited his admiration even more
than the writings of Confucius, which seem to have
been his only luggage. True, he could not have
met with such wonders as Othello spoke of to
Desdemona —

' The anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders ;'

but there are some strange sights in the Peak that
could not have failed to excite his curiosity and
admiration. Side by side with the flashing Dove,
the rippling Wye, and the broader waters of the
Derwent, are grotesquely shaped caverns, walled by
glistening spar, and roofed by snow-white stalactites.

xii Introduction.

Great limestone crags, on whose rugged breasts
lichens, and ferns, and wild flowers find scanty foot-
hold, rear their huge heads high above the eddying
streams and tender greenery of the picturesque dales
in which they stand, like giants on guard against
some Titanic foe. And away on the dark moorland
that borders glen, and gorge, and wide-sweeping
valley, are fantastic masses of hoary gritstone, within
the grim circles of which the Britons gathered and
buried their fallen heroes.

An erratic divine, bubbling with admiration for
Derbyshire, once stated that it was a goodly land,
where faction and division could not thrive, and the
people delighted in love-feasts ! The county has not,
however, always had this character for amiability
and peace. The successive races of Roman, Saxon,
and Norman did rude work among the inhabitants
in the earlier days of its history, and at a later
period the sword of the Royalist and the pole-axe
of the Puritan were far from idle, for the Civil
War raged here as fiercely as in any other part of
the land.

With one, at least, of the greatest events in
England's history, Derbyshire is linked, for in it the
Revolution of 1688 was planned, the plotters meeting
secretly at Whittington, in a cottage that still stands,
apparently so loth to fall into ruins that it might be
conscious of the part it played in elevating the
Prince of Orange to the throne.

The humble dwelling, old and moss-grown, is,
however, only one of many historic houses in this

Introduction. xiii

county. Philip Kinder, who, in the sixteenth cen-
tury, said the country women were ' chaste and sober,
very diligent in their housewifery, hating idleness, and
loving and obeying their husbands,' also remarked
that ' no countie in England hath so manie princelie
habitations,' and there was no exaggeration in this
assertion. Derbyshire, so interesting by reason of
its scenery, antiquities, peculiar strata, rare fossils,
and stores of lead, iron, and coal, is rich in castles
and mansions associated not merely with legend and
romance, but with the names of celebrated men and
famous women.

' Peveril's place in the Peke,' though shattered
and roofless, still clings to its precarious site high
above the mouth of Castleton Cavern ; Haddon
Hall, grey and ivy-clad, yet exists to tell the tale
of Sir George Vernon's hospitality, and to give
reality to the familiar love-story that ended in the
flight of his daughter, Dorothy Vernon. Chatsworth,
the home of painting, sculpture, and literature, is
associated with the lives of warriors and statesmen,
and with a Queen's captivity. The fortress at
Bolsover, with its thick walls and pillared chambers,
carries the mind back to the time when the amuse-
ments of the nobility were the chase and the tourna-
ment— to the period of the Conquest when many
of the Saxons, ' utterly refusing to sustain such an
intolerable yoke of thraldom as was daily laid upon
them by the Normans, chose rather to leave all, both
goods and lands, and, after the manner of outlaws,
got them to the woods with their wives, children,

xiv Introduction.

and servants ;' and the ruin on the grass-grown
terrace close by the turreted castle is quite as
eloquent of pageant as the other part of the castle is
of strife, for Charles I. feasted and revelled in its
banqueting-hall.

Only domestic feuds have disturbed the serenity
of Hardwick Hall ; and this mansion, neither
mutilated by soldiery nor dismantled for some
senseless whim, is as perfect now as on the day it
left its builder's hands. The Elizabethan mansion
raised by ' Bess of Hardwick' to allay the super-
stitious fear created in her mind by a gipsy's
prophecy, is ' a picture in stone.' Lord Bacon did
not like it ; and grumbling about its numerous
windows, said : ' One cannot tell where to become
to be out of the sun or cold ;' but his petulant com-
plaint has not interfered with its beauty, and the
great house, mellowed by time, and hallowed by
many historic memories, is one of the most at-
tractive mansions in the county — a house of vast,
stately rooms, adorned with curious carvings, old
paintings, rare tapestry, and needlework done by Mary
Stuart, about whom we are told, ' All day she wrought
with her nydill, and the diversity of the colours
made the work seem less tedious ; but she contynued
so long at it, till very payne made her to give over.'
Wingfield Manor, again, is another of the historic
houses in which the county is so exceptionally rich ;
in it Mary Queen of Scots found another of her
many prison-houses, which she only left on her

Introduction. xv

last journey to Tutbury, Chartley, Fotheringay,
and the scaffold. Elvaston Castle, the seat of the
Stanhopes, Earls of Harrington; Bretby Castle,
owned by the same family, and known to history
as connected with the ' Earl of Chesterfield's
Letters;' Melbourne Hall, from which the title
of Lord Melbourne, and through that the name
of the Australian capital Melbourne, is derived, are
also conspicuous among the noted houses of the
county.

Derbyshire has not only a history, but a literature
of its own — a literature of ballads and songs, which,
as is shown by the late Mr. Jewitt, in his ' Ballads
and Songs of Derbyshire,' is whimsically imaginative,
humorous, and pathetic. It is a county prolific in
traditions and in legendary lore ; and many customs,
simple and quaint, prevail in its out-of-the-way
villages. Even superstition lurks in the more remote
parts of the Peak, where to some minds a white
cricket leaping across the hearth bodes ill-fortune,
and the howling of the Gabriel hounds is the herald
of death. But in marked contrast to the ignorant
credulity that exists off some of the beaten tracks,
Derbyshire's real, practical life stands out boldly.
To this county the first introduction of the silk
manufacture into England owes its origin ; to it the
world should be thankful for the invention of the
cotton ' spinning Jenny ;' and it was for a long time
the most successful centre of porcelain manufacture,
producing the finest wares, perhaps, of any locality.

xvi Introduction.

Indeed, Derbyshire is insignificant neither in inven-
tive power nor manufacturing progress, and reveals,
like Yorkshire, as dauntless a courage in the face
of its mining dangers as that of the bravest knight
who ever rode with visor down, and lance in rest, to
perilous encounter.

HISTORY OF DERBYSHIRE.

CHAPTER I.

Derby — its Early History — A Brave Princess — Pestilence-
Some Important Events — Notable Buildings and Strange
Stories— Celebrated Citizens— A Humorous Ballad — Modern
Progress.

REPTON, the little Derbyshire village, noted for its
ancient school — that successfully vies with those of
Eton, Harrow, and Rugby — was once the capital of
Mercia and the burial-place of Mercia's kings. But
while it has for many generations been sleeping
peacefully, like a wearied child, or a patriarch worn
out with life's struggles, Derby, the county town,
has been gradually but surely increasing, and steadily
revealing the vitality that makes great cities. Stand-
ing- on the western banks of the Derwent, in the
heart of the Midlands, it is known as ' The Gateway
to the Peak,' and not inaptly so, for it lies on the
borders of the county's loveliest scenery — the huge
limestone rocks, and fern-sprinkled chasms, and
quiet restful valleys that were in Lord Byron's eyes
as picturesque as Switzerland.

History of Derbyshire.

' A buck couchant in a park ' is the chief feature
of the borough arms ; but there is uncertainty as
to how the town got its name. The Saxons and the
Danes knew it as NortJnvorthigie, the northern
market, and Deoraby, the abode of deer ; some
students say the name comes from the Celtic, Dtvr,
water, and the A.S., bye, a habitation ; and other
philologists cling to the belief of its derivation from
Derventio, the name given by the Romans to their
station at Little Chester ; or Derwentby, the town by
the Derwent side.

Derby is a sort of Methuselah among towns, with
this exception — it grows younger and more vigorous
as its gets older.

Centuries ago the rapidly expanding borough was
noted for its wool and malt marts, and its brewings
of ' Darby Ale.'

As far back as 874, and again in 918, it was familiar
with strife, and was the arena of rival invaders. The
Danes, giving free license to their rapacity, had early
conquered the place; but Ethelfleda, daughter of King
Alfred, and princess and leader of the Mercians,
bringing her forces across the river near the site of
St. Mary's Bridge, fought a desperate battle, and not
only drove the Danes behind their castle walls, but
battered their stronghold and made the chieftain fly.
It was not, however, until some years later that Derby
was entirely liberated from the irksome dominion of
the Danes by Athelstan's brother, King Edmund,
and their acts of cruelty were well remembered, for it
was long the custom of the Saxons to terrify their

A Brave Princess.

children into good behaviour by saying ' The Danes
are coming !'

Notwithstanding the anxiety and fear prevailing
among the inhabitants at this troublous period, they
did not lose sight of ' the main chance.' A royal mint
was established ; like the builders of the Temple, the
Saxons fought with one hand and worked with the
other, and eventually commerce won, developing
even beyond payment in kind, for coins of Athelstan's
and Edgar's reigns have been discovered, and they
bear the name 'Deoraby.'

In 1066, when King Harold vainly endeavoured to
stop William the Conqueror's progress, Derby sent
her sons freely to defend the land, and the town was
drained of its best archers, many of whom fell at the
battle of Hastings.

In 1204 Derby (which had been a royal borough
since Edward the Confessor's time) was granted
additional privileges, ' such as Nottingham had,' and
these included the monopoly of dyeing cloth, the
creation of a merchant guild, and the freedom of serfs
unclaimed by their lords after one year's residence.

In 1257 tne burgesses joyfully paid ten marks
into the royal exchequer for the luxury of expelling
the Jews from the town ; and early in the same
century they sent members to Parliament, the first
representatives of whom any returns have been found
being Johannes de la Cornere and Radulphus de
Makeneye, who were sent as representatives to the
Parliament of 1295.

The Sheriff of Nottingham and Derby, in the reign

1 — 2

History of Derbyshire.

of Edward III., was commanded to provide 200 white
bows and 500 arrows for the King's use in the French
wars.

In 1556 Joan Waste, a poor blind woman, learnt
that the bitterest of all persecution is religious per-
secution, for she was burnt to death at Windmill Pit
because of ' certain heresies.'

In 1585, Mary Queen of Scots rested a night at
Derby, on her way, as a captive, from Wingfield Manor
to Tutbury Castle ; and there have been many other
royal visits both before and since that time. Charles I.
visited the borough in 1635, and the corporation gave
the Earl of Newcastle, by whom he was attended, a
fat ox, a calf, six fat sheep, and a purse of money,
' that he might keep hospitality.'

And in 1665 came a more powerful visitor, bringing
death and sorrow as his attendants. That visitor was
the Plague, and the ' Headless Cross,' still preserved
in the Arboretum, tells its own story by the following
engraved inscription : ' Headless Cross or market-stone :
This stone formed part of an ancient cross at the upper
end of Friargate, and was used by the inhabitants
of Derby as a market-stone during the visitation
of the Plague, 1665.' Hutton, speaking of the
calamity, says : ' The town was forsaken ; the farmers
declined the market-place ; and grass grew upon
that spot which had furnished the supports of life.
To prevent a famine, the inhabitants erected at the
top of Nun's Green, one or two hundred yards from
the buildings, now Friar Gate, what bore the name
of the Headless Cross, consisting of about four quad-

Some Important Events.

rangular steps, covered in the centre with one large
stone. . . . Hither the market people, having their
mouths primed with tobacco as a preservative,
brought their provisions, stood at a distance from
their property, and at a greater from the townspeople
with whom they were to traffic. The buyer was not
suffered to touch any of the articles before purchase,
but when the agreement was finished he took the
goods and deposited the money in a vessel filled
with vinegar set for the purpose.'*

In the Civil War, Derby gave comparatively
little countenance to the Royalists, and Sir John
Gell, who was so eager to harass King Charles's
forces, had pretty much his own way in Cromwell's
cause.

The Earl of Devonshire in 1688, after the secret
meeting at the little roadside ale-house, the 'Cock and
Pynot,' known in later history as the Revolution
House, at Whittington, chose Derby as the place in
which to express his sentiments in favour of the
Prince of Orange. With his retinue of 500 men he
marched boldly into the market-place, and declared
that they were prepared to their utmost ' to defend
the Protestant religion, the laws of the kingdom, and
the rights and the liberties of the people.' Yet,
strange as it may seem in the light of after events, the
mayor was afraid to billet the Prince's soldiers, and
they were, according to Simpson's History, taken to

0 The same historian mentions as a singular fact that the
Plague 'never attempted the premises of a tobacconist, a
tanner, or a shoemaker.'

History of Derbyshire.

their quarters by ' a spirited constable of the name
of Cooke.'

In 1745 Prince Charles Edward Stuart, the 'Young
Pretender/ penetrated as far as Derby and on to the
picturesque old bridge at Swarkestone, from which
familiar angling haunt he began the memorable retreat
that ended in the battle of Culloden, and his own flight
to the rocks and caverns of the Scottish coast.

The rising of poor stockingers and hand-loom

weavers in Derbyshire in 18 17 makes a sad page in

the county's history. Of work there was little ; men

wanted bread, and they went about demanding it

with pikes and swords in their hands. Jeremiah

Brandreth, their leader, incited them to violence,

saying

' No bloody soldiers must we dread,
We must turn out and fight for bread.
The time is come, you plain must see,
The Government opposed must be.'

An insurrection, so foolish that it might have been
born in Barnaby Rudge's brain, was planned. Not-
tingham and Derby were to be attacked ; but after the
rash men had forcibly entered several farm-houses,
committed a few acts of pillage, and shot a labourer,
their foolish enterprise came to a sorry ending. The
most prominent insurgents were arrested and tried for
high treason. ' Some of them appeared in court in
smock frocks, and others evinced by their clothing that
they were the sons of poverty.' Misery had rendered
these men desperate, and all were pitied. But pity did
not save them ; and according to one chronicler,
when Brandreth, the ringleader, had been executed,

Notable Bidldings and Strange Stories. 7

' a grim fellow stood up, and raised high with both
his hands the head of the chief criminal, pronouncing,
in different directions, " The head of a traitor." '

The Reform Bill riots in 1831 resulted in the de-
struction of much property in Derby ; the flood in
1842 was also very disastrous; but in 1846 a still
greater hardship (in the opinion of many) had to be
borne — the Shrovetide football carnival was sup-
pressed. Great was the disappointment at the
mandate forbidding the historic game. Football
was the breath of life to the vigorous men and
youths of the town, and they fought as heroically
for a goal as the Athenians did for a laurel wreath.
Business was suspended for this battle of strength,
agility, and endurance, between the parishes of All
Saints' and St. Peter's. And what stern resolve, and
persistent effort, and reckless daring were exhibited
by the football champions, who, ignoring bruised
shins and broken heads, sometimes swam along the
freezing Derwent, or penetrated into the slimy drains
of the town in their anxiety to obtain the victory !
And how sweet was the victory ! — the conquerors
became almost delirious with delight ; and ' there is
a tradition that on one occasion, when St. Peter's
men and lads both won, the joy was so great, that
both balls were hung by blue ribbons on one of the
pinnacles of St. Peter's church tower.'

' Time consecrates ; and what is gray with age
becomes religion.' So says Schiller, and the senti-
ment is particularly applicable to many noted build-
ings in Derby. Its ancient castle, dismantled by the

8 History of Derbyshire.

Saxons in 918, has become as intangible as ' a castle
in the air ;' its old county gaol, erected ' in a river,
and exposed to damp and filth, as if they meant to
drown the culprit before they hanged him,' has been
superseded by a more modern and better arranged
structure. But here and there in the rapidly
improving town remain, almost untouched by
the march of progress, many mansions, houses,
churches and other buildings that carry the mind
back to the past, with its ruder customs and ofttimes
stirring history. One of the oldest is the time-worn
Free School, in St. Peter's Churchyard, founded in
1 1 60 by Walter Durdant, Bishop of Coventry, who
established it in connection with the monastery of St.
Helen, which had been founded by Robert de Ferrers
and removed to Darley, where a fine abbey was raised.
When the Liversage Charity Trustees laid down a new
floor some time back, several skeletons were found
beneath the plaster, and there is little doubt that
the playground was formerly a part of the church-
yard. St. Peter's, close by, with its gray tower and
crumbling walls and creeping ivy, quite comes up to
Schiller's ideal. It is one of the most picturesque
churches in the county, and were it in some quiet
old-world village, instead of on the borders of Derby's
chief street, one could easily imagine it had inspired
Gray's elegy. The Gothic edifice, given in the reign
of Stephen to Darley Abbey, is an interesting study
to the antiquary ; and in the chancel is a fine old
Flemish chest, that looks as if it contained faded
manuscripts and worn charters telling of its ancient

Notable Buildings and Strange Stories. 9

foundations. In 1530 'Robert Liversagc, a dyer
of Derby,' says Hutton, ' founded a chapel in
this church, and ordered divine service to be said
once a week, on Friday ; in which were to attend
thirteen people, of either sex, each to be rewarded
with a silver penny ; as much, then, as would have
supported a frugal person. The porches, like those
of Bethesda, were crowded with people, who waited
for the moving of the doors, as the others for that
of the waters. While the spiritual serjeant beat up
for volunteers at a penny advance, recruits would
never be wanting. A sufficient congregation was not
doubted ; nor their quarrelling for the money. The
priest found his hearers in that disorder which his
prayers could not rectify ; they frequently fought ; but
not the good fight of faith.'

The bridge chapel of St. Mary's, a relic of the
period when travellers stopped awhile to pray for their
own welfare, is another of the older existing remains
of the town. Of it the Rev. J. C. Cox, in his interest-
ing work, ' The Churches of Derbyshire,' says : ' The
bridge of St. Mary's would undoubtedly in the
old days have a gate-house, for the purposes of
defence as well as for the levying of tolls and other
town dues, and it seems to us that this stood at the
left-hand side of the chapel on leaving the town, with
one side built into or formed by the chapel itself.
It would be on this gate-house, if not on the
actual chapel, that the heads and quarters of the
priests who were martyred at Derby, on July 25,
1588, were impaled, and shortly afterwards piously

io History of Derbyshire.

stolen for burial by two " resolute Catholic gentle-

men." '

Exeter House, in Full Street, where the Pretender
stayed two nights, was thoughtlessly pulled down in
1854 or '55 ; and Babington House, that sheltered
Mary Queen of Scots on her journey from Wingfield
Manor to Tutbury, has also been destroyed ; but
Derby has not lost all its old houses.

In the Wardwick is the remaining half of a charm-
ing old-fashioned dwelling, dated 161 1, the other
highly picturesque half of which was, not many years
back, pulled down for the formation of a new street —
Becket Street ; in Tenant Street is a highly picturesque
Elizabethan habitation ; and around the Market
Place are several business places, originally the man-
sions of noble families. One of these houses, noted
for its painted ceiling, is also ' historic on account of
rendering quarters to the heroic ladies who followed
the hazardous fortunes of bonnie Prince Charlie.
Among these were Lady Ogilvie and Mrs. Murray,
who were taken prisoners after the battle of Culloden in
their ball-dresses, as they were about to celebrate the
victory of the Young Chevalier ' — a victory that turned
out to be a decisive defeat when the truth was known.

Both Thackeray and George Augustus Sala have
written gracefully of the time when the stage coach,
the sedan-chair, and the link-boy were conspicuous
features of English life, and the old assembly-room
at Derby was in the zenith of its career when these
institutions flourished. It was opened in 17 14, and
its balls and card-parties, to which only the county

Notable Buildings and Strange Stories. 1 1

families had invitation, were very magnificent, and
so select, that the traders and plebeians never saw
beyond the threshold of the ballroom.

In 1752 this curious entry was made in the account
book kept in the building which so frequently echoed
with revelry :

' August 4th. — Delivered up the assembly-room to
the Right Hon. the Countess of Ferrers, who did me
the honour of accepting it. I told her that trade
never mixed with us ladies. — A. Barnes.'

And this frank admission was quite true, so far as
Mrs. Barnes was concerned, for during the eleven
years she was lady patroness, the accounts got hope-
lessly 'mixed,' and the funds became exhausted.
The new assembly-room, built in 1763, on the east
side of the Market Place, has grown somewhat old,
too ; but it is elegantly appointed, and, like its pre-
decessor, often opens its portals to the well-born and
the wealthy.

The idea that it is possible to get to heaven by
good works seems to have been deeply rooted in the
minds of our ancestors, for they were ever leaving
money to the poor, and establishing almshouses.

Derby has obtained its share of these benefits. In
Full Street are the Devonshire Almshouses for eight
poor men and four poor women, which were founded
in 1599 by Elizabeth, Countess of Shrewsbury, better
known as ' Bess of Hardwick,' the direct ancestress of
the Dukes of Devonshire, by one of whom, in 1777,
they were rebuilt and further endowed.

1 2 History of Derbyshire.

The little timbered cottages called the ' Black
Almshouses,' that formerly stood in Bridge Street,
were founded by Robert Wilmot, of Chaddesden, for
' six poor men and four poor women of good and
honest life.' The peculiar condition of this charity was
that the people enjoying it should wear a black gown,
faced with red, and that the men should don a red cap.
The old cottages, like their donor, have disappeared ;
but the charity still lives, and its recipients, housed in
more modern dwellings, are now clad in less con-
spicuous apparel. Derby had once a Grey-Coat
Hospital, something after the fashion of ' Grey Friars,'
in which kindly Colonel Newcome ended his blameless
life ; and it yet owns the Liversage Almshouses, one
of the most wealthy and best conducted of charities,
opposite the Infirmary, and Large's Hospital forClergy-
men's Widows in Friar Gate — a wide, aristocratic-
looking old street, although it has been robbed of some
of its quietude and loveliness by railway enterprise.

At the bottom of St. Mary's Gate, hiding away, as
it were, from notice, is the County Hall, full of assize
memories, of stern judges, of abject prisoners, and gaily
dressed trumpeters playing the herald to justice. Only
the facade of the original building remains, and vast
changes have been made in the courts since the days
when trees, as well as barristers, flourished in the
quadrangle. The old hall, built in 1660, was 'long
the pride of the Midland Circuit, longer the dread of
the criminal and the client, but the delight of the
lawyer.' And the new one, opened in 1829, possesses
just the same characteristics; nevertheless, the more

Derby s Pride. 13

recent improvements in the Courts, maintaining as
they do the reputation of the hall as ' the pride of
the Midland Circuit/ have been carried out with
every consideration for the prisoners, who may at
least console themselves with the thought that they
have more accommodation than anyone else, be he
judge, barrister, witness, pressman, or spectator.

Opposite the head of the dreamy thoroughfare — St.
Mary's Gate — in which the Assize Courts are trying to
conceal themselves, is All Saints' Church, which is
looked upon as ' Derby's pride.' Its tower (174 feet
high, exclusive of the pinnacles, which are 36 feet more
to the top of the vane, thus giving a total height
of 210 feet), 'stands as a prince among subjects,
a giant among dwarfs ;' and is distinguished not
merely for loftiness, but for beauty of outline and
delicate tracery. On the tower, which was completed
about 1527, is the mystifying inscription, in old
English characters, ' Young men and Maydens.'
4 Popular tradition has it that the steeple was erected
by the voluntary subscriptions of the youth of both
sexes ; and that when any maiden born in the parish
was married, the bachelors always rang the bells in
All Saints' tower.'

The body of the church is in a style of architecture
' lamentably incongruous with the tower ;' and the
interior of the edifice, notwithstanding its judges'
seats, oak carvings, and alabaster slabs, has appa-
rently few charms in the eyes of the archaeologist,
for Mr. Cox writes that the visitor had better spare
himself the trouble of getting the keys, unless he

14 History of Derbyshire.

wishes to see ' Bess of Hardvvick's ' monument.
Beneath this mural splendour also lie the bones
of her son, Colonel Charles Cavendish, of whom
a romantic historian remarks : ' This gallant and
accomplished gentleman was killed at the battle of
Gainsborough. Many fair eyes almost wept them-
selves blind for his loss, and his mother never re-
covered the sore heart-break of his death.'

The church, although erected for a sacred purpose,
has somehow become associated with many comic inci-
dents. ' In 1732 an extraordinary feat was performed
by a man who, having attached one end of a long
rope to the top of the tower of All Saints', and the
other end to the bottom of St. Michael's, slid down it
with his arms and legs extended, and during his
transit, which occupied eight seconds, he blew a
trumpet and fired a pistol.'

Hutton, the historian, says : ' This flying rage was
not cured till August, 1734, when another diminutive
figure appeared, much older than the first ; his coat
was in dishabille ; no waistcoat ; his shirt and his
shoes worse for wear ; his hat, worth threepence ex-
clusive of the band, which was packthread, bleached
white by the weather ; and a black string supplied
the place of buttons to his waistband. He wisely
considered, if his performances did not exceed the
others, he might as well stay at home — if he had one.
His rope, therefore, from the same steeple, extended
to the bottom of St. Mary's Gate, more than twice
the former length. He was to draw a wheelbarrow
after him, in which was a boy of thirteen. After this

Exciting Scenes. 15

surprising performance an ass was to fly down,
armed as before with a breastplate, and at each foot a
lump of lead about half a hundredweight. The man,
the barrow and its contents arrived safe at the end of
their journey, when the vast multitude turned their
eyes towards the ass, which had been braying several
days at the top of the steeple for food, but, like many a
lofty courtier for a place, brayed in vain. The slack-
ness of the rope, and the great weight of the animal
and his apparatus, at setting off, made it seem as if
he was falling perpendicular, The appearance was
tremendous ! About twenty yards before he reached
the gates of the County Hall, the rope broke : from
the velocity acquired by the descent, the ass bore
down all before him. A whole multitude was over-
whelmed ; nothing was heard but dreadful cries ; nor
seen, but confusion. Legs and arms went to destruc-
tion. In this dire calamity, the ass, which maimed
others, was unhurt himself, having a pavement of
soft bodies to roll over. No lives were lost. As the
rope broke near the top, it brought down both
chimneys and people at the other end of the street.
This dreadful catastrophe put a period to the art of
flying. It prevented the operator from making the
intended collection, and he sneaked out of Derby as
poor as he sneaked in."

Nor have scenes of excitement taken place outside
the church only. On the accession of George I., the
interior of the edifice presented a picture of disorder
almost as great as that in another Derbyshire church
during the Civil War when the Royalists were so

1 6 History of Derbyshire.

adroitly surprised and captured by Sir John Gell's
soldiery. The vicar was the cause of the uproar.
First he prayed for King James— then, eating his
words, he said, ' I mean King George.' The congrega-
tion, enraged at his elastic conscience, loudly execrated
him ; indeed, ' the military gentlemen drew their
swords and ordered him out of the pulpit, into which
he never returned.'

Derby is peculiarly rich in old buildings and his-
toric houses, but some of its most ancient churches
have been superseded by new edifices — even St.
Alkmund's, in which reposed the bones of the patron
saint of the town. The parish register remains, how-
ever, and among others is this significant entry:
'1592. The Plague began. Ninety-one died of the
Plague in this parish. 1593. Oct. 4. The Plague
terminated. Thanks be to God.'

Derby has been prolific in noted and also in
eccentric men. John Flamstead, although not born
at Derby, may be considered a native, for his
parents only removed temporarily from the town
to Denby, to escape the Plague. Born in 1646, he
was educated at the Free School in St. Peter's
Churchyard, and became a celebrated astronomer and
mathematician. He was the first Astronomer-Royal,
and ' gave us innumerable observations of the sun,
moon, and planets, which he made with very large
instruments, exactly divided by the most exquisite
art, and fitted with telescopical sights.' Newton,
Halley, and Cassini were among his friends, and
he was, too, the associate of the wits of the time.

Celebrated Citizens. i 7

A facetious guest once gave the following astronomical
description of one of his dinners :

' We here are invited to a Zodiac of mirth,
Where Aries and Scorpio do give it birth ;
Here Leo ne'er roars, nor Taunts ne'er bellows,
But, Gemini-like, we commence merry fellows ;
Here Cancer and Pisces agree with our wishes,
Whilst all round the table we drink here like fishes ;
Let Libra fill wine without old Aquarius,
Whilst quivers of wit fly from Sagittarius ;
And to crown all our mirth we will revel in Virgo,
And Capricorn he shall supply us with cargo.'

It was thought by the illiterate that Flamstead
could foretell events, and a poor laundress, who had
lost a parcel of linen, requested him to use his art so
that she might find the property. With much mystery
he began to draw circles and squares, and then told
her, with the air of an oracle, that she would find the
linen in a certain dry ditch. Gladly she went, and
found what she sought. No one was more surprised
than himself, and he said, ' Good woman, I am
heartily glad you have found your linen ; but I assure
you I knew nothing of it, and intended only to joke
with you, and then to have read you a lecture on the
folly of applying to any person to know events not in
the human power to tell ; but I see the devil has a
mind I should deal with him. I am determined I
will not, so never come or send anyone to me any
more on such occasions, for I never will attempt such
an affair whilst I live.'

Edward Foster, born in 1762, at Derby, was not
only a centenarian, but an artist of repute. In the

2

1 8 History of Derbyshire.

earlier part of his career he was a soldier, and accom-
panied Sir Ralph Abercrombie to Egypt ; but he left
the army on the day Nelson was killed at Trafalgar,
and devoted himself to art. Queen Charlotte was
his friend, and after his appointment as ' miniature
painter to the Royal Family,' he was frequently asked
to join the Royal circle at whist. A man of culti-
vated taste and great ingenuity, he invented a
machine for taking portraits, and his cleverness has
been immortalized in rhyme :

' But how to form machines to take the face,
With nice precision in one minutes' space ;
To paint with bold unerring certainty
The face profile, in shades that time defy,
Where all allow the likeness to agree —
This honour, Foster, was reserved for thee.'

He was a patriarchal rebuke to all bachelors, for he

lived to the age of 102, although married five times !

In the days when Sir Joshua Reynolds was a

youth, before he had even begun to dream of art,

or of the fame he was to win in his studio, another

boy, destined to become a noted painter, was born

in Derby. Like Reynolds, he was placed under

Hudson's tuition, and Joseph Wright — known as

' Wright of Derby ' — studied and worked until he

achieved celebrity. ' Some of his landscapes are

equal to those of Wilson and Claude,' and his portraits

and historical pictures reveal at once great talent and

versatility. When forty years old he visited Italy,

' the artist's paradise,' then fixed his easel at Bath,

but eventually settled in his native town, where he

died in 1797.

Celebrated Citizens. 19

Not long ago, at Derby, there was a ' Wright
Exhibition,' when nearly everybody admired his
work ; and in 1885 his fame reached Burlington
House. It is admitted that the man, who in 1781
declined the honour of R.A., was a genius, and he
has hero-worshippers as enthusiastic if not so
numerous as Turner. Certainly no man has painted
Derbyshire scenery like him ; his pictures of the
High Tor, at Matlock, are a revelation — marvellous
reflections on canvas of the limestone rocks,
strangely riven, and foliage-clad, that rise high
above the rushing waters of the Derwent ; and there
is a great fascination in his best known work, ' The
Orrery,' with its wondrous light and shadows playing
on the faces and forms of those who are listening so
intently to the philosopher's lecture.

Edward Blore, the architect ; Cubley, the portrait
painter ; Rawlinson, the artist ; Francis Bassano,
the herald painter; William Billingsley, and John
Keys, the flower painters ; and many other artists of
high repute, were also associated with this town.

In literary characters Derby has been rich in gifted
men. Among these are Dr. Lemaire, physician to
Henry VII. ; the Rev. C. Allestry, divine and author ;
Sir Hugh Bateman, political writer; Benjamin Robin-
son, a presbyterian minister, who wrote in defence of
the Trinity; Samuel Richardson, the novelist, and
author of ' Pamela,' ' Sir Charles Grandison ' and
'Clarissa;' Cotton, the puritan divine; Griborne
and Milner, the poets ; Robert Bage, the novelist ;
the Rev. Thomas Bott, a skilful pamphleteer, who was

2 — 2

20 History of Derbyshire.

born in 1688 ; and William Hutton, the historian
and antiquary, who at the age of seventy-eight took
a journey of 600 miles on foot, and traversed the
entire extent of the Roman wall.

Derby has not been devoid of eccentric men.
Among these, three may be named, ' Jacky Turner,'
the walking stationer, was perhaps the most notori-
ous. He was usually attired in a scarlet coat
(adorned with gold lace), a blue waistcoat, leather
breeches, and a hat with brim broad enough to
delight William Penn. The penny press, with its
insatiable thirst for news, did not then exist. But
the people were always eager for intelligence, and
when any great event occurred broadsides were
printed, and sold in the street. It was then that
Jacky Turner, leavening his eccentricity with shrewd-
ness, made his harvest, for he had no difficulty
in selling his papers, so humorously wagged his
tongue. Here is a specimen of his style : ' Come
and buy. This is a thing that is witty, comical,
and diverting, being a dialogue between the white
coal-heaver and black dusty miller. Here's six-
pennyworth of fun, twelve-pennyworth of laughing,
and one-and-sixpenceworth of diversion, all for the
small charge of one halfpenny.' The broadside re-
lated to some citizen who was both a coal merchant
and a miller.* Turner also sold almanacs, and

55 There is no scarcity of newspapers now in Derby ; nor has
the town any need to complain of lethargy on the part of its
press. The county papers published there — ' The Derby Mer-
cury,' established in 1732 ; ' The Derby Reporter,' first issued in

Eccentric Characters. 21

shouted through the thoroughfares ' Almanacs,
almanacs, Poor Robin's almanacs ! almanacs new,
more lies than true !'

Rowland Millington, another strange character,
who always went about with a huge bag on his back
and a brush in his hand, was a familiar figure in
Derby streets about 1760, and was known as ' Old
Rowley.'

John Hallam, who lived in the county town at the
time when Methodism was struggling into life, was
very singular in his habits, but he was a friend to
the poor, and obtained the noble distinction of being
considered ' the most honest man in Derby.' Of
him it is related that walking along Sadlergate one
day, he saw some object glittering on the pavement.
He picked it up, found it was a sixpence, and saying
' It's not mine,' laid the coin on the causeway again.
He was so honest, indeed, that he never forgot to
return the books he borrowed ; consequently the
best libraries in the town were open to him, and he
frequently entered gentlemen's houses, chose any
book he required, and ' walked off without saying a
word.' But he does not seem to have many

1823 ; and 'The Derbyshire Advertiser,' in 1846 — have rapidly
developed, greatly increasing in size, and vastly improving in
all the departments that make a newspaper attractive. Indeed,
all the old-established papers are conducted with much enter-
prise and literary ability. Two excellent evening papers are
also issued — the oldest in connection with ' The Derby Reporter,'
and the other from the office of ' The Mercury;' and 'Jacky
Turner,' the walking stationer, would have a poor chance now
with his broadsheets, however glibly he wagged his tongue.

22 History of Derbyshire.

descendants — how the race of book-borrowers has
degenerated !

Justice Bennett, although scarcely coming under
the category of an eccentric character, was not
without originality. George Fox, the founder of
the Society of Friends, said of him: ' Justice Bennett,
of Derby, was the first that called us Quakers,
because I bid him tremble at the Word of the Lord,
and this was in the year 1650.' Bennett no doubt
gave a very different version of the story, for it is
asserted that he styled them ' Quakers ' because of
the trembling accents used in their exhortations.

Noah Bullock, the barber, who lived in Derby in
1676, not only named his sons Shem, Ham, and
Japheth, but lived in an ark on the Derwent, just
above St. Mary's Bridge. Nothing so singular had
been heard of since the flood, and Noah was frequently
asked when he expected the second deluge ? Slyly
he smiled at all badinage, for his little ship was a
coiners' den, which he kept afloat until he received a
polite hint from Sir Simon Degge as to the nature of
his ' new occupation.'

Some of the ballads of Derby are as singular as
some of its men were eccentric. These have been
collected by Mr. Llewellynn Jewitt, and published
in an attractive volume entitled 'The Ballads
and Songs of Derbyshire.' ' The Unconsionable
Batchelors of Derby,' describing how several
mercenary suitors pawned their sweethearts at
Nottingham Goose Fair ; ' The Derby Hero,'
extolling a famous pedestrian ; and ' The Nun's

A Humorotis Ballad. 23

Green Rangers,' detailing the triple alliance between
an old sergeant, a tinker, and a bear, are all exceed-
ingly amusing: but the most striking and imaginative
ballad is 'The Derby Ram,' descriptive of the exploits
of a marvellous animal that had been associated in
verse and song with the town's history for more than
a century :

' As I was going to Derby, sir,
All on a market-day,
I met the finest Ram, sir,
That ever was fed on hay.

Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.

' This Ram was fat behind, sir,

This Ram was fat before ;
This Ram was ten yards high, sir —
Indeed, he was no more.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The wool upon his back, sir,
Reached up unto the sky ;
The eagles made their nests there, sir,
For I heard the young ones cry.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The wool upon his belly, sir,
It dragged upon the ground ;
It was sold in Darby town, sir,
For forty thousand pound.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The space between his horns, sir,
Was as far as a man could reach ;
And there they built a pulpit
For the parson there to preach.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

24 History of Derbyshire.

' The teeth that were in his mouth, sir,
Were like a regiment of men ;
And the tongue that hung between them, sir,
Would have dined them twice and again.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' This Ram jumped over a wall, sir ;
His tail caught on a briar —
It reached from Darby town, sir,
All into Leicestershire.

Daddle-i-day, etc. .

' And of this tail so long, sir —
'Twas ten miles and an ell —
They made a goodly rope, sir,
To toll the market bell.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

' This Ram had four legs to walk on, sir ;'

This Ram had four legs to stand ;
And every leg he had, sir,
Stood on an acre of land.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The butcher that killed this Ram, sir,

Was drownded in the blood ;
And the boy that held the pail, sir,
Was carried away in the flood.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

'All the maids in Darby, sir,

Came begging for his horns,
To take them to coopers

To make them milking gawns.*
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The little boys of Darby, sir,

They came to beg his eyes

To kick about the streets, sir,

For they were football size.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

8 Milk-pails.

Modern Progress. 25

' The tanner that tanned its hide, sir,

Would never be poor any more,
For when he had tanned and retched it,
It covered all Sinfin Moor.0
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' The jaws that were in his head, sir,
They were so fine and thin,
They were sold to a Methodist parson
For a pulpit to preach in.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

' Indeed, sir, this is true, sir,
I never was taught to lie ;
And had you been to Darby, sir,
You'd have seen it as well as I.

Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.'

This ballad was set to music, as a glee, by Dr.
Calcott, and is still occasionally sung both as a glee
and to its old humdrum ballad melody at public
dinners in the town.

Rich as Derby has been in ancient houses, old
thoroughfares, and historical associations, it has
not allowed itself to rest idle in the lap of antiquity,
but has progressed with a rapidity that few other
boroughs have equalled. The town is, indeed,
remarkable for its steady progress. In 1637
Charles I. granted the burgesses a new charter,
and under it the corporation consisted of a mayor,
nine aldermen, fourteen brethren, and fourteen
capital burgesses, and it remained the governing

0 Derby races were formerly held on Sinfin Moor, which is
only a few miles from the town.

26 History of Derbyshire.

charter until the passing of the Municipal Corpora-
tions Act in 1835. The first mayor under Charles I.'s
charter was Henry Mellor, of whom the Derbyshire
poet, Bancroft, in 1637 wrote :

1 You seem the prime bough of an ample tree,
Whereon if fair expected fruits we see ;
Whilst others' fame with ranke reproaches meete,
As Mel or manna shall your name be sweete.'

The first mayor under the Municipal Corporations
Act, which came into force in 1835, was Mr. Joseph
Strutt, to whose munificence the town is indebted for
the Arboretum ; and his portrait adorns the Council
Chamber, along with those of the Duke of Devon-
shire, and Mr. M. T. Bass, M.P., whose gifts to the
town were princely.

The official insignia are interesting. The mace,
which is of silver gilt, bears the arms of the borough,
the date 1660, and motto, ' Disce moriamundo vivere
disce Deo.' The chain, a massive collar of SS.S.,
was the official collar of the late Lord Denman when
Lord Chief Justice of England. ' In the Town Hall
are also preserved some interesting documents and
MSS. of an early date, many of them with the original
seals still attached. There is also a curious and in-
teresting old measure of the time of Queen Eliza-
beth. In the front of this quaint cup is a knot with
the letters " E. R.," and the date 1601.'

In Queen Anne's reign Derby had a population of
4,000, and Woolley, the historian, says at that time
(about 1712) it possessed much valuable property,
and many of the residents were people of quality,

Modern Progress. 27

who ' kept coaches.' The town has vastly improved
since then. It has within the past few years added
to its many buildings a fine Drill Hall, where private
assemblies and public meetings are held ; an Art
Gallery stored with choice pictures ; a School of Art
of faultless arrangement ; a pretty Theatre ;* the
Masonic Hall, and the Free Library and Museum.
The latter, a very graceful structure in the
Domestic Flemish-Gothic style, was presented to
Derby by Mr. M. T. Bass, M.P., and is crowded
with art and literary treasures. In one part
of the library is arranged the large collection of
books given by the Duke of Devonshire ; and the
walls of the committee-room are decorated with the
oak panelling taken from the old house in Full Street
where Prince Charles Stuart held his last council of
war before retreating across the border. The
Museum is a fine storehouse of knowledge, each
gallery being devoted to a distinct branch of study,
and the object of the curator has been to arrange
the museum ' so as to enlighten the most illiterate,
and convert dry technical details into Tennyson's
fairy tales of science.'

* The Grand Theatre, erected by Mr. Melville at a cost of
.£10,000, had unfortunately only a very short life. It was opened
on March 25, 1886, and destroyed by fire on the night of May 6
in the same year. Two lives were lost — those of Mr. J. W.
Adams, of Bradford, a promising young actor, who was to have
taken the part of Dr. Titus in the comedy, ' In Chancery,' and
James Loxley, a stage carpenter. The former, in endeavouring
to escape from the burning building, fell from the gallery into
the pit, and was terribly injured.

28 History of Derbyshire.

Defoe styled Derby ' a town of gentry rather than
trade ;' but its vast railway works and its trade in
porcelain, silk, and iron have given the ancient
borough another character. Derby, with its 81,000
inhabitants, is developing daily ; it is extending
its industries, replacing narrow ways and tumble-
down houses with fine, broad streets and handsome
shops ; indeed, it is instinct with commercial vigour,
and is one of the most important centres of business
life in the Midlands.

CHAPTER II.

ASHBOURNE— A Quaint Town— An Illustrious Family — The
Sculptor's Art — Dr. Johnson — Canning — Tom Moore — Ham
— Dovedale and its Beauties.

Ashbourne, the quaint old market-town north-west
of Derby, has changed little since John Wesley
preached from the steps on the east side of the
market-place. In the reign of Edward VI. it con-
tained 1,000 ' houselying people of sixteen years of
age and upwards,' and its entire inhabitants now
only number between 4,000 and 5,000. Yet few
would like it to develop faster, for a hurrying, bust-
ling throng would be out of character with its sub-
stantial red brick buildings, ancient streets, and
comfortable, easy-going residents. The town, stand-
ing, as it were, on the threshold of Dovedale, has
the distinction of being ' in the very centre of
England,' but it has no thrilling history to boast of.
War and cruelty have seldom played their hideous
game there.

In 1644 a battle was fought near Ashbourne, in
which the Royalists were defeated by Cromwell's
soldiers ; and in the following year King Charles

History of Derbyshire.

himself was at Ashbourne, and attended divine service
at the church before continuing his march with his
3,000 men to Doncaster. In 1745 Prince Charles
Edward Stuart, the ' Pretender,' passed through the
town on his way to Derby, was proclaimed at the
Market Cross, and with his principal officers took
possession of Ashbourne Hall. He also passed
through again on his retreat from Derby. There
is a local tradition that during this retreat some
Derbyshire men ' caught a Highlander, slew him,
and found his skin so tough that it was tanned,
and made excellent leather.' In 1803 General
Rochambeau and about 300 French officers were
sent to Ashbourne as prisoners of war; and in 1817
the most stalwart of the inhabitants, sworn in as
special constables, stopped the progress of the
Manchester blanketers, who were going through the
country to present a petition to the Prince Regent.

But Ashbourne has been linked rather with art
and poetry than turmoil and rapacity. The grand
old Gothic church, with its wondrous spire, was
dedicated in 1241 to St. Oswald, and is a treasure-
house of sculpture as well as religion. Its monu-
ments of the Cokayne family tell a long story of the
past. There are effigies of John Cokayne, in a
gentleman's dress of 1372 ; of Edmund Cokayne,
armour-clad, who fell in battle at Shrewsbury ; of
Sir Thomas Cokayne, who was knighted by Henry
VIII. at the siege of Tournay ; and under the marble
monument, near the north window, reposes the dust
of his grandson, ' the author of a short treatise on

A Quaint Town. 31

hunting, compiled for the delight of noblemen and
gentlemen.' It was to this family that Sir William
Cokayne, Lord Mayor of London in the time of
James I., belonged, and more than one statesman
has borne their ancient name. In 1671 the Cokaynes
sold their old-fashioned mansion, Ashbourne Hall, to
Sir William Boothby, one of whose descendants was
famous for her cultured friendship for Dr. Johnson,
and drew from Miss Seward the scornful expression,
■ Johnson had always a metaphysic passion for one
princess or another.' ' Penelope,' the little girl
whose white marble monument is the sculptured
glory of Ashbourne Church, was the daughter of Sir
Brooke Boothby. ' She was in form and intellect
most exquisite ;' and when she died, in 1791, her
parents, almost heart-broken with grief, inspired
Banks, the sculptor, to chisel his masterpiece — the
lovely childlike figure before which even Chantrey
stood and wondered, and from which he designed
his celebrated group, the two sleeping children, in
Lichfield Cathedral.

' Nobody ever ought to overlook this tomb, as it
is perhaps the most interesting and pathetic object
in England. Simplicity and elegance appear in the
workmanship ; tenderness and innocence in the
image. On a marble pedestal and slab, like a low
table, is a mattress, with a child lying on it, both
being cut out of white marble. Her cheek, ex-
pressive of suffering mildness, reclines on a pillow ;
and her fevered hands gently rest on each other,
near to her head. The plain and only drapery is a

2)2 History of Derbyshire.

frock, the skirt flowing easily out before, and a
ribbon sash, the knot twisted forward as it were by
the restlessness of pain, and the two ends spread out
in the same direction as the frock. The delicate
naked feet are carelessly folded over each other, and
the whole appearance is as if she had just turned, in
the tossings of her illness, to seek a cooler or easier
place of rest. The man whom this does not affect
wants one of the finest sources of genuine sensibility ;
his heart cannot be formed to relish the beauties
either of nature or art.'

The Free Grammar School of Queen Elizabeth,
founded by the ' Virgin Queen ' in 1585, by Royal
Charter, is one of noteworthy excellence and of high
repute, having had masters of exceptional eminence,
and turned out from its students many men of mark.
In other ways too, not only the intellectual but the
material needs of the inhabitants have received
some consideration from the well-to-do who have
passed away. The town is well provided with alms-
houses ; and some of the benefactors are exceedingly
curious, ' one person leaving money for the purchase
of gold-headed canes ;' another for a ' solemn peal
of bells,' to be rung annually ; and a third, who
bequeathed a mill to the place, did not lose his
customary forethought on his death-bed, for in his
will he actually left money for repairing the mill-
dam.

With the exception of the commodious Town
Hall there is no pretentious public building in
Ashbourne, and the florid style of archtecture, glaring

A Quaint Town. 33

in stucco, is not favoured by the people, who meet
in the market-place, the cattle market, and the fair,
instead of on the exchange, and do their business in
an old English fashion, leisurely and prosperously,
undisturbed by the commercial hurricanes that now
and then sweep over larger and busier towns.

The quietude of Ashbourne pleased Dr. Johnson,
and when temporarily tired of coffee-house life and
shambling down Fleet Street, his thoughts often
turned to the secluded Derbyshire town, where his
old school-fellow, Dr. Taylor, who lived near the
church, always gave him a sincere welcome.
Boswell says : ' There came for us an equipage,
properly suited for a wealthy beneficed clergyman.
Dr. Taylor's large roomy post-chaise, drawn by four
stout horses, and driven by two steady, jolly
postilions, which conveyed us to Ashbourne, where
his house, garden, stable — in short, everything was
good, no scantiness appearing ; and his size, figure,
countenance, and manner were those of a hearty
English squire, with the parson superinduced ; and
I took particular notice of his upper servant, Mr.
Peters, a decent good man, in purple clothes and a
large white wig, like the butler or major-domo of a
bishop.' Some of Johnson's brightest hours were
passed in the society of his old friend, to whom he
confided many a story of his early struggles. And
there were one or two exciting scenes in the parson's
study, when Langley, the Grammar School master,
dropped in, ' a Rupert of debate,' and fearlessly
argued with the great lexicographer. One can fancy

3

34 History of Derbyshire.

Johnson's thundering ' No, sir,' vibrating through
the room until the glasses jingled, and Peters, not-
withstanding his dignity, being nearly frightened out
of his wits. It is easy to imagine Johnson's rugged
visage, and Langley's angry face ; and also to picture
Dr. Taylor, with a cloud of perplexity flitting across
his jovial countenance, as he tried to make peace.
No talk at the Mitre ever excelled these eloquent
jousts in the Peak. In 1772 Johnson, writing from
Ashbourne to Mrs. Thrale, says : ' Yesterday I was
at Chatsworth. It is a very fine house. They com-
plimented me by playing the fountain, and opening
the cascade ; but I am of my friend's opinion, that
when one has seen the ocean, cascades are very little
things.' In 1775 and 1777 Johnson was again at
Ashbourne, and Boswell, speaking of the latter visit,
tells how he took a post-chaise from the Green Man
Inn, the mistress of which, a mighty civil gentle-
woman, presented him with an engraved sign of her
house. Landladies were very kindly and considerate
creatures then, and pushed business in a very grace-
ful way, for the card contained these words :

' M. Killingley's duty waits upon Mr. Boswell ; is
exceeding obliged to him for this favour ; whenever
he comes this way, hopes for a continuance of the
same. Would Mr. Boswell name the house to his
extensive acquaintance, it would be a singular
favour conferred on one who has it not in her power
to make any other return but her most grateful
thanks and sincerest prayers for his happiness in
time and a blessed eternity. — Tuesday morning.'

An Illustrious Family. 35

Canning, the statesman, was often a guest of the
Boothbys at Ashbourne Hall, and before he became
premier, and his heart was lighter, he gave them
many evidences of his fun and irony. It was he who
wrote the humorous skit upon the ' Willy,' the old
coach that plied from Derby to Manchester :

' So down thy slope, romantic Ashbourne, glides
The Derby Dilly, carrying six i?isides.'1

Perhaps the most beloved of all the eminent men
associated with Ashbourne was Thomas Moore, the
poet, who composed his famous Oriental poem,
' Lalla Rookh,' in his little cottage at Mayfield,
gracefully acted as steward at the Ashbourne
Wellington Ball, and was ever ready to sing his own
sweet songs at the genial country parties where his
society was so much sought. The Derbyshire nook
in which he passed so many working hours is still
known as ' Tom Moore's Cottage,' and by some,
' The Poet's Corner '; and writing of its surroundings
he said, ' This is a beautiful country, where every
step opens valleys, woods, parks, and all kinds of
rural glories upon the eye — this is paradise/ A
pleasant life the poet led here, gathering friends
around him with his kindly ways and melodious
voice ; yet sometimes courting solitude, as on the
night when, impressed with the tender music of the
Ashbourne chimes, he penned the pathetic, touching
song, ' Those Evening Bells.'

Not far from Ashbourne, too, lived Jean Jacques
Rousseau, when he was visited by David Hume,

3—2

36 History of Derbyshire.

and wrote portions of his ' Confessions ;' Ward, the
writer of ' Tremaine ;' and Graves, the author of the
' Spiritual Quixote.'

Ham Hall, which is four miles from Ashbourne, is
a beautiful house in the Elizabethan style, and
especially during the life of Jesse Watts Russell, its
late owner, when it was enriched by many rare
paintings, was widely known to art lovers. In the
grounds of Ham Congreve wrote his ' Mourning
Bride ;' and of the lovely country surrounding the
mansion, Rhodes said, ' No glen in the Alps was
ever more beautiful, more picturesque, or more
retired.'

Near the hall is the church, built by Jesse Watts
Russell, and noted for Chantrey's skilful work in
marble, the death-bed scene of David Pike Watts ;
and close by runs Dovedale, than which ' Europe
does not yield another picture so sweet in sylvan
beauty,' with its rippling river, and high fantastic
rocks, and thick foliage, and lovely glades, where
ferns and flowers find shelter from the boisterous
wind's rude touch.

What a prospect there is from Thorpe Cloud !
About the summit of the ' Little Mountain' the mist
still hovers, as if reluctant to be driven away ; but in
the dale the sunshine lights up the rugged features
of the limestone cliffs, and plays on the red gravel
and layers of black marble upon which the Dove has
made its bed. Only when exhausted with its own
glee or its own petulance does the stream stay to rest
a little in the deep pools. Its pace, like that of modern

Dovedalc and its Beauties. $7

life, is rapid, and full of difficulties. How determined
the river seems as it dashes against the sharp rocks
and smooth stones that stand in its path ; how it
works itself into tiny foam-flecked fury, and leaps
angrily against the stony-hearted obstacles that would
bar its progress ; then, glad of its escape, how joyously
it races along past wooded slopes, and moss-covered
banks, and strange-looking caves, and gigantic crags,
talking merrily as it goes to the birch, the ash. the
honeysuckle, the wild-rose, to the numberless trees
and flowers that edge its banks, and trail their
branches or their petals in its waters. Unmoved by
the Dove's frolics, how impressively grand are the
great rocks standing like sentinels in the sinuous dale
that now narrows into rugged straits, and anon widens
into pretty breadths. What an infinity of ingenuity
was possessed by the Titanic architect who placed
these rocks here, for the mighty blocks of mountain
limestone resemble towers, churches, and grotesque
figures, one of which is popularly known as 'The
Lion's Head.' And are not the names of the other
stony wonders of the dale familiar — ' Tissington
Spires,' ' The Abbey, ' Reynard's Cave,' ' The Dove-
holes,' and ' The Watch-box ; ? How they remind one
of pleasant days passed in delightful wanderings in
the glens, gorges, and caverns of this picturesque
haunt, along which some of the country people be-
lieve ' Noah's flood once roared' !

Near the dale the Izaak Walton hostelry welcomes
alike artist, angler, tourist, and traveller. It was
kept for many years, from father to son, by a family

38 History of Derbyshire.

named Prince, noted for their kindness and courtesy.
Their ' visitors' book' overflowed with gratitude, even
as the larder overflowed with plenty; and during
the ' Widow Prince's' reign, the following amusing
lines were written in the house's praise :

' King David said, " In Princes put no trust,
Nor in the sons of men, who are but dust."
Perhaps these warning words of inspiration
In David's day required no confirmation ;
But we, in light of higher social graces,
With deference suggest " conditions alter cases."
Could Israel's king, when by his son o'erthrown,
Wandering o'er Kedron's brook, this vale have known,
And had he been induced this spot to halt on,
He would have rested at the Izaak Walton ;
Here, soothed by rest and free from tribulation,
He'd judge of men with kinder moderation ;
And taking down his harp, so long unstrung,
His new experience would thus have sung :
" Bless'd is the man who much frequents this dell,
But thrice blest he whose home is this hotel ;
Here reigns a Prince whom you may safely trust :
Her laws are kindness and her charges just." :

In Dovedale — or rather in Beresford Dale — is the
cave in which Charles Cotton hid from his creditors ;
and not far away stands the greystone fishing-house
erected by Cotton for Izaak Walton's use. The
little edifice, which peeps out of the trees on a tiny
peninsula, bears over its door the inscription ' Pisca-
toribus Sacrum, 1674,' and the initials of the two
friends. It was a charming retreat alike for the
angler and the poet, and to Cotton's description of
it Izaak Walton modestly adds the opinion, ' Some
part of the fishing-house has been described, but the

Dove dale and its Beauties.

pleasantness of the river, mountains, and meadows
about it cannot, unless Sir Philip Sidney, or Mr.
Cotton's father, were alive to do it.'

Of the beauties of the river and of the dale, Cotton
never tired of vaunting ; and when he wrote —

' O my beloved nymph, fair Dove,
Princess of rivers, how I love

Upon thy flowery banks to lie,
And view thy silver stream
When gilded by a summer beam ;
And in it all thy wanton joy
Playing at liberty !'
or,

' Such streams Rome's yellow Tiber cannot show,
The Iberian Tagus, or Ligurian Po ;
The Maese, the Danube, and the Rhine ;
Are puddle-water, all compared to thine.
And Loire's pure streams yet too polluted are
With thine, much purer, to compare ;
The rapid Garonne, and the winding Seine,
Are both too mean,
Beloved Dove, with thee
To vie priority ;
Nay, Tame and Isis, when conjoined, submit,
And lay their trophies at thy silver feet ' —

he fully felt the force of the words he was writing,
and gave but a true picture of the loveliness of his
favourite stream.

CHAPTER III.

WlRKSWORTH AND ITS BORDERS— Singular Mining Customs —
The Church and its Monuments— A Curious Epitaph —
Homely Folks — George Eliot and ' Dinah Bede ' — Well-
Dressing— A Giant's Tooth— Tradition— Old English Life—
A Marvellous Escape — Cromford and Sir Richard Arkwright.

Even more picturesque than Ashbourne is Wirks-
worth, a patriarchal-looking town, with its irregular
streets, odd nooks and corners, and houses dusky
with age and the weather's freaks. It lies in a quiet,
fertile valley, edged about with great limestone
rocks ; and although not many miles from Derby, it
gives one the impression that it has been entirely
overlooked by the eager go-ahead world outside,
until you stumble upon the modest branch-line that
connects the town with the Midland Railway
system. As far back as 1086, Wirksworth possessed
' a priest and a church,' and was a place of some
industrial prosperity. Its population, then number-
ing about 1,000 people, were chiefly engaged in
lead-mining and in smelting, the ore being placed in
wood-fires on the hills. Fuller says that Derbyshire
lead is the best in England ; good-natured metal,

Wirksworth and its Borders. 41

not curdling into knots and knobs ; and if this be
true, Wirksworth must have done a good business
even at the time the manor belonged to the Nunnery
of Repton. There is a curious record that in 714
the abbess of this religious house sent to Croyland in
Lincolnshire a sarcophagus of Wirksworth lead,
lined with linen, to receive the remains of the
esteemed and dearly loved saint, St. Guthlac.

What tons of ore, of gleaming lead, and glittering
spar have been turned out of the King's Field (the
chief mining tract) since that time. A hundred
years ago the produce of the mines was so great that
the vicar's tithe alone reached a princely sum. Many
quaint laws have sprung up (and some have died out
again) since the Romans first worked these mines.
Edward Manlove, one of the stewards of the Bargh-
moot Court, composed a poem, published in 1653,
descriptive of some of the liberties and customs ;
and it begins :

' By custom old, in Wirksworth wapentake,
If any of this nation find a rake,*
Or sign, or leading to the same, may set,
In any ground, and there lead ore may get.
They may make crosses, holes, and set their stowes,t
Sink shafts, build lodges, cottages, or coes ;J
But churches, houses, gardens, all are free
From this strange custom of the minery.'

* The ' rake ' does not refer to a person of dissolute habits,
but means a perpendicular vein of lead.

f ' Stowes ' are small windlasses ; also pieces of wood placed
together to indicate possession of the mine.

% ' Coes ' are small buildings over the shafts, generally used
for dressing the ore.

42 History of Derbyshire.

Afterwards the poet grows satirical about the vicar's
tithe, saying the good man daily ought to pray ; for
f though the miners lose their lives, their limbs or
strength, he loseth not, but looketh for a tenth.'
The most singular part of this interesting mining
record, however, is that dealing with the punishment
for dishonesty ; a punishment barbaric in its cruelty,
and now happily obsolete :

' For stealing ore twice from the minery,
The thief that's taken fined twice shall be ;
But the third time that he commits such theft,
Shall have a knife stuck through his hand to the haft
Into the stow, and there till death shall stand,
Or loose himself by cutting loose his hand.'

Ore is not so plentiful now at Wirksworth ; and such
mines as 'Goodlack,' and others with odd but familiar
names, have been ruthlessly stripped of their riches ;
but the Moothall, where the courts for the regulation
of trade have been so long held, still exists, and con-
tains the famous ' Miners' Standard Dish.' This
brazen vessel, which, according to Lowpeak custom,
measures fourteen pints, was made in the reign of
Henry VIII., with the consent of the lead-getting
toilers, and has ' to remayne in the moote hall at
Wyrksworth, hangyng by a cheyne so as the mer-
chauntes or mynours may have resorte to the same
at all times to make the true measure after the same.'

Notwithstanding its restoration, from Sir Gilbert
Scott's designs, there is an air of great antiquity
about Wirksworth Church, which is dedicated to
St. Mary. Its numerous monuments are full of

Wirksworth and its Borders. 43

interest, giving as they do some idea of the lives
and work of those who bore distinguished local
names. Against the east wall is a tablet setting
forth that Anthony Gell, late of Hopton, and some-
time of the Worshipful Company of the Inner
Temple, who died in 1583, founded at his only cost
the free Grammar School, and Almshouses for
five poor persons ; while on the same wall is
another tablet in memory of bluff Sir John Gell,
the first baronet, who rode hither and thither
with such zeal, and fought with such avidity
wherever he found King Charles's soldiers, in the
war that ended in Cromwell's victory and sent a
monarch to the block. The memorials to the
Wigwells, Lowes, and Blackwells are also curious
and instructive. The latter is a very ancient
Wirksworth family, and flourished long before 1524,
when Thomas Blackwell, anxious about the future
welfare of himself and relatives, left £10 to a priest
to say mass for him, for the souls of his parents,
and for the soul of his brother Henry, alter-
nately at St. Edmund's altar and Our Lady's altar,
Wirksworth, for three years from his death.

On one of the buttresses outside the church is this
whimsical epitaph : ' Near this place lies the body
of Phillip Shallcross, once an eminent quildriver to
the attorneys of this town. He died on the 17th
of November, 1787, aged 67. Viewing Phillip in a
moral light, the most prominent and remarkable
features in his character were his real and invincible
attachment to dogs and cats, and his unbounded

44 History of Derbyshire.

benevolence towards them, as well as towards his
fellow-creatures.

In addition to the ancient sculptured stone (repre-
senting in one part Christ bathing His disciples' feet),
there is much food for the antiquary in and around
this cruciform edifice, which possesses, moreover, a
parish-register full of peculiar entries, such as, ' Paid
to old Bonsall of Alderwastle, for a fox-head, one
shilling ;' and, ' 1688, June 14, for ale to ringers at
birth of Prince of Wales, nine shillings.'

Wirksworth has the honour of being the place
where the first Derbyshire county match was played ;
but it has apparently little ambition, nor does it
grow hastily. The population in 1881 numbered
3,678, and had increased by 75 in the last ten years!
The people who are born there like the peaceful
health-giving town so well that they seldom leave it
to seek better (or perhaps more harassing) fortune
elsewhere. They are in the main content to grow
up amid the scenes of their childhood, and to follow
in the footsteps of their fathers. ' It is remarkable
how the descendants of those who formerly lived
and toiled in the dale three or four hundred years
ago still live there. In the days of King Henry VIII.
there lived the Steers and Vallances, the Elses and
the Cadmans. The Steers have merged lately into
the Wardman family. The Vallances are still there,
and likely to be ; also the Elses, strong enough in
numbers to supply a regiment almost. These are
a few instances which show the strong instinct and
liking the families have for the haunts of their fore-

George Eliot. 45

fathers, and also for their employment, as they are all
connected with the lead business or getting of stone.'
It was among these homely folks that George
Eliot came, and found the germ of her most
striking character — the earnest woman who preached
so fervently on the hill-sides of Derbyshire. The
novelist's relatives, Mrs. Samuel Evans and her hus-
band (whom Wirksworth people maintain were the
'Dinah Morris' and ' Seth Bede' of George Eliot's
most popular story), then lived at Millhouses, just
outside the town, and the authoress was only seven-
teen when she first visited their ' humble cottage.'
But the impressions she got of her aunt, Mrs. Evans,
were very vivid and lasting ; for writing twenty years
afterwards, she says : ' I was delighted to see my aunt.
Although I had only heard her spoken of as a strange
person, given to a fanatical vehemence of exhortation
in private as well as public, I believed that I should
find sympathy between us. She was then an old
woman, above sixty, and I believe had for a good
many years given up preaching. A tiny little woman,
with bright small dark eyes, and hair that had
been black, I imagine, but was now grey ; a pretty
woman in her youth, but of a totally different phy-
sical type from " Dinah." ' George Eliot contended,
too, that the preacheress she sketched was dif-
ferent in individuality also ; yet there is such a
similarity in the real life of Mrs. Samuel Evans and
the fictional career of ' Dinah Morris,' that the inha-
bitants of Wirksworth may be forgiven for thinking
that one is a poetic ideal of the other. ' Both wore

4 6 History of Derbyshire.

a Quaker's bonnet; "Dinah Morris" preached on
Hayslope Green, Elizabeth Evans on Roston Green ;
the former stayed in prison with " Hetty Sorrell"
when she was lying under charge of murdering her
child ; the latter stayed in prison with a young
woman accused of a similar crime.'

Elizabeth Evans died at Wirksworth on the gth
of May, 1849, and the following interesting appeal
for contributions towards a tablet to perpetuate her
memory and that of her husband was made in 1873 :

"'Dinah Bede."

' A generation has nearly passed away since the
death of Airs. Elizabeth Evans, who was dis-
tinguished for extraordinary piety and extensive
usefulness. The remarkable circumstances of her
personal history, her preaching talents, and her phil-
anthropic labours have since been immortalized by
a popular author in our standard literature. The
name and doings of " Dinah Bede " are known over
the whole world, and yet no memorial whatever of
her has been raised in towns where she lived and
laboured, or on the spot in Wirksworth churchyard
where her ashes repose. We, whose names are here-
unto placed, having an imperishable recollection of
Mrs. Evans' gifts, grace, and goodness, are desirous of
placing a memorial tablet in the Methodist Chapel at
Wirksworth to perpetuate the memory and useful-
ness of the so-called " Dinah," and of " Seth Bede,"
her honoured and sainted husband. If you have
any wish to participate in this graceful memorial

George Eliot and ' Dinah Bcde.' 47

and monument of these honoured servants of Christ
and benefactors of mankind, and desire to contribute
even the smallest sum for this object, be so good as to
communicate your intention to any of the under-
mentioned ministers and gentlemen as early as
possible: Adam Chadwick, Steeple Grange; William
Buxton, North End ; Charles Wall, the Causeway ;
and Timothy Clarke, North End, Wirksworth.'

The appeal commended itself so thoroughly that
subscriptions were obtained without difficulty, and
now on the walls of the Wesleyan Chapel at Wirks-
worth is a tablet bearing the inscription :

' Erected by numerous friends to the memory of Elizabeth
Evans, known to the world as " Dinah Bede," who during many
years proclaimed alike in the open air, the sanctuary, and from
house to house, the love of Christ. She died in the Lord
May 9, 1849, aged 74 years. And of Samuel Evans, her
husband, who was also a faithful local preacher and class leader
in the Methodist society. He finished his earthly course
Dec. 8, 1858, aged 81 years.'

One of the daughters of this noted Elizabeth
Evans, living now at Sheffield, preserves with great
care the Quaker bonnet, the white net cap, and the
spun-silk shawl that were worn by ' Dinah Morris '
when she went preaching. This descendant well
remembers George Eliot's visit to her mother in
1837 '■> and until recently had in her possession a
bundle of letters sent by the novelist to her parents
at Millhouses. Being privileged to peruse these
letters soon after George Eliot's death, we wrote of
them at the time : ' The letters are signed by the
talented authoress in her maiden name, " Mary Ann

48 History of Derbyshire.

Evans," and they are written from Griff and Foleshill,
near Coventry, at which places she lived with her
father during the years 1839, 1840, and 1841. Some
of them are brown with age, and much worn at the
edges, and in the folding creases. Others are in
better preservation. The letters, at least those
despatched in 1839, were sent to Wirksworth just
a year before Sir Rowland Hill's scheme of penny
postage was carried into effect, and before envelopes
had come into common use. They are written on
old-fashioned post-paper, and the address, " Mr. S.
Evans, the Millhouses, Wirksworth," appears on the
outer sheet. Most of the epistles are addressed to
" My dear uncle and aunt," and all reveal George
Eliot's great talents. The style is elegant and grace-
ful, and the letters abound in beautiful metaphor ;
but their most striking characteristic is the religious
tinge that pervades them all. Nearly every line
denotes that George Eliot was an earnest Biblical
student, and that she was, especially in the years
1839 and 1840, very anxious about her spiritual
condition. In one of the letters, written from Griff
to " Dinah Morris" in 1839, sne savs sne *s living in
a dry and thirsty land, and that she is looking for-
ward with pleasure to a visit to Wirksworth, and
likens her aunt's companionship and counsel to a
spring of pure water, acceptable to her as is the
well dug for the traveller in the desert.' These
communications, eloquent with the ardent feeling
that distinguished George Eliot's earlier life, are
now in the possession of Mr. Cross, and should he

IV ell- Dressing. 49

give them to the public, they will shed consider-
able light on the most impressionable part of his
wife's career, when ' Dinah Morris ' was her friend,
and she did not hesitate to write ' that love of human'
praise was one of her great stumbling-blocks.'

At Wirksworth, and other places in Derbyshire,
following in the wake of Tissington, the pretty,
innocent custom of decking the wells with flowers
is fostered even in this practical age, and gives a very
pardonable excuse for a bright, mirthful holiday.
At Wirksworth, however, the custom is not in con-
nection with natural springs as at Tissington, but is,
as it is called, a ' Tap-Dressing' of the water-supply
of the town. Seneca said : ' Where a spring or a river
flows there should we build altars and offer sacri-
fices ;' and it is possible that from a spirit of thank-
fulness for the gift of pure water arose this innocent
practice, which, as education spreads, is becoming
a more delicate and beautiful art. The floral de-
signs, the chaplets, and garlands, that decorate the
Wirksworth taps and pipes on Whit-Wednesday are
as attractive in their simple loveliness as the offerings
the shepherds threw to the goddess Sabrina in
Milton's ' Comus,' or ' the thousand flowers of pale
lilies, roses, violets, and pinks,' the nymphs in
Dyer's ' Fleece ' spread on the surface of ' the dimpled
stream.' And they have this advantage over the
floral tributes of the poet's dream: they bring useful
prizes that still further encourage a love of flowers.

The rocks and caves around the town have yielded
something more marvellous than lead ore. Who

4

50 History of Derbyshire,

shall say, after knowing what wonders have been
imbedded in their depths, that geology has no charm ?

George Mower, a miner, discovered in a cave in the
mountain limestone, at Balleye, near Wirksworth,
in 1663, the bones and molar teeth of an elephant,
and in a startling description of ' how the giant's
tooth was found,' wrote : 'As they were sinking to
find lead ore upon a hill at Bawlee, within two miles
of Wirksworth, in the Peake, about the year 1663,
they came to an open place as large as a great
church, and found the skeleton of a man standing
against the side, rather declining. They gave an
account that his braine-pan would have held two
strike of corn, and that it was so big they could not
get it up the mine they had sunk without breaking
it. Being my grandfather, Robert Mower, of Wood-
seats, had a part in this said mine, they sent him
this toothe, with all the tines of it entire, and it
weighed 4 lbs. 3 oz.'

Nor has this been the only geological prize
obtained in the locality, for in another lead mine,
poetically known as ' The Dream Cave,' about a
mile from Wirksworth, was found in 1882 the
skeleton of a rhinoceros, whose bones ' were in a
high state of preservation.'

Within a stone's-throw, as it were, of the place in
which George Eliot wandered in her youth, lie two
historic mansions — Alderwasley Hall and Wigwell
Grange. The former has long been the residence of
the old county families, the Lowes and the Hurts, and
a singular tradition attaches to a part of the estate

Old EnglisJi Life. 51

called 'The Shining Cliff' — that it was granted to a
previous owner by the King, in these words :

' I and mine
Give thee and thine
Milnes Hay and Shyning Cliff,
While grass is green and berys ryffe.'*

Wigwell Grange has sheltered some illustrious
people, and Sir John Statham's description of it,
more than a century ago, has never been excelled,
so straightforward were the brusque knight's words.
In the district, he said, • was all the convenience
of life — wood, coal, corn of all sorts, park venison,
a warren for rabbits, fish, fowl in the utmost per-
fection, exempted from all jurisdiction; no bishops,
priests, proctors, apparators, or any such vermin
could breathe there. Everyone did that which
was right in his own eyes, went to bed, sat up, rose
early, got up late, all easy. In the park were
labyrinths, statues, arbours, springs, grottoes, and
mossy banks ; and if retirement became irksome,
on notice to Wirksworth, there were loose hands,
gentlemen and clergymen, ever ready at an hour,
willing to stay just as long as you'd have 'em and
no longer.' Kindly John Statham. He understood
the secret of hospitality, and although 'the vile
calumnies and envenom'd arrows' of his enemies
now and then excited his wrath, he did not let them
interfere much with his pleasures.

Near the road leading from Wirksworth to Crom-
ford is a famous mine, the scene in 1797 of a

* Plentiful.

4—2

52 History of Derbyshire.

disaster which gave not only a new illustration of
the perils of lead-getting, but showed how great is
the tenacity of human life. While Job Boden and
Anthony Pearson were at work in the mine, the one
at a depth of twenty yards, and the other at forty-
four yards, there was a huge fall of earth, and a rush
of water. The mine was choked to a depth of over
fifty yards, and it seemed almost incredible that the
men beneath could escape death. Yet, eager with
hope, the miners not in the workings laboured for
three days in emptying the mine of debris, and then
discovered Pearson, who was standing in an upright
posture, dead. At the end of eight days' digging
they reached Boden, who, to their surprise, was still
living, although he had been entirely without nourish-
ment from the moment he was buried in the mine.
When brought out he was terribly emaciated, but
ultimately recovered from the effects of his adventure,
and lived for many years to tell the story of his
marvellous rescue.

Cromford lies amid charming scenery, and is
within easy distance of Via Gellia, of the bold grit-
stone rocks that singularly overlap the limestone at
Stonnis, and the pretty village of Bonsall, where the
rivulet, rippling past the cottages and beneath each
doorstep, has prompted the saying that the hamlet
has 150 marble bridges. But after all, Cromford is
not so celebrated for its scenery as for its association
with Richard Arkwright, the lowly barber and
itinerant hair merchant, who invented spinning by
rollers, and erecting his first cotton-mill in Matlock

Cromford and Sir Richard ArkwrigJU. 53

Dale, in 1771, made such additional improvements
in the process of carding, roving, and spinning, that
despite grievous difficulties his ingenuity and
perseverance were rewarded by wealth and fame.
The manor of Willesley, which belonged in the time
of Henry VI. to Richard Minors, was purchased by
the successful cotton spinner in 1782, and four
years afterwards he was knighted. And it seemed
as if some good fairy had determined that he should
have money enough to uphold the title, for his 'riches
increased to such an enormous extent, that besides
possessing, exclusive of his mill property, one of the
largest estates in England, he was able on several
occasions to present each of his ten children with
£10,000 as a Christmas box.'

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CHAPTER IV.

Matlock Bath— Man's Energy— The Bath Years ago— Lord
Byron — The Water Cure — Rocks and Caverns — Matlock and
its Church — A Remarkable Woman.

No such comfortable, contented serenity as satis-
fies Wirksworth is tolerated at Matlock Bath.
There the inhabitants do not fold their hands and
sit wrapt in admiration of the beauties of nature.
They believe in ' making hay while the sun shines,'
use nature to their own profit, and their enterprise is
so great that ' no man knoweth ' what delights may
be in store for the excursionist in years to come !
Matlock Bath's chief street is fringed with fine shops,
in which are displayed many clever examples of the
spar worker's art ; its petrifying wells and caverns
reveal marvels of nature, and show man's ingenuity
in turning them to profitable account ; and its
attractive pavilion, recently erected, indicates that the
inhabitants are thoroughly cognisant of the needs
of the time. But all this energy is almost entirely
modern. Like the parvenu who secretly bewails his
lack of blue-blood ancestry while he sports his sham
crest, Matlock Bath is linked with few famous deeds,

The Bath Years Ago. 55

and has little history. It was not until about 1690
that the place sprang at all into notice, and then not
so much because of the wild beauty of its scenery as
the possession of mineral waters, which, bubbling out
of subterranean chambers, wrought such cures upon
the debilitated and enfeebled that the people mar-
velled. Hitherto the dale scarcely contained any
habitations except a few miners' huts, and ' presented
only the appearance of a narrow gorge, walled in by
stupendous crags and lofty eminences, overgrown
with tangled brushwood and shrubs, beneath which
flowed the dusky waters of the Derwent, seldom
seen by the eye of man.' But with the discovery of
the warm springs, ' raised in vapour by subter-
ranean fires deep in the earth,' Matlock Bath
awoke from its long sleep. The first bath, built and
paved, it is said, by Mr. Fern, of Matlock, and Mr.
Heyward, of Cromford, was ultimately purchased by
Messrs. Smith and Pennel, of Nottingham, who not
only erected two large commodious buildings, but
' made a coast-road along the river-side from Crom-
ford, and improved the horseway from Matlock
Bridge.'

' This bath,' said Defoe, however, writing in the
eighteenth century, ' would be much more fre-
quented than it is if a bad stony road which leads
to it, and no accommodation when you get there,
did not hinder.' Nevertheless, its development had
begun. And the place had much improved in Lord
Byron's time, for he wrote gracefully of Matlock
Bath's loveliness, and spoke in praise of his quarters.

56 History of Derbyshire.

It was here that the distinguished poet, the gifted
writer of ' Childe Harold/ met Mary Chaworth, the
heiress of Annesley, and indulged in the hapless
love-dream that only ended in — farewell. ' Had I,
he regretfully said, ' married Miss Chaworth, perhaps
the whole tenor of my life would have been different.'
Since the days when Lord Byron looked joyously
through love's spectacles at the bold cliffs and
gently gliding river, Matlock Bath has become a
kind of Pool of Bethesda, to which the grievously
afflicted, and those who suffer for luxury and satiety,
go in hope of finding relief. Matlock Bank and
Matlock Bridge, modern offshoots of the older Mat-
lock, are as thickly studded with baths as Rome during
Diocletian's reign of splendour; and Smedley, the
local pioneer of hydropathy, and the builder of Riber
Castle, on the summit of Riber, has had a host of
imitators, who are gradually increasing the number
of believers in the water-cure.

Lady Mary Wortley said her little chalet at
Avignon commanded the finest land prospect she
had ever seen, except Wharncliffe ; and Derbyshire
people, with equal truth, might affirm that Wales,
with its tree-crowned heights, and mist-capped
mountains, and swirling streams, contained the
finest pictures of nature's loveliness, except Matlock.
'The great rent in the strata of Derbyshire,' which
has made the county so rich in crags, and peaks,
and sheltered dales, exciting the zeal of the geologist
and the wonder of the tourist, ' first manifests itself
in the neighbourhood of Matlock.' And familiarity is

The Heights of Abraham. 57

powerless to breed contempt of the beauteous gorge,
with its gigantic masses of limestone, towering high
above the white roads, and the petrifying wells, and
the wooden boathouses. How mighty and rugged in
its grandeur is the High Tor, rising perpendicularly
more than 300 feet above the river's brink, its brow
fringed with thick foliage, and its face brightened by
mosses and ferns that have struggled into existence
in crevices and rifts far beyond man's reach !

Less rugged in character, but equal in beauty,
are the Heights of Abraham ; and they have in-
spired much poetry — spontaneous and sincere, if
not over-brilliant tributes to nature's lavish gifts.
Robinson, in his ' Derbyshire Gatherings,' gives an
example, remarking that in an alcove on the heights
about twenty-five years since, some would-be poet,
no doubt after cudgelling his brains severely for a
verse, wrote :

' He who climbs these heights sublime,
Will wish to come a second time.'

But he goes on to say that beneath these words was
added in another handwriting the scathing couplet :

'And when he comes a second time,
I hope he'll make a better rhyme.'

What myriads of tourists have climbed these
heights since the old mountain went by the name
of Nestes, or Nestus, and Matlock was a Liliputian
hamlet in the King's manor of Metesforde ! Much
of the tangled undergrowth and gnarled wood have
been cleared from its steep sides, and about the zig-

58 History of Derbyshire.

zag paths that lead to the lofty tower. Cottages
cluster, tier on tier, like the dwellings of an Alpine
village. And higher still, nearer the summit of the
pine-clad heights, far away from the chief street, are
lovely walks, from which may be obtained delightful
views of the loftier crags of Masson, of bold cliffs,
wooded dells, and bits of emerald meadow skirting
the gleaming river ; while stretching beyond the
dale is a pretty picture of hill and valley, of moor-
land and rich pasture, not framed by the horizon
until the eye has roamed over five counties.

Then its subterranean mysteries are curious and
almost fear-inspiring. The great caverns, reached
through little doors in the mountains' side, remind
one of the mysterious cavity into which the Pied
Piper of Hamlin decoyed the children with sweet
music and fair promises of a chimerical Garden of
Eden. In their natural darkness these vast chambers,
particularly the Rutland, the Devonshire, and the
Cumberland, help one to realize the meaning of
Chaos ; but when illuminated by the candle's or the
lamp's fitful gleam they reveal striking beauties of
vaulted arch, of brightly flashing minerals, of trick-
ling waters, of huge pyramids of stone, of gruesome
recesses, and walls of such strange shape that they
seem to be studded with grotesque faces. Nay, the
thought arises — are they the faces of indiscreet miners,
petrified just as they were chuckling, or indulging in
grimaces ?

Remembering its surface and underground beauties
and wonders, there is little exaggeration in the

Matlock and its Church. 59

poetical description of Matlock Bath as ' the fairy-
land that wins all hearts, the paradise of the Peak.'

The modern resort of the health-seeker, Matlock
Bath, stands on the western margin of the Dervvent ;
the old village of Matlock, which Glover says is as
ancient as the Conquest, is on the opposite side of
the river, and cut off from the Bath by the huge
Tor and its chain of connecting rocks. Both are
thriving places now, and this is not to be wondered
at, considering that such a vast number of tourists
pour into the district during at least four months
of the year, swooping down upon nearly every
habitation and driving the caterers sometimes to
their wits' end.

Although the older portion of Matlock (which in-
cludes Matlock Bridge) has grown with some rapidity,
it still adheres pretty much to its former ways of life.
But the church, like many others in Derbyshire, has
been restored, and the tower is the only part of the
old edifice remaining. It is a ' good example of the
Perpendicular style at the beginning of the sixteenth
century,' and contains six bells. One of these,
bearing the letters O.P.N, (oro pro nobis), was evi-
dently cast before the Reformation, and Mr. Jewitt
says it ' is one of the oldest as well as most interest-
ing bells in the county.'

In the church itself there is comparatively little to
interest the antiquary, with the exception of an old
chest, to which is attached a chain that formerly
secured the parish Bible. But there is a tablet in
this place of worship that might be studied with

60 History of Derbyshire.

advantage by all cynical bachelors who believe
married life is made up of embarrassments and
annoyances not conducive to longevity. The tablet
is in memory of Adam Wolley, and Grace, his wife.
They were married at Darley in 1581, and continued
in wedlock 76 years. Adam did not die until 1657,
when he had reached the age of 100, and Grace
lived to be no.

In the vestry are several relics of a pathetic custom
— six white paper garlands carried years ago at the
funerals of young maidens, and left in the church,
in memoriam, by grief-stricken friends.

A very thin partition separates tears from laughter,
so Phoebe Bown may be very appropriately intro-
duced here. She was a remarkable woman who
resided in a cottage near High Tor, and obtained
considerable local celebrity. Hutton, the historian,
who visited Matlock in the early part of the present
century, says she was five feet six in height, had a
step more manly than a man's, could walk forty miles
a day, hold the plough, drive a team, and thatch a
barn ; but her chief avocation was breaking in horses
at a guinea a week : and with all these masculine
tendencies she combined a taste for the works of
Milton, Pope, and Shakespeare, and had a passionate
love of music, playing the flute, the violin, and the
harpsichord. She died in 1854, and her epitaph is
almost as curious as her life :

' Here lies romantic Phcebe,
Half Ganymede, half Hebe ;
A maid of mutable condition,
A jockey, cowherd, and musician.'

CHAPTER V.

Darley Dale — Its Scenery — A Poetic Tradition — A Curious
Will — The Darley Yew Tree — A Great Frost — The Peacock
at Rowsley — Old Butcher the Angler — Which Way ?

One of the fairest of Derbyshire haunts is Darley
Dale. It stretches in peaceful, sylvan loveliness
from Matlock up to Rowsley, where, dividing, the
one arm, along which the Derwent flows, extends
to and indeed beyond Chatsworth gates, and the
other, through which the Wye winds, beyond
Haddon Hall up to Bakewell ; and in whatever garb
it appears, whether clothed in the bright freshness of
spring, the rich glory of summer, the deep russet-
tints of autumn, or the hoar-frost and feathery snow
of winter, it is always beautiful. Like a pleasing
tranquil face upon which ordinary troubles make no
impress, it never loses its charm. But perhaps it
is most inviting in the spring-time, when the sun-
light, coquetting with the Derwent, makes the river
glisten like a streak of silver, when, the ' gold of the
buttercup and the green of the grass ' mingle, in the
fertile meadows, and the hedges are powdered with
sweet-smelling hawthorn.

62 History of Derbyshire.

The Duke of Rutland's old shooting-box of Stan-
ton Woodhouse stands on one of the wooded
slopes that rise from the plain ; nearly opposite to it
is Sir Joseph Whitworth's residence, Stancliffe Hall;
while in another part, on the verdure-covered Oker
— a lofty hill rising at its threshold from the Matlock
end — are two solitary trees that have grown up in
an atmosphere of tradition :

' 'Tis said that on the brow of yon fair hill
Two brothers clomb, and, turning face from face,
Nor one more look exchanging, grief to still
Or feed, each planted on the lofty place
A chosen tree. Then eager to fulfil
Their courses, like two new-born rivers they
In opposite directions urged their way
Down from the far-seen mount. No blast might kill
Or blight that fond memorial. The trees grew
And now entwine their arms ; but ne'er again
Embraced those brothers upon earth's wide plain,
Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew,
Until their spirits mingled in the sea
That to itself takes all— Eternity.'

The venerable church of St. Helen, with its fine
sepulchral slabs and its Crusaders' and other monu-
ments, poses picturesquely in the bed of Darley
dale.

It is a very ancient structure, but for all that it is
but a youth when compared with the patriarch
by its side — the world-famed ' Darley Yew.' The
enormous girth of thirty-three feet round its stem
has this ancient tree that casts its shadows across
the churchyard. About four feet up, the trunk
divides, and two separate trees rise from it, throwing

The Darky Yciv Tree. 6

o

out a great labyrinth of branches, that overhang
and shelter many a grave. Its life, like that of
the 'Wandering Jew,' seems endless; but, unlike
his restless career, the tree's existence has been
one of almost unbroken quietude and peace. This
yew, which is supposed to be 2,000 years old, saw
the early inhabitants of the soil subdued by the
Roman invaders, and they in turn by the Saxons and
Danes, and it must have been in its prime when
William the Conqueror made his victorious landing
in Britain! If this yew could speak, like Tennyson's
' Talking Oak,' what a thrilling tale it could tell of
the invader's progress, of joy and sorrow, of changing
manners and customs, of the great frost that began
at Martinmas, 1676, and lasted until January 3, 1677,
when 'ye Derwent was actually frozen, and att ye
dissolving of the frost a great flood and incredible
quantities of ice were brought out of the water
banks into tollerable inclosed grounds, and up
to the churchyard steps ;' and it could tell, too, of
much family history — of the time, for instance, when
the eccentric Peter Columbell, of Darley, made the
curious will leaving all his household goods to his
son Roger, on the peculiar condition that the young
man never touched tobacco.

' Whatever may be the age of this tree,' says
Mr. Cox, ' there can be little doubt that it has given
shelter to the early Britons when planning the con-
struction of the dwellings that they erected not many
yards to the west of its trunk ; to the Romans who
built up the funeral pyre to their slain comrades

64 History of Derbyshire.

just clear of its branches ; to the Saxons, converted,
perchance, to the true faith by Bishop Dinma be-
neath its pleasant shade ; to the Norman masons
chiselling their quaint sculptures to form the first
stone house of prayer erected in its vicinity ; and to
the host of Christian worshippers who, from that
day to this, have been borne under its hoary limbs
in women's arms to the baptismal font, and then
on men's shoulders to their last resting-place in the
soil that gave it birth.'

No one will deny that it is the king of English
yews. The Fortingal yew, in Perthshire, when
vigorous, had a girth of fifty-six feet, but it is now
only a skeleton of its former greatness. At Tis-
bury, in Wiltshire, there is a yew tree thirty-seven
feet in circumference ; but the Darley yew far excels
it ' in great stretch of limbs and luxuriant foliage.'
A number of unthinking people, with a liking for
relics, and a desire to hand down their names to
posterity, began some years back to lop off its
branches and cut their initials on its bark, but ' The
Old Yew Tree ' had a champion, who wrote to the
Times in 1863, drawing attention to this Vandalism.
The letter, which was written as if the tree was
a human being, and could speak for itself, ran as
follows :

' I am a helpless and much ill-used individual, and
my friends have advised me to make my grievances
known to you, as the most able and likely source
to supply redress. To make my tale short, I belong
to that class of national property which guide books

The Darley Yew Tree. 65

call" objects of interest," of which this old historic
country possesses so large a share ; but I am not an
old abbey, nor an old tower, nor even an old cairn.
I am simply an old tree. My residence is in a
churchyard in a lovely valley in Derbyshire, called
Darley Dale. From the reverence that has been
paid to me for more generations than I care to
name, and from the admiration which pilgrims from
all parts of the world who come to see me bestow
upon me, I perceive that I am no common tree.
My trunk alone girths thirty-three feet, but from
within the memory of men I have stretched my arms
across one entire side of the churchyard, and forty
•years ago the young urchins of the parish used to
climb from the outer wall into my branches, and
from my branches on to the church leads. My age
is fabulous, and learned naturalists now calculate
that I must have been born 300 years before the
Gospel was preached in this country ; in which case
I was probably associated with an old pagan building,
the foundations of which are still discovered in
digging graves in my immediate neighbourhood.
If my memory did not fail me, of course I could tell
all about this better than the naturalists ; but age
has made me somewhat lazy in that respect, so I
must leave my origin to the genealogists to settle.
Well, sir, with all these claims to reverence, is it
not shameful that in this year of grace 1863 men
should cut, break, and mutilate my poor old person
in all inconceivable ways ? Until tourists began to
multiply, and excursion trains to run, I had scarcely

5

1

66 History of Derbyshire.

a single scar, other than time and tempest had left
on my body ; but now the Snookeses and Tomkinses,
and Joneses, have begun to immortalize themselves
(as is the fashion of that race) by cutting their
names all over my bark; and on Thursday last two
fellows of this tribe commenced a still more cruel
process. While one of them smoked his pipe and
watched, the other drew out a saw, and actually set
to work to cut out a great slice of my very flesh,
which, but for the lucky intervention of the clerk, he
would soon have accomplished. You may believe
me, sir, when I tell you that I quite dread the sight
of an excursion train ; and from all that I hear I
am not alone in these apprehensions. My fellow
" objects of interest " are crying out on every side
of me, and all over the land, that the Goths are
coming again. Oh, sir, can you not repel these bar-
barians ? The foe of all abuses, will you not make
your potent voice heard to put an end to this abuse ?'
The consciences of the Snookeses and Tomkinses
were pricked by this touching protest, and the
Darley yew is no longer a victim to the tourist's
pocket-knife or the marauder's pitiless grasp.

A couple of miles or so from Darley Dale Church
is the village of Rowsley, where the Wye and the
Derwent meet ; and the ivy-clad Peacock Inn, with
its old-fashioned gables, mullioned windows, and
curiously pretty garden, gladdens the wayfarer's
heart. In this widely known hostelry, travellers
from all parts of the world have found not only a tran-
quil resting-place, but a cheerful home ; it was once a

The Peacock at Rowslcy. 67

farmhouse, now it is perhaps the prettiest inn in Eng-
land. Its wide hall, broad staircase, cosy breakfast-
room, and smoker's retreat, are familiar to some of our
greatest men, who at one time or other have sought
temporary rest beneath its roof away from the noise of
political strife and the whirl of ambition. ' An album
kept at the inn,' says Mr. Jewitt, 'contains many dis-
tinguished names ; among them is that of the poet
Longfellow ; also the travelling name of Maximilian,
sometime Emperor of Mexico, who spent here the
last night of his sleep in England, previous to em-
barkation on his fatal voyage.' People of every
nation visit the Peacock, and the American touring
through the country in a spirit of restless inquiry
is as much at home there as the angler, the painter,
and the pressman. In the autumn, when jaded
legislators have deserted St. Stephen's, and ' society '
has fled from London, the quiet inn is a refuge — a
sort of rural club — to many a metropolitan toiler ;
and the rods and creels, the sketch-books, and the
pages of manuscript lying about, are tell-tale evi-
dences of the character of its guests.

One of the local 'worthies' who often passed
through the porch of the Peacock was George
Butcher, the angler, carpenter, and preacher, who
for so many years attended the fishermen on the
banks of the Wye and Derwent. He was an autho-
rity upon angling, and was styled ' The Walton of
the Peak.' ' Old Butcher knew every kind of fly
upon the water, and all the places where fish lay.
He was insensible to fatigue, and thought nothing

5—2

68 History of Derbyshire.

of walking from Curbar to Rowsley to attend an
angler — some eight miles — walk about on the banks
of the river all day, and at night walk back to
Curbar.' His mind was stored with anecdote and
proverbial philosophy ; and when the trout declined
to rise, he never let the angler's spirits droop. Of
him, Mr. John Hall, a Yorkshire poet, has written :

' Old Butcher is young ; though he's nigh fourscore
He can tramp twelve miles across a moor ;
He can fish all day, and wade up stream,
And at night as fresh as the morning seem.

' Old Butcher is young ; he can make a fly
With as steady a hand and as calm an eye
As though he were still in manhood's prime,
And never had known the ravage of time.

' He can spin a yarn, or a sermon preach,
Or on special occasions spout a speech ;
He can fast or feast like a monk of old,
Though he likes the latter much best, I'm told.

' He knows each pool of the stream about,
And every stone that conceals a trout ;
Some say that he knows the fish as well,
Both where they were born and where they dwell.

' To those who have wandered in Baslow Vale,
Through Chatsworth's meadows and Darley Dale,
Or skirted the banks of the silvery Wye,
Where Haddon's grey towers rise steep and high,

' His form and garb will familiar seem
As the guardian deity of the stream,
With his oval face and his grizzly locks,
And his smile like that — of a sly old fox.'

When old Butcher died, in 1875, there was sorrow

Old Butcher the Angler. 69

in many a fisherman's heart ; and over his grave, in
Curbar Churchyard, his friends have placed as. a
tribute of regard an epitaph, in which he is spoken
of as one ' who for many years of his life, amidst the
beautiful works of creation, followed as a fisherman
the humble occupation of Christ's disciples.'

So rich in the antiquarian, the historic, and the
picturesque is the region about Rowsley, that
tourists occasionally stand on the inn steps, per-
plexed and wondering which route to take. Up
the hill, opposite the Peacock, lies Stanton Moor,
with its stone circle, the 'Nine Ladies,' and its other
Celtic remains. Near it is Birchover, with its
famed Roo Tor Rocks, and the Bradley Rocks ;
and within a sparrow's flight as it were, are
Cratcliffe Rocks with Hermitage ; Robin Hood's
Stride, or Mock Beggar Hall ; Winster, with its
quaint old Market-house ; the remote village of
Youlgreave, a place that clings tenaciously to old
English life, and is full of interesting Derbyshire
character studies ; and beyond the time-worn Ar-
borlows, a miniature Stonehenge, over which
numberless archaeologists have puzzled their brains.

On the banks of the Wye, to the right, nestles
grey Haddon Hall, with its historic memories and
air of romance. Over the bridge, to the left, is
the road leading through Beeley to Chatsworth, the
Duke of Devonshire's ' Palace of the Peak.' To
which of these mansions will you go ? To Chats-
worth !

xuznznxmHE

^ii-iiiTiiiiininiiw

CHAPTER VI.

Old Chatsworth— Mary Queen of Scots— The First Duke
of Devonshire — Pulling a Colonel's Nose — The Revolution of
1688 — New Chatsworth and its Treasures of Art and Litera-
ture—The Gardens and Park — Edensor and its Historic
Graves.

'Derbyshire,' says a quaint old writer, 'is a country
wherein nature sports itself, leaping up and down
as it were in pleasant variety, until, being weary, it
recreates itself at Chatsworth, Boulsover, and Hard-
wicke.' Adopting this poetic imagery, it must be
admitted by all who know these Derbyshire seats,
that nature (especially human nature) shows its dis-
crimination by recreating in such pleasant places.
All three mansions are rich in history, tradition, and
picturesque surroundings ; but Chatsworth, with its
palace of art-treasures, the most powerfully attracts
both the scholarly and the illiterate, for the latter as
well as the former have often a delicate sense of beauty.
The existing mansion is not the house Sir William
Cavendish began to build, and which his widow,
the famous ' Bess of Hardwick,' completed. That
old English home, which superseded the more

Old Chatsworth. 71

ancient hall of the Leches and Agards, was a
quadrangular building, with square towers, rude
and mediseval in look compared with the modern
fabric adorned by the art of Verrio, Laguerre,
and others. Still it had great historic interest, for
it was one of the prison-houses of Mary Queen of
Scots ; and the moated, ivy-covered bower by the
riverside yet recalls the days of her captivity, when,
under the surveillance of the Earl of Shrewsbury,
she was not allowed to ' take the air on horseback
more than one or two miles from the house, except
it be one of the moors.' The old hall was, too, the
birthplace of the unfortunate Arabella Stuart ; and
in the Civil Wars it resounded with the clank of
armed men ; for Sir John Gell's soldiers and the
Duke of Newcastle's cavaliers have both been on the
defensive there.

It is authoritatively stated that one of the Duke of
Devonshire's ancestors, Sir John Cavendish, esquire
of the body to Richard III. and Henry V., killed
Wat Tyler in his conflict with Sir William Walworth,
for which gallant conduct he was knighted by the
King in Smithfield.

Chatsworth was purchased from the Agards by
Sir William Cavendish, who by this act set a
very commendable example of honesty in a some-
what lax age. Since then the noble house of
Cavendish, which has Cavcndo Tutus for its motto,
has played a conspicuous part in the political and
social life of the country. But among the long line
of warriors, scholars, and statesmen who have borne

72

History of Derbyshire.

the name of Cavendish, none have been more gifted
or celebrated than the fourth Earl and first Duke of
Devonshire, who built the present mansion. Bishop
Kennet says : ' He was singularly accomplished ; he
had a great skill in languages ; was a true judge in
history, a critic in poetry, and had a fine hand in
music. In architecture he had a genius, skill, and
experience beyond any one person of any age.' Like
Henry V., however, he interspersed his youth with
frolic, and one of his adventures bordered on
tragedy, for he was nearly slain in the Opera House
at Paris, in an encounter with three of the King's
guards. Later in life his high spirits and courage
did not desert him. When he dabbled in State
affairs, and was insulted in the Court of James II.
by Colonel Culpepper, he led that officer out of the
presence-chamber by the nose ; but he is particularly
remembered because of the important part he played
in the Revolution of 1688. The fourth Earl of
Devonshire, although often bedizened in ruffles and
lace, was no mere drawing-room soldier. He was
one of the noblemen who invited the Prince of
Orange to this country, and on William's arrival at
Torbay, the Earl marched his tenantry to Derby and
Nottingham, prepared, if need be, to uphold his
Protestant principles with his sword. But the
necessity did not arise ; and his lordship, after
escorting Princess Anne to Oxford, returned to
Chatsworth, where he began to pull down the old
house, and ' erect these well-loved halls in the year
of English freedom.'

New Chatsworth and its Treasures. 73

And to the poor, who often toil and strive for so
little, it must seem as if he had Aladdin's riches
when he did it. What beauty, wealth, and delicate
art are revealed even in the great hall, with its floor
of polished marble, and walls and ceiling adorned
with historical paintings ! Beyond, the state-room
and library stories contain treasures enough to
arouse a Monte Christo's envy. In the sketch
gallery are a multitude of rare original drawings by
Titian, Rembrandt, Leonardo da Vinci, Raffaelle,
Correggio, Salvator Rosa, and many other great
masters. The state dressing-room is noted not only
for Verrio's painting illustrating ' The flight of
Mercury on his mission to Paris,' but for the most
exquisite wood-carving. Here is what is known as
' Grinling Gibbons's masterpiece,' and the cravat of
point-lace, the woodcock, the foliage, and medal of
which it consists are wondrous evidences of the
wood-carver's skill. Horace Walpole said : ' There
is no instance of a man before Gibbons who gave to
wood the loose and airy lightness of flowers, and
chained together the various productions of the
elements with a free disorder, natural to each
species.' And if this group was the work of Gibbons,
his panegyrist has been guilty of little exaggeration.
Richer in appointment, and far more historic, is the
state bedroom. Its walls are hung with leather
arabesque, its ceiling represents ' Aurora chasing
away the Night,' and over the doorways the talented
wood-carver has been busy. One of the most valued
pieces of furniture in this apartment is the state

74 History of Derbyshire.

chair and crimson velvet canopy so deftly em-
broidered and curiously figured by Christian, the
wife of the second Earl of Devonshire, and close by
are the chairs and footstools used in the coronation
of George III. and his Queen Charlotte, and of
William IV. and Queen Adelaide — pretty relics of
past pageants and of courtly ceremonial in which
high-bred dames and gallant gentlemen took part.
Very different from the 'Cave of Harmony' in
which Pendennis passed such agreeable nights is
the music-room, decorated with mythological figures,
and carvings of fruits, flowers, and musical in-
struments. Hanging over the door leading to the
gallery is a marvellous violin. But no one can play
it ; no one can lift it off the peg. It is only a fiddle
created by the painter's brush ; but it is, as Mr.
Jewitt expresses it, ' a fiddle painted so cleverly on
the door itself as to have, in the subdued light of
the half-closed door, all the appearance of the
instrument itself hanging on the peg. The tradition
at Chatsworth is that this matchless piece of paint-
ing was done by Verrio to deceive Gibbons ;' he pro-
bably did not realize what chagrin, fun, surprise, and
disappointment that fiddle would yield to a tantalized
posterity. Numberless fingers, of nearly all nation-
alities, have endeavoured to grasp it ; but they might
as well have tried to catch a sunbeam, or a shadow.
Gobelin's tapestry, Verrio's painting, Watson's
wood-carving, and Chantrey's sculpture, beautify the
state drawing and dining rooms, which are charac-
terized by great splendour, both of furniture and

New Chatsworth and its Treasures. 75

general adornment. The latter room contains a
much-treasured curiosity, the rosary worn by Henry
VIII. ' Upon the four sides of each bead are
four circles, within which are carved groups, each
taken from a chapter in the Bible. Nothing can
surpass the exquisite beauty of the workmanship
of this relic of other days. Every figure is perfect,
notwithstanding the extreme minuteness of their
size ; and the whole is from the design of Holbein,
who has painted Henry in these identical beads.'
Did the bluff King, after so inconsiderately beheading
his wives, succeed in quieting his conscience with
these beads ? If so, it must have been a wonderful
rosary. At the back of the fireplace, in the dining-
room, is a simple but equally interesting memento —
the arms, supporters, motto, and coronet of the first
Duke of Devonshire, bearing the date of 1695, a year
after he, the fourth Earl (who so fearlessly declared
himself ' a faithful subject to good sovereigns, inimical
and hateful to tyrants') was created Marquis of
Hartington and Duke of Devonshire by William of
Orange. ' The King and Queen,' says the patent,
' could do no less for one who deserved the best of
them ; one who in a corrupt age sinking into the
basest flattery, had constantly retained the manners
of the ancients, and would never suffer himself to be
moved either by the insinuations or threats of a
deceitful Court.'

Not the least novel apartment in Chatsworth
House is, however, the ' Sabine-room,' which is
covered — walls, doors, and ceiling — with cleverly

J 6 History of Derbyshire.

painted figures, the principal subject being ' The
Rape of the Sabines.' When the doors are closed
the room makes a complete picture, most adroitly
treated : and the occupant, whoever he or she may
be, must feel thoroughly enveloped by art. In Bol-
sover Castle are two rooms adorned in a similar style ;
but the figures, representative of Happiness and
Misery, have been blurred, and in some instances
nearly obliterated, by a coating of whitewash laid on
thickly by some stupid Vandal.

In the gallery of paintings and the grand drawing-
room it is easy to believe Miss Thackeray's assertion
that pictures ' are strange, shifting things, before
which people stand to wonder, envy, and study.'
Dead and gone Cavendishes, who have been dis-
tinguished in the senate, the field, and the sea-fight,
look with steady, unflinching gaze out of the canvas.
In the drawing-room is Sir Joshua Reynolds's pic-
ture of ' The Beautiful Duchess of Devonshire,'
the intellectual and fascinating lady who was so
eager to secure Fox's election that, according to
tradition, she consented to accept a butcher's kiss
for the sake of securing his vote. Among the art-
treasures in this apartment, too, are Rembrandt's
' Head of a Jewish Rabbi,' Titian's painting of
Philip II., Holbein's portrait of Henry VIII.,
Zucchero's picture of Mary Queen of Scots, and
the famous sculptured figure of Hebe, by Canova,
Toretti's precocious pupil, who at the age of twelve
placed upon the table of the lord of Passagno the
form of a lion modelled in butter.

New Chatsworth and its Treasures. J 7

The rich men of ancient Rome had living libraries
(trained slaves), who could repeat the ' Iliad ' from
memory ; but the Duke of Devonshire has greater
advantages than were ever possessed by these volup-
tuaries, for he is dependent neither on the caprices
of slaves nor the monotony of the ' Iliad ' for in-
tellectual recreation. Like Charles Lamb, nearly
all the Cavendishes have had an intense love of
books ; and the great library in the east wing
of Chatsworth House is crowded with literature
collected by successive generations of this noble
race. There are books here that belonged to Sir
William Cavendish, the husband of ' Bess of Hard-
wick ;' there are black-letter books, volumes of ancient
poetry, rare manuscripts, and multitudes of standard
works in splendid bindings. One of the greatest
gems in this rich library is Claude Lorraine's collec-
tion of original designs, purchased by William,
second Duke of Devonshire, and valued at no less
than £20,000. The great painter, who began life
as a pastrycook, was so passionately fond of art
that he studied in the fields from sunrise to sunset.
He was ' in the habit of taking a faithful sketch of
every landscape he painted, and on the back of each
sketch he noted in his own handwriting the date of
the painting, and the customer for whom it was
painted. These sketches he kept in a book called
" Libro di Verita," and which, at his death in 1662,
he left, entailed, to his nephews and nieces. Louis
XIV. tried in vain to buy it through Cardinal d'Es-
trees. The Duke of Devonshire, however, after

7 8 History of Derbyshire.

considerable difficulty, succeeded in securing this
Koh-i-noor of art as soon as the entail came to an
end and the last owner was able to sell it.'

The student of history, the archaeologist, the
scientist, the theologian, and the lover of romance
would delight to revel in this literary paradise ;
which contains, among other treasures, the rare
Anglo-Saxon MS. of Caedmon, the Benedictionale
done for JEthelwold, Bishop of Winchester; and
the prayer-book given by Henry VII. to his daughter,
Margaret, Queen of Scotland, the latter bearing the
King's autograph and the words, ' Remember yr kynde
and lovyng fader in yor good prayers. Henry R.'

Literature and art are very nearly akin, and it is
not singular that a mansion like Chatsworth should
contain many examples of the sculptor's skill. Arte-
musWard,the humourist, ridiculed the 'bust business/
and pilloried in fun those who made images of 'Bona-
parte and other great men.' But if, as John Ruskin
says, sculpture is the foundation and school of paint-
ing, ambitious wielders of the brush might find it
advantageous to become more familiar with the
sculpture gallery at the Duke of Devonshire's chief
seat, for in it, on pedestals of porphyry and granite,
stand or recline figures so exquisitely chiselled that,
like Pygmalion's statue of Galatea, they seem to
need only one other virtue — that of being endowed
with life. Of rare beauty are Canova's figure of
Endymion asleep; Schadow's statue of the spinning-
girl ; Albacini's wounded Achilles ; and Tererani's
Venus, out of whose foot Cupid is extracting the

New Chatsworth and its Treasures. 79

thorn. And at least two famous sculptors of lowly
origin have works in this gallery : Thorwaldsen, the
son of the Icelandic sailor, who carved figure-heads
for vessels to obtain a livelihood ; and Chantrey, the
Norton farmer's boy, who declined to be a grocer,
and during his apprenticeship to carving and gilding
worked so assiduously in his humble studio at
Sheffield that he was enabled ultimately to rely upon
his pencil and chisel. What noble lessons of perse-
verance and ceaseless endeavours the lives of these
men teach ! Thorwaldsen struggling for the grand
prize in the Academy at Copenhagen, and carefully
modelling the statue of 'Jason,' that landed him
on the threshold of fame ; Chantrey digging clay out
of a brick-hole in the steel-making city in his eager-
ness to attempt busts and figures, and finally gaining
knighthood, as well as fame, by his art.

The Derbyshire home of the Chancellor of Cam-
bridge University has many other charms and points
of interest. It is delightful to wander in the orangery,
and to loiter in the chapel, which is enriched with
marble figures and wood-carving ; but perhaps the
greatest treat is to get a privileged peep into the
private library, in which the bookcases are sur-
mounted by medallion portraits of the poets whose
names are familiar in nearly every English house-
hold. Shakespeare is indicated by the phrase,
' Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new ;' Milton
is 'A poet blind, yet bold ;' and Byron ' The wander-
ing outlaw of his own brave land.' Humour revels
on book-backs in this literary retreat, for on the

8o History of Derbyshire.

doors are painted fictitious volumes with fictitious
titles, the outcome of Tom Hood's wit. The student,
with eyes eagerly ranging over the books that fill the
shelves, suddenly learns that his Grace possesses
some very curious works, such as ' Wren's Voyage
to the Canaries ;' ' Minto's Coins ;' ' Dyspepsia and
Heartburn, by the Bishop of Sodor ;' ' Merry's Gay ;'
' Ray's Light of Reason ;' ' Macadam's Roads,' and
' Beveridge on the Beer Act ;' — but, like Verrio's
painted fiddle in another part of the house, they can-
not be taken down.

The rugged, bramble-choked vale at Alton-Towers
was converted into a luxuriant garden by the fifteenth
Earl of Shrewsbury, and the inscription on the ceno-
taph erected to his memory appropriately says, ' He
made the desert smile.' A similar tribute might be
paid with equal justice to the owners of Chatsworth.
Thomas Hobbes, the author of ' Leviathan,' early
described how, behind the house, guarded by a lofty
mountain from the rough east wind, ' a pleasant
garden doth appear.' And Charles Cotton, after
speaking of the wild prospects that gird the noted
mansion, says :

' On the south side the stately gardens lye,
Where the scorn'd peak rivals proud Italy.'

When Izaak Walton's friend wrote his poem on
the geological and physical beauties of North Derby-
shire, these gardens, in which Dr. Johnson has
wandered, and Queen Victoria has planted an oak,
were very pretty ; but they grew lovelier still under

The Gardens and Park. 8r

Sir Joseph Paxton's care, and contain some of ' the
sweetest walks the world can show,' whether one
chooses to saunter into the quaint French garden,
with its bust-crowned foliage-clad pillars ; past the
great cascade, flowing over a temple's dome ; by the
artificial willow-tree, which, like some hypocrites,
can shed tears at will ; near the mighty Emperor's
fountain, whose waters, rising nearly three hundred
feet high, look in the sunlight like a column of crystal,
shining through a canopy of lovely spray-showers ;
along the broad paths of the Italian garden ; through
the avenue of exotics in the great conservatory ; or
in the humbler and more rustic ways, bordered by
fern-dells, moss-covered rocks, and trailing plants.
Vast changes have been effected since the old gar-
dens were laid out by George Loudon, in 1688; and
the skilful horticulturist and landscape-gardener
have made this cultured vale south of Chatsworth
House a paradise, ' shut in,' as Charles Cotton said,
' by black heaths, wild rocks, bleak crags, and
wooded hills.'

St. Evremond, in one of his letters, said : ' I now
write to you from the Earl of Devonshire's, where I
have been this fortnight paying my devotions to the
genius of Nature. Nothing can be more romantic
than this country, except the region about Valois ;
and nothing can equal this place in beauty except
the borders of the lake.' And there are few lovelier
pictures than Chatsworth Park, with its bright
grass-clad acres, and ancient trees beneath whose
friendly branches the startled deer find shelter. On

6

82 History of Derbyshire.

the wooded height that fringes the moorland stands
the turreted hunting-tower, built in Queen Bess's
days ; so that the fair sex, and the gallants who
hovered near them, could enjoy the chase without
its fatigues and dangers. A short distance away is
the Swiss Cottage, half hidden in the trees that skirt
the lake ; and on the opposite side of the park, be-
yond the grand old bridge, designed by Michael
Angelo, is Edensor, the Duke's model village, an
ideal village of beauty, peace, and contentment, such
as the author of ' Modern Painters,' Ruskin, would
possibly like for his Arcadian Guild.

In the churchyard, beneath a simple tombstone,
lie the remains of ' the Good Duke/ who was
always found ' on the side of humanity, justice, and
popular rights.' On the accession of the Emperor
Nicholas to the throne of Russia, he was the British
ambassador entrusted with the message of congratu-
lation to that Court ; and his horses, equipages, and
the magnificence of his retinue dazzled the people of
Derbyshire as well as the subjects of the Czar. At
St. Petersburg his Grace gave a ball to the Imperial
family, and it was characterized by the greatest
splendour. And throughout his delicate mission
the Duke comported himself with such dignity that
the 'Devonshire manner' became a current phrase
among the Russian nobility.

By his side, in an equally lowly grave, Lord
Frederick Cavendish is buried ; his loyal life cut
short by the assassin's knife. A dread scene was
that in Phcenix Park, on May 6th, 1882 — a tragedy

Edensor and its Historic Graves. 81

o

that robbed the Duke of Devonshire of one of his
sons, and sent a thrill of mingled indignation and
sympathy through the land ; no nobler man has
been 'sacrified to Erin.'

In Edensor church, built a few years back on
the site of the old edifice, is a curious monument
in alabaster. It is to the memories of Henry
Cavendish, who distinguished himself among the
English Volunteer commanders in the campaign in
the Netherlands in 1578, and William, the first Earl
of Devonshire, and the husband of ' Bess of Hard-
wick.' The armour of the one and the state-robes
of the other are sculptured in niches, and on the
altar-tomb in front their effigies are calculated to
remind the most thoughtless that life is fleeting, for
Henry is represented as a skeleton, and William as
wrapt in a winding-sheet. The most historic relic
in the church, however, is the monumental brass to
John Beton, grandson of Cardinal Beton, and taster
and comptroller of the household to Mary Queen
of Scots. ' He, with others, bravely liberated the
Queen from the chains of a cruel tyrant at Loch
Leven ;' and during the captivity of his royal
mistress at Chatsworth he was still devoted to her
interests, and died there in her service in 1570. A
steadfast servant was John Beton ; a reproach to
many modern servants, who scoff at fidelity, and
prey like vultures on those they have promised to
serve.

6—2

CHAPTER VII.

Haddon— A Feudal Mansion — 'The King of the Peak: —
Rough Justice — A Quaint Place of Worship — A Roman Altar
— The Banqueting-Hall — The Dining-Room and its Carvings
—The Long Gallery— A Night Flight.

' As the crow flies,' Chatsworth is not far from
Haddon Hall ; but the two mansions are a very
great distance apart in their characteristics. The
one is a modern treasure-house of art and refinement;
the other a sturdy relic of a ruder age, when the
baron was absolute master on his own domain, and
the vassal was the slave of his will. Both places
are intensely interesting, but in widely different
ways ; and the grey-stone turreted hall, rising, ivy-
clad, among the trees on the eastern bank of the
Wye, appeals particularly to the antiquary and to
those who delight in romance and tradition. Its
history ' has from the first,' as is well remarked
by Mr. Jewitt, ' been one of peace and hospitality,
not of war, feud, and oppression ;' and its early lords,
though their manners were rough and their culture
slight, had kindly, generous hearts beating beneath
their leather jerkins, and frequently gained the
respect of their retainers.

H addon. 85

At the ' time of taking the Domesday Survey,
when Bakewell belonged to, and was held by, the
King, Haddon was a berewite of the Manor, and
their one carucate of land was claimed by Henry de
Ferrars. To whom Haddon belonged in the Saxon
period is not clear, the first known owner being this
Henry de Ferrars, who in 10S6 held, by grant of
the Conqueror, no less than 114 manors in Derby-
shire alone, built Dumeld Castle, and founded the
Church of the Holy Trinity, near the Castle of Tut-
bury.' It was afterwards held by tenure of knight's
service by William Avenell, who, while lord of
Haddon, gave a portion of his land to the monks of
Roche Abbey, the gift being prompted, maybe, in a
spirit of propitiation to Him who is Lord of all. It
is, indeed, a very conspicuous fact that these medieval
knights, brave as Hector in battle, were filled with
vague terrors about their ultimate destination, and
not unwilling to lighten their pockets for the sake of
their souls.

It was by marriage with pretty Avice, one of
William de Avenell's daughters, that Richard de
Vernon became possessor of Haddon Hall ; and his
family, one of great antiquity, held the property for
three centuries, until, by another and far more
romantic marriage, it passed to the family of
Manners.

Beneath the old gateway, and just behind the
thick nail-studded door that gives ingress to the
lower courtyard, is the huge rim of a brewing-pan —
a memento of the time when Sir George Vernon

86 History of Derbyshire.

reigned there, and the mansion was filled with an
almost perpetual odour of feasting. Succeeding to
the estates in 1515, this hospitable knight, who
understood the secret of getting to a man's heart by-
way of his stomach, was neither niggardly with his
banquets nor turned the hungry away. As was said
of Welbeck Abbey at a later period, ' Then, indeed,
the porter had his work with carriages at the gate,
and the trenchers in the servants' hall knew no
peace.'

In such a liberal style did Sir George Vernon live,
and so great was his sway, that he obtained from
the people among whom he dwelt the title of ' The
King of the Peak,' and occasionally he acted as if
he were a despotic monarch. ' It is related that a
pedlar who had been hawking his wares in the neigh-
bourhood was found murdered in a lonely spot. He
had been observed the evening before to enter a
cottage, and was never seen alive again. As soon as
Sir George heard of the crime, he had the body of
the pedlar removed to Haddon, laid in the hall, and
covered with a sheet. He then sent for the cottager,
and questioned him as to the whereabouts of the
pedlar who entered his house on the previous night.
The man denied all knowledge of the stranger, when
Sir George uncovered the body, and commanded all
present to touch it in succession, and solemnly de-
clare their innocence of the murder. The suspected
man, when his turn came, declined to touch the
body, and rushed out of the hall, running swiftly
through Bakewell towards Ashford. Sir George

' The King of the Peak! Sy

ordered his retainers to chase the fellow, and to hang
him. The murderer was caught in a field opposite
the Ashford toll-bar, and at once hanged. Sir George
was summoned to London for thus indulging in lynch
law, and when he appeared in Court was called upon
to surrender as " The King of the Peak." But he
declined to answer to that name, and was then called
on as Sir George Vernon, when he stepped forward
and said, " Here am I." As he had been summoned
in the name of "The King of the Peak," the indict-
ment fell through, and Sir George was merely
admonished, and allowed to depart to his own
domain.'

The chaplain's room, a little to the right of the
gateway, contains several reminders of the past — a
pair of jack-boots, a leather doublet, a warder's
horn, and some fire-dogs ; and in the south-west
corner of the building, at the further end of the
quiet, moss-grown courtyard, is the chapel, with its
Norman nave and pillars, and font of the same
period. A worm-eaten staircase leads to the quaint
gallery or rood-loft, and in the chancel are two
curious, high-railed family pews, that look uncom-
fortable enough now, however cosy they may have
been in the olden times, when fair ladies and brave
knights worshipped there. Some portions of the
chapel date as far back as 1160, and everything
about this retired place of worship is very ancient.
On the east window is an inscription to Sir Richard
Vernon, who was ' Treasurer of Calais, Captain of
Rouen, and Speaker of the Parliament of Leicester

88 History of Derbyshire.

in 1426/ and the walls are relieved by old-fashioned
paintings, the centre figure of one being the infant
Jesus.

On a bench in the porch across the courtyard is a
worn Roman altar, bearing the inscription, ' deo

MARTI BRACIACE OS[lT]TIVS CAECILIANVS PRAEF

coh I aqvitano V s ;' which has been rendered, ' To
the God Mars, Braciaca, Osittius, Caecilianus, Pre-
fect of the first Cohort of the Aquitani, in perform-
ance of a vow.' This altar, which is an object of
great interest to archaeologists, was dug up near
Bakewell many years ago, and its mutilated inscrip-
tion has puzzled the brains of numerous Solons,
who have, after all, found more satisfaction in
deciphering it than Pickwick and his friends when
they made their famous archaeological discovery.

On the left of the porch, at the end of a gloomy
passage, ingress is obtained to the big baronial
kitchen, with its huge fireless grate, and large
chopping-block, and gigantic salt-box; and on the
right is the famous banqueting-hall, the scene of
much bygone conviviality. Its stone floor is uneven,
its fire-bars are broken, the pictures of the servitors
on the walls are mildewed, and going to decay ; but
this hall, which has so often echoed with loyal shouts,
and hearty laughter, and minstrel lays, still contains
two evidences of its former uses. One of these is
the rusty handlock on the screen — an ingenious con-
trivance by which those who refused good liquor
were punished. How? is the inquiry that naturally
springs to the reader's lips. Every guest who

The Banqueting- Hall, So.

declined the wine-cup had his wrists slipped into
V the handlock, and the nectar he hesitated to send
Vown his throat was poured into his sleeve. A bar-
barous practice, a clumsy jest, you will say ; but it
was seldom resorted to, for there were few Good
Templars in that age, and precious little wine went
down anybody's sleeve. The other evidence of
this hilarious epoch, when men often reversed the
adage, ' Live not to eat, but eat to live,' is the old
oak banqueting-table, on the dais at the upper
end of the hall. It is no longer a festive board,
and may never be ornamented with the boar's
head and the baron of beef again. It has out-
lived all its friends, and stands in desolate pride
alone. Mr. Jewitt says, ' This table is one of the
finest examples of its kind yet remaining anywhere
in existence. It is now worm-eaten and decayed,
like those who once feasted around it ; but still it
stands a proud monument of those ancient times so
long gone by.'

The dining-room, near the banqueting-hall, is a
quaintly eloquent apartment elaborately wainscoted.
Over the fireplace appears the motto : ' Drede God
and honor the Kyng;' and the panels around the
room are adorned with heraldic devices. The re-
cess, which has a delightful outlook through an oriel
window upon the moss-grown terrace and pretty
lawn, is relieved with grotesque carvings of Will
Somers the jester, Henry VII., and his Queen,
Elizabeth of York, none of whom (presuming these
heads are likenesses) were distinguished for personal

90 History of Derbyshire.

beauty. The wood-carver, indeed, was no respecter
of persons, for he has made his Majesty's face as
whimsical as the Court fool's. Considering so
much trouble has been taken to adorn the wainscot,
it is surprising that so little attention was paid to
the doors, which are ill-fitting and of the rudest
workmanship, worse almost than the jerry-building
which is the curse of some modern habitations.
In the ArchcEologia a reason is given for this careless
carpentry. ' The doors,' it says, ' were concealed
everywhere behind the hangings, so that the
tapestry was to be lifted up to pass in and out ;
only for convenience there were great iron hooks
(many of which are still in their places), by means
whereof it might be held back. The doors being
thus concealed, nothing can be conceived more ill-
fashioned than their workmanship ; few of these
fit at all close ; and wooden bolts, rude bars, and
iron hasps are in general their only fastenings.'

The drawing-room and the Earl's bedroom are
both noted for the beauty of their tapestry ; but the
ball-room, or long gallery, is far more celebrated
than these apartments, not merely for its noble
dimensions, but for its romantic associations. The
semicircular steps of oak leading to it were, it is
said, cut from one tree felled in Haddon Park ; and
this king of the woodland, if tradition may be relied
upon, also yielded timber enough for the floor of the
ball-room. This magnificent apartment is 109 feet
long, and 18 feet wide. What a noble gallery it
is, rich with wainscot carvings of the boar's head,

A Night Flight. 91

the crest of the Vernons, and the peacock, the crest
of the Manners ! What soft nothings have been
whispered near the recessed windows ! What love-
making has gone on here under the eyes of the
Queen of the Scythians, who is toying with the head
of Cyrus, in a picture on the wall ! What a flutter
of excitement reigned in this room among the
high-bred dames and courteous cavaliers on the
memorable night when Dorothy Vernon stole away
from the ball given in honour of her sister's marriage.
Nearly everybody knows the story — Edward Stanley's
futile wooing of Dorothy ; her secret attachment to
John Manners ; the beautiful girl kept almost a
prisoner by an angry stepmother ; the night of fes-
tivity ; the rustle of a lady's dress in the lord's par-
lour ; the drawing back of bolt and bar ; the meeting
of the lovers on the terrace, and then the wild ride
— the scamper across the country-side to the altar :

' It is night with never a star,

And the hall with revelry throbs and gleams ;
There grates a hinge — a door is ajar —
And a shaft of light in the darkness streams.

'A pale sweet face, a glimmering gem
And then two figures steal into light ;
A flash and darkness has swallowed them,
So sudden is Dorothy Vernon's flight.'

Haddon has many other apartments of interest
to the student of history and the antiquarian. The
state bedchamber with its historic bedstead and
faded tapestry, and the roughly appointed archer's
room, in which is the wooden frame formerly used

92

History of Derbyshire.

for stringing bows, are among these ; but visitors
linger longest in the lord's parlour, through which
Dorothy Vernon stealthily glided, with fluttering
heart, in her flight from home. The old door she
unbarred, the threshold she crossed, are there still ;
and the terrace, on which she joined her lover, is
almost the same as on the night she left it — except
that it has a more softened beauty, a beauty of rare
old yew trees, deep-green turf, moss-grown steps,
and ivy-twined balustrade such as defies the artist's
pencil and the poet's rhapsody.

CHAPTER VIII.

BAKEWELL— A Quiet Country Town — Its History — A Noted
Church — Some Famous Tombs and Curious Epitaphs — The
Stone Cross — A Strange Petition — An Extraordinary Mar-
riage— Living without Food — A Pathetic Ballad — An Heroic
Exploit.

Bakewell, ' the metropolis of the Peak,' is not a
bit like a metropolis. It has no gigantic workshops,
filled with pale-faced, half-stifled artisans ; it has
little of the business anxiety, the perpetual unrest,
the great wealth, and the repulsive squalor that
distinguish a capital. It has a quaint market-place,
an historic church, some good public buildings, a
prosperous-looking bank, and many comfortable inns.
It is a clean town, consisting chiefly of two long
streets, bordered by old-fashioned buildings ; a town
through which healthy moorland breezes sweep, and
on the borders of which the Wye gently flows,
making incessant music against the buttresses of
the old bridge as it passes by. Except on market-
day, or during some election campaign, Bakewell
is a quiet place. Like the Haddon meadows through
which it is reached, the town's aspect is peaceful; its

94 History of Derbyshire.

talk is principally of agriculture and angling; its
thoroughfares are chiefly busy when tourists come
in shoals to besiege the church, to wander through
Haddon, or to explore the sweet dale of Lathkil.

Although only about an hour's railway ride from
Derby, Bakewell has not become greatly imbued with
the county town's go-ahead spirit ; and has made
comparatively little progress through its long quiet
life, extending very slowly, and increasing in popu-
lation only at a snail's pace. After an existence that
dates back to the time of the Romans, it is com-
paratively a small place yet, containing about 2,500
inhabitants. But, like Ashbourne, Bakewell seems
perfectly satisfied with itself, and perhaps would not,
if it could, emerge out of its ancient chrysalis into a
city of stucco, and tramcars, and late hours.

Bakewell has long been celebrated for the purity
and medicinal quality of its waters ; and its Baths
and Bath Gardens, opposite the stately Rutland
Arms, are a modern development of the more
ancient baths, which were known to the legions of
Rome, and probably relieved some of the warlike
centurions from attacks of rheumatism.

For a thousand years or so there has been little to
disturb the even tenor of Bakewell's way. In 924,
Edward the Elder, after fortifying Nottingham,
marched into Peakland, to the old town which de-
rived its name from the Badecanwyllan, or bathing-
well, and 'commanded a castle to be placed nigh there
into, and garrisoned.' In 1280, John Peckham, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, finding that the deacon

A Noted Church. 95

and subdeacon of the Church of Bakewell were so
ill-provided for that they were obliged to beg their
bread, ordained that they should eat at the vicar's
table. And, according to an old record preserved at
Derby, the witches of Bakewell were hanged in 1608.
These are the three most prominent events in the
town's history ; but the fine cruciform church, still
bearing the impress of Norman and Early English
builders, contains many memorials linked with
BakewelFs past, of illustrious persons whose names
are imperishable in the Peak.

One of the most ancient monuments is an altar-
tomb, bearing the recumbent effigy in alabaster of
Sir Thomas de Wendesley, who was slain at the
Battle of Shrewsbury in 1403 ; and in the nave is
an elaborate but delicately chiselled monument to
Sir Godfrey Foljambe and Avena his wife, who
founded the chantry of the Holy Cross in 1366. The
Sir Thomas de Wendesley just spoken of was an
exceedingly despotic knight, judging from the follow-
ing strange petition in the Parliamentary Rolls :
' To the most wise Lords of the Council of our Lord
the King, most humbly prays a poor and plain
esquire, Godfrey Rowland, of the County of Derby,
and complains of Sir Thos. Wendesley, knight, and
John Deen, vicar of the Church of Hope, for that
the said Thos. and John, with John Shawe, Richard
Hunt, Reginald Wombewell, John de Sutton, Thos.
Swynscowe, and John Swynscowe, his son, with
many others of their bad associates, armed in a war-
like manner, on the Monday next before the Feast

96 History of Derbyshire.

of the Translation of St. John of Beverley, in the
23rd year of the reign of King Richard, formerly
King of England, came feloniously to the house of
the said petitioner, at Mikel Longesdon, and the said
house with force and arms broke into, and despoiled,
and all his goods and chattels there found, as well
living as dead, to the value of two hundred marks,
took and carried away ; and the said petitioner out
of his said house, took and brought with them to
the Castle of High Peak, and there imprisoned him
for six whole days without giving him any meat or
drink ; and after six days they brought him out of
the said Castle, and cut off his right hand wrongfully
and against the peace, and to the perpetual injury
and loss of the said petitioner ; therefore be pleased
in your most wise discretion to consider the shame-
ful trespass and the bad example of those, the
poverty and loss of the said petitioner, and to order
said petitioner proper and hasty remedy according
to your wise discretion, for God, and as a work of
charity.'

The Vernon Chapel, however, possesses generally
the greatest interest to all strangers, especially if
familiar with the story of Dorothy Vernon's run-
away marriage. In this chapel, which is divided
from the south transept by a rare open screen of
oak, lie the remains of Sir George Vernon, the
' King of the Peak ;' and not far from the sturdy
knight's altar-tomb is the monument to Sir John
Manners and Dorothy his wife. Their romance is
over. There is no reckless resolve in Sir John's

Famous Tombs and Curious Epitaphs. 97

heart ; no flutter of hope or fear in Dorothy's breast.

Some three hundred years have elapsed since they

were both buried ; but posterity does not intend to

let the story of their attachment die. People —

particularly sentimental people — come long distances

to look at the two kneeling figures, and read the

inscription :

1 Here lyeth Sr John Manners, of Hadclon, Knight, second
sonne of Thoas. Erie of Rutland, who dyed the 4 of June, 161 1,
and Dorothie, his wife, one of the daughters and heires to Sr
George Vernon, of Haddon, Knight, who deceased the 24 day
of June, in the 26 yere of the raigne of Queen Elizabeth, 1584.'

On the monument are various shields of arms
of the quarterings of the families of Manners and
Vernon, and the lower part is occupied by the
effigies of four children of Sir John Manners and
Dorothy Vernon, his wife.

There are other tombs 'sacred to the memory'
of the Vernons and the Manners ; and about the
edifice itself and in the churchyard are many curious
inscriptions recording the demise and characteristics
of humbler but perhaps not less known individuals.
One of these, in remembrance of John Dale, barber-
surgeon, of Bakewell, and his two wives, Elizabeth
Foljambe and Sarah Bloodworth, 1737, thus curiously
ends :

' Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, in the year of grace
1737, the rambling remains of the above said John Dale were,
in the 86th yeare of his pilgrimage, laid upon his two wives.

1 This thing in life might raise some jealousy,
Here all three lie together lovingly,
But from embraces here no pleasure flows,
Alike are here all human joys and woes ;

7

98 History of Derbyshire.

Here Sarah's chiding John no longer hears,
And old John's rambling Sarah no more fears ;
A period's come to all their toilsome lives,
The good man's quiet ; still are both his wives.'

Another epitaph, ' blending in a remarkable
manner business, loyalty, and religion,' is as
follows :

' To the memory of Matthew Strutt, of this town, farmer,
long famed in these parts for veterinary skill. A good neigh-
bour and a staunch friend to Church and King. Being church-
warden at the time the present peal of bells were hung, through
zeal of the House of God, and unremitting attention to the
airy business of the belfry, he caught a cold, which terminated
his existence, May 25, 1798, in the 68 year of his age.'

Not only the churchwarden but even the parish
clerk of Bakewell seems to have been a man of
superior ability, for the tablet ' erected to the
memory of Philip Roe,' who died in 1815, bears
these lines, which remind one, by-the-bye, that the
'Amen ' of the parish clerk is fast dying out at all
our country churches :

'Erected to the Memory of Philip Roe, who died
12TH September, 1815, aged 52 Years.

' The vocal Powers, here let us mark,
Of Philip, our late Parish Clerk
In church, none ever heard a Layman
With a clearer Voice say Amen !
Oh ! none with Hallelujah's Sound,
Like Him can make the Roofs resound.
The Choir lament his Choral Tones,
The Town — so soon here lie his Bones.
Sleep undisturbed, within thy peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with such tones as thine.'

A Singular Wedding. 99

Near the south transept of the church is one of
the greatest curiosities Bakewell possesses — a so-
called 'Runic cross,' that has been, and is still, a
source of great interest to antiquaries. Although
greatly defaced, it has yet much beauty, and bears
on its front and back groups illustrative of Christ's
life, foliage in graceful scrolls, and figures of men
and various animals. It is a remarkably fine ex-
ample of Anglo-Saxon sculpture.

In the last, as in the present century, disparity of
age was no bar to matrimony, and there were some
singular weddings, especially in the out-of-the-way
villages of Derbyshire. At Sheldon, near Bakewell, in
January, 1753, a widow aged eighty was married to a
boy of fourteen. The bride, owing to her infirmities,
had to be chaired to the altar; but on her return
she was preceded by a band of music and the Duke
of Rutland's hornpipe-player. Unable to dance, she
beat time to the music with her hands, and on get-
ting home shuffled about by the aid of her crutches,
commanding her husband meanwhile to join in the
festivities. The populace were ' soundly drenched
with showers of excellent liquor,' and there was
much rejoicing at this strange union, which did not
last long, however, for in the same month the old
lady died, and was buried in Bakewell churchyard,
the funeral sermon being preached by the clergyman
' who had lately performed the nuptial ceremony.'

The famous fasting girl, Martha Taylor, was born
and lived at Over Haddon, near Bakewell. She
began to do without food when she was eighteen,

7—2

ioo History of Derbyshire.

and did not eat anything for fifty-two weeks. The
very approach of meat or drink was a great trouble
to her ; and once, when out of curiosity or a desire
to eat if possible, she did swallow part of a fig, it
so upset her digestive organs that she narrowly
escaped with her life. An old pamphlet, printed in
1668, during her fast, styles the girl 'a wonder of all
wonders,' and says that ' this maid is still alive, and
hath a watch set over her by the Earl of Devon-
shire.' Her death, according to an entry in the
parish register, took place in 1684, but whether she
went on fasting to the end is not revealed.

Bakewell is linked with a most pathetic Derby-
shire ballad, ' The Parson's Torr,' descriptive' of the
fate of the Rev. Robert Lomas, a former rector of
Monyash, a little village a few miles off. The in-
cumbent, during a perilous night-ride in 1776, fell
over a lofty cliff, and was found dead at the foot of
the rock. The ballad, written by the Rev. W. R.
Bell for Mr. Jewitt's ' Reliquary,' and afterwards
introduced into his ' Ballads and Songs of Derby-
shire,' is vivid in description, and runs as follows :

' The parson of Monyash, late one eve,

Sat in his old oak armchair ;
And a playful flame in the low turf fire
Ofttimes shewed him sitting there.

' What was it that made the kind-hearted man
Sit pensively there alone ?
Did other men's sorrows make sad his heart,
Or say — a glimpse of his own ?

' Black dark was that night and stormy withal,
It rained as 'twould rain a sea ;

A Pathetic Ballad. 101

And round and within the old parsonage-house
The wind moaned piteously.

1 Still sat he deep musing till midnight hour,
And then in a waking dream —
He quailed to hear 'mid the tempest a crash,
And eke a wild piercing scream.

' " Oh, mercy !" cried he, with faltering breath,
" What sounds are these which I hear ?
May evil be far from both me and mine !
Good Lord, be Thou to us near !"

' No longer sat he in the old armchair,
But prayed and lay down in bed ;
And strove hard to sleep and not hear the storm
That scowled and raged o'er his head.

'S*

1 But sleep seldom comes when 'tis most desired —

And least to a troubled mind ;
And the parson lay wake long time I ween
Ere soft repose he could find.

' As the dark hours of night passed slowly on,
He slept as weary man will ;
But light was his sleep and broken his rest,
And sad his foredread of ill.

' Thus restless he lay, and at early dawn
He dream'd that he fell amain,
Down, down an abyss of fathomless depth,
Loud shrieking for help in vain.

1 He woke up at once with a sudden shock,
And threw out his arms widespread ;
" Good heavens I" he gasped ; " what ill omen is this ?
Where am I ? — with quick or dead !"

' Right well was he pleased to find 'twas a dream —
That still he was safe and sound ;
With the last shades of night fear passed away,
And joy once more again came round.

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CA T.TFORNL
SANTA BARBARA

io2 History of Derbyshire.

' The morning was calm, and the storm was hushed,

Nor wind nor rain swept the sky ;
And betimes he arose, for bound was he
To Bakewell that day to hie.

' Old Hugh brought his horse to the garden gate,
And saw him all safe astride ;
" Good-bye," quoth the parson ; quoth Hugh " Good-bye !
I wish you a pleasant ride !"

' Forth rode he across the lone trackless moor,

His thoughts on his errand bent,
And hoped he right soon to come back again
The very same way he went.

' The journey to Bakewell he safely made
A little before midday ;
But vicar and people were all at church,
Where they were oft wont to pray.

1 " I'll put up my beast," quoth the parson, "here
At the White Horse hostelry f'
And go up to church, that when prayers are done
The vicar I there may see."

'But ere he could reach the old Newark doorf
Both priest and people were gone ;
And the vicar to soothe a dying man
To Over Haddon sped on.

' 'Twas three past noon when the vicar came back,

The parson he asked to dine ;
And time stole a march on the heedless guest —
Six struck as he sat at his wine.

' Up rose he from table, and took his leave,
Quite startled to find it late ;
He called for his horse at the hostelry,
And homeward was soon agate.

8 Now the Rutland Arms,
t The south transept door.

A Pathetic Ballad. 103

' As he rode up the hill, past All Saint's Church,

The moon just one glance bestowed,
And the weird-like form of the old stone cross
In the churchyard dimly showed.

' Still higher and higher he climbed the hill,

Yet more and more dark it grew ;
The drizzling rain became sleet as he climbed,
And the wind more keenly blew.

' Ah ! thick was the mist on the moor that night —

Poor wight ! he had lost his way !
The north-east wind blowing strong on his right,
To the left had made him stray.

' And now he was close to lone Haddon Grove,
Bewildered upon the moor ;
Slow leading his horse that followed behind,
Himself groping on before.

1 Still onward and leeward, at last he came
To the edge of Harlow Dale ;
From his cave* Latkil a warning roared,
But louder then howled the gale.

' On the brink of Fox Torr the doomed man stood,
And tugged the bridle in vain ;>
But his horse would not move ; then quick started back,
And snap went each bridle rein !

1 Then headlong fell he o'er the lofty cliff :
He shrieked and sank in the gloom ;
Down, down to the bottom he swiftly sped,
And death was his dreadful doom.

' The dead man lay cold on the blood-stained rocks —
The darkness did him enshroud ;
And the owls high up in the ivy-clad Torr
Bewailed him all night full loud.

* The Latkil is a noted trout stream, and flows out of a
cavern opposite the Torr.

io4 History of Derbyshire.

' Oh, little they thought in the old thatched cot

Hard by the parsonage gate,
Their master they never again should see,
Nor ope to him soon or late.

' " This night is no better than last," quoth Hugh,
" And master has not come back ;
I hope he is hale, and safe housed with friends,
And has of good cheer no lack."

' Quoth Betty, " I liked not his morning ride ;

I fear he's in evil plight ;
A Friday's venture's no luck, I've heard say —
God help him if out this night !"

' At dawn of next day old Betty went forth

To milk the cow in the shed,
And saw him sitting upon a large stone,
All pale and mute, with bare head !

1 But a moment she turned her eyes away,
A fall she heard and a groan ;
She looked again, but no parson was there —
He'd vanished from off the stone !

' Soon spread the dread tale through Monyash town-
They made a great hue and cry ;
And some off to this place and some to that
To seek the lost man did hie.

' Bad tidings from Bakewell— no parson there —

No parson could else be found ;
'Twas noon, yet no tidings — they still searched on,
And missed they no likely ground.

' At last the searchers went into the dale :
And there at the foot of Fox Torr
They found the parson, all cold and dead,
'Mong the rocks all stained with gore.

' They took up his corse, and six stalwart men
Slowly bore it along the dale ;
And they laid the dead in his house that night,
And many did him bewail.

A Pathetic Ballad. 105

' When time had passed over — a day or twain,
They buried him in the grave ;
And his bones now rest in the lone churchyard
Till doomsday them thence shall crave.

1 Oh, dread was the death of the luckless man,
Not soon will it be forgot ;
The dismal story, for ages to come,
Will often be told, I wot.

' You may not now see in Monyash town
The dead man's sear tuft of grass ;
But still it is there in memory stored,
And thence it never shall pass.

' You may not now find Fox Torr by that name —
The swain thus knows it no more ;
But pointing thereat from Latkil grot,
He'll show you the Parson's Torr.'

Very different in sentiment from ' The Parson's
Torr' is the humorous ballad 'The Tailor's Ramble,'
the hero of which, a man named Eyre, thoroughly
revealed by his valiant feat in 1797 the falsity of the
adage that a tailor is only the ninth part of a man.
This also we quote, as follows, from Mr. Jewitt's
' Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire ':

' Come all you gallant heroes, of courage stout and bold,
And I'll tell you of a Taylor that would not be control'd ;
It happened in Derbyshire, as you may understand,
Five troops of the cavelry to take this noble man.

' So now I do begin to tell you of the fun :
Full twenty miles that morning this Taylor he had run ;
And when he came to Ashford, the people they did cry,
" Make haste, my jovel lad, for your enimies are nigh !"

106 History of Derbyshire.

' This Taylor was a mighty man — a man of wonderous size,
And when he came to Entcliff* Hill you would have thought

he would have reached the skies ;
And when he did climb those rocks that was so wondrous high,
The cavelry came all round, and the Taylor they did spy.

' They loaded their Pistols with Powder and Ball,
All for to take this Taylor that was both stout and tall ;
He was near four feet high, and a mighty man indeed —
You'd a laugh'd to have seen the cavelry ride after him full
speed.

' In lighting from their horses, their valour for to show,
Five of them upon the ground this Taylor he did throw ;
They being sore affrighted, saying, " We would shoot him if

we durst !"
But their Carbines would not fire, for their Balls they had put
in first.

' Their captain, as commander, he ordered ranks to form,
All for to take this Taylor the Entcliff rocks to storm :
" Prime and load !" then was the word their captain he did

cry;
" Cheer up, my jovel lads ; let us conquerors be or die !"

£ These valiants being reinforced, they took the Tailor bold,
And guarded him to Bakewell, the truth I will unfold ;
At the White Horse Inn in Bakewell, as you may understand,
It took full fifty of their troops to guard this noble man.

' The battle being over, the Taylor they have won,
And this is the first prank our cavelry has done ;
I tell you the truth, they cannot refuse,
They are ten times worse than the runaway blues.

' Here's a health unto the Taylor, of courage stout and bold,
And by our noble cavelry he scorns to be control'd ;
If he'd but had his goose, his bodkin, and his shears,
He would soon have cleared Bakewell of those Derby volun-
teers.'

* Entcliff is about a mile from Bakewell on the way to
Ashford.

■ .miiMiininuiiiiiliHiijmliliiiniimiMllrlimiiMiiFumiinimiiMiminiiiMim

i in jiuiih jiii iniiiirjiiijiinii. Jf

CHAPTER IX.

Some Peak Villages. — Ashford and its Customs — Little
Longstone — Hassop — A Brave Royalist — Baslow — The Dog
Whipper — Scenery and Health — A Pretty Valley — Stony
Middleton — Chief Justice Denman — Rocky Grandeur — A
Love-Sick Maiden's Leap.

Some half-dozen Peak villages, old-world places,
with old-fashioned inhabitants, and simple customs
lingering on from generation to generation, cluster
around Bakewell. Ashford-in-the-Water, with its
clever workers in marble, lies a little to the north-
west in a pretty fertile valley. It was a royal manor,
and granted in the first year of his reign by King
John to Wenunwen, Lord of Powisland. By Edward
III. it was granted to Edmund Plantagenet, Earl of
Kent, and passed, by marriage of his daughter Joan,
into the Holland family, from whom, on the death
of Edmund Holland, Earl of Kent, in 1408, it passed
to his sister, the wife of Lord Nevile. From Henry
Nevile, Earl of Westmorland, about 1550, it was
bought by Sir William Cavendish, and still forms
part of the possessions of the Duke of Devonshire.
A castellated residence, inhabited successively by
the Plantagenets, Hollands, and Neviles, once stood

10S History of Derbyshire.

in the village, but has, time out of mind, been
demolished.

In the church, which has superseded a more
ancient one, is part of the old porch, ' on which is
sculptured a wild boar and another animal, some-
thing resembling a wolf in a couchant position under
a tree, which is thought to be allegorical of the
ancient Peak forest, it being infested with those
animals at the time the church was erected.' A
tablet in the same edifice records the death, in 1786,
of Henry Watson, of Bakewell, who ' established the
marble-works near this place, and was the first who
formed into ornaments the fluors and other fossils
of this county.'

Ashford long kept alive the custom of carrying
funeral garlands in front of the coffins of girls
who died unmarried, and some of these memorials
still hang in the church, where loving hands so
long ago placed them. The custom of ' sugar-
cupping ' was also observed here on Easter Sunday,
when both young and old 'had the habit of
taking sugar and water in bottles, and sitting
on the banks around the village, drinking this
mixture.'

William Harris, the founder of the Free Grammar
School, was particularly anxious not only about the
education of the children, but the eternal welfare of
their parents, for by his will, dated 6th September,
1630, he ' left the annual sum of twenty marks, to
be issuing yearly for ever, out of the new grounds
lying in the parish of Alfreton, in trust, that twenty

Little Longstone. — Hassop. 109

nobles, parcel of the said twenty marks, should be
paid yearly for ever towards the maintenance of a
free school, to be kept in Ashford, where the testator
was born, for the instruction of poor children ; and
the said testator gave £50 towards building a school-
house and appointed that the other twenty

nobles, the residue of the said sum, should be paid
yearly for twenty sermons to be made yearly in the
Chapel of Ashford or in the Chapel of Sheldon ... in
the parish of Bakewell, which the said trustees should
think most expedient, they allowing to the preacher
for every sermon six-and-eightpence !'

Not far from Ashford, are not only Taddington,
Sheldon, Great Longstone, but Little Longstone,
with its numerous subjects for the artist's pencil and
its old stone stoopes, the remnant of the degrading
stocks, in which many a drunkard has sat until he
became sober, jeered at and teased meanwhile by
the rosy-cheeked children of the village.

In the same neighbourhood, again, is Hassop, with
its antiquated grey-stone cottages, surrounded by
evergreens, rose-trees, and flowers. Its noted hall
— which was garrisoned for King Charles, in 1643,
by Colonel Eyre, conspicuous for his bravery at
the siege of Newark — the seat of the Earls of New-
burgh, and to which, and other estates of the Eyres,
many ' claimants ' have arisen, is an unostentatious
residence, and near by is the Roman Catholic
chapel, resorted to from the surrounding Peak
villages.

Baslow, one of the prettiest of Derbyshire villages,

no History of Derbyshire.

lies only an hour's walk from Bakewell, along the
pleasant tree-shaded road to the left of the worn
bridge that crosses the Wye. Long before the
pedestrian reaches the village, he can see it stretch-
ing a little way into the valley, and extending along
the wooded hillside to the north ; and through the
meadows at his feet flow the clear waters of the
Derwent, on whose verdant banks ' proud Chats-
worth towers.' Baslow, once visited, makes an in-
delible impression upon the mind. It is quiet, rural,
picturesque ; and its hoary church, moss-grown
graveyard, primitive shops, and homely cottages,
brightened inside by out-of-date pictures and grand-
motherly ornaments, and outside by laburnums,
lilacs, and roses, make it an ideal English village,
the repose of which has so far been undisturbed by
the modern spirit of spoliation. It is true that lately
a fine hydropathic establishment has been built on
the slope fronting Chatsworth House, an establish-
ment furnished in a somewhat aesthetic style ; but it
is almost too grand for the grey-suited tourist whose
boots are white with the dust of the limestone roads.
So, as a rule, he prefers the old inns — the ivy-clad
Peacock, the well-known Devonshire Arms, and the
Wheat Sheaf, with its homely rooms and secluded,
foliage-bordered bowling-green.

The church, dark and sombre with age, stands just
off the main road through the village. ' In the
vestry,' says Mr. Cox, in his work on the Churches
of Derbyshire, ' there still remains the weapon of
the ancient parish functionary of whom we read in

The Dog Whipper. 1 1 1

so many churchwardens' accounts in almost every
county of England — the dog-whipper. It was his
duty to whip the dogs out of church, and generally
to look after the orderly behaviour of both bipeds
and quadrupeds during divine service. The whip in
question has a stout lash some three feet in length,
fastened to a short ash-stick with leather bound
round the handle. It is said there are persons yet
living in the parish who can remember the whip
being used. We believe it to be a unique curiosity,
as we cannot hear of another parish in which the
whip is still extant.' This church was not at all
singular in its possession of a dog-whipper. In the
Youlgreave register there is an entry showing that in
1609 the sum of sixteenpence was paid to Robert
Walton ' for whipping ye dogges forth of ye church
in time of Divyne service ;' and at Castleton, in 1722,
ten shillings were paid to the ' sluggard-waker,' a
still more startling functionary, whose duty it was to
awake drowsy members of the congregation by tap-
ping them on the head with a long wand.

Baslow is noted not only for the beauty of the
village itself, but for the rugged character of the
hills that shelter it from the east and north winds.
On the fringe of the hamlet, high above the wooded
slopes, great rocks stand grandly out against the sky-
line ; and one of these, ' the Eagle Stone,' was once
a rock idol, the object of much adoration among
the Druids. In a humble sort of way, Baslow is a
health-resort, and in the spring, when the little
gardens are bright with flowers, nearly every cottage

1 1 2 Histoiy of Derbyshire.

puts up its well-worn card, ' Lodgings to Let,'
and every coach brings family groups, parents
and children, joyous with the prospect of a long
holiday.

But Baslow is chiefly used as the northern portal
to Chatsworth, and all the year round it is fre-
quented by Sheffield people who eagerly forsake the
forge, the furnace, and the cutler's shop for a day
in the Peak. In summer they come in thousands,
often tramping the entire distance, toiling up the
steep to Owler Bar, and trudging past long stretches
of moorland, either by the low road, or the more
picturesque Froggatt Edge, with its winding tree-
shadowed highway and glorious prospect, shouldered
in the distance by the dark-looking hills that hob-nob
with Kinder Scout. The view here is magnificent,
so diversified is the scenery, the blending of hill and
dale, of moorland glen and green fields, of tiny
brooklet and broad river, of hardy trees growing, as
it were, out of the stony hearts of scarped rocks,
and of tender-looking plants that seem to thrive,
like Micawber, upon nothing. Of this stretch of
beautiful country, as seen from the road that dips
towards Baslow, we have previously written :

' On the left, Froggatt Edge rises above us bold
and rugged. Out of its rough side jut huge rocks,
giving shelter to thick foliage, ferns, and wild flowers.
One of these rocks is said to resemble Mr. Gladstone's
profile, and another, boat-shaped, is known as
" Noah's Ark." Over the moss-grown wall on the
right of the roadway a finely-wooded declivity merges

A Pretty Valley. 1 1

o

several hundred feet below into the wide-sweeping
valley — one of Nature's brightest jewels set in a
wilderness of rock and heath.

' How restful and pleasing to the eye is the
graceful expanse of fertile meadows, dotted here and
there with grey stone cottages and modest farm-
steads, and how toy-like the little gardens look far
down in this sleepy hollow. The Derwent winds
through the fields ; and the white roads, forsaking
the river at whimsical angles, lead one in fancy to
the shadowed glades of Ashopton, and the old-world
village of Eyam, an out-of-the-way paradise of health
and beauty now — two hundred years ago a plague-
stricken hamlet, in which the clergyman, Mompesson,
taught posterity the real meaning of self-sacrifice.
The rocky fringe of Bamford, the lofty peak of Win-
hill, and the wave-like bend of dale on the opposite
slope, make a lovely background to this splendid
landscape, this charming picture of shifting lights
and shadows, and varied colours tinting ridge and
dell, of wooded hills, and flower-sprinkled pastures,
and gleaming river.'

The Chequers Inn, a homely resort for artists and
anglers, stands within the shadow of the rocks lower
down the road ; and either from this point or from
Baslow, the secluded village of Stony Middleton
is soon reached. The place is appropriately named.
It is very stony ; there is stone everywhere, and
the habitations, like the house of the wise man in
the parable, are built upon a rock. Very picturesque
the cottages look, rising irregularly one above an-

8

ii4 History of Derbyshire.

other on the ridges of the mountain-side ; but the
lead-miner and the labourer, climbing to their eyrie-
like homes, high above the roadway, think more"
about their aching backs and tired legs than the
scenery. The Duke of York, who had a weakness
for marching his men to the top of the hill and
marching them down again, would very soon have
grown weary of the pastime at Stony Middleton.
' The hill in this town is so steep,' wrote Dr. Pegge,
' that it is said when Mr. Ashton was sheriff in 1664,
he had no coach, and the judge asked why he did
not bring one. He replied there was no such thing
as having a coach where he lived, " for ye town stood
on one end." '

On the threshold of the village stands Middleton
Hall, the seat of Lord Denman. The mansion is
not attractive, except for its associations. The
dull-looking habitation formerly belonged to the
Fynney family, and passed by the marriage, in 176 1,
of Elizabeth, one of the coheiresses of Richard
Fynney, gent., with Joseph Denman, M.D., of
Bakewell. Dr. Joseph Denman was brother to
Dr. Thomas Denman, the eminent London physician,
who, marrying Elizabeth, daughter of Alexander
Brodie, became father of Thomas Denman, Solicitor-
General to Queen Caroline during her trial. This
Thomas Denman was made Lord Chief Justice, and
called to the House of Lords as Baron Denman of
Dovedale. He married Theodosia, daughter of the
Rev. R. Veners, and was father of the present Lord
Denman ; of Admiral Denman ; and of the present

Chief Justice Demnan. 115

Judge Denman. The Lord Chief Justice was noted
alike for his legal knowledge, political power, and fine
sense of justice. He dared even to brave the House
of Commons itself in the cause of right, and one of
his judgments contained those memorable words :
1 Most willingly would I decline to enter upon an
inquiry which may lead to my differing from that
great and powerful assembly. But when one of my
fellow-subjects presents himself before me in this
court demanding justice for an injury, it is not at
my option to grant or withhold redress. I am bound
to afford it him if the law declares him entitled to it.
Parliament is said to be supreme. I most fully
acknowledge its supremacy. It follows, then, that
neither branch of it is supreme when acting by
itself.' Nor is this fearless independence an un-
common trait in men brought up among the
Derbyshire hills, though they may lack the talent
that accompanied it in Lord Denman's mind.

At the opposite end of the village (which contains
a hot spring said to have been used by the Romans)
stretches Middleton Dale, conspicuous for its rocky
grandeur. On the right, bordering the road, the
massive limestone crags tower to an impressive
height, and give scanty shelter to the pertinacious
foliage that clings to their rugged breasts. The
rocks are perpendicular, and stand shoulder to
shoulder, like a huge wall that might have been
thrown carelessly together by giants. In places the
crags are scarred and broken, but they are neverthe-
less full of majestic beauty, with their mighty stature,

8—2

1 1 6 History of Derbyshire.

and frowning summits, and shades of black and grey,
relieved by the green and the brown of the foliage.

About one of these rocks Glover tells a romantic
story in his ' Peak Guide,' written half a century
ago : ' A high perpendicular rock, called the Lover's
Leap,' he says, f marks the first grand opening
into the dale. From the summit of this fearful
precipice, about the year 1760, a love-stricken damsel,
of the name of Baddeley, threw herself into the
chasm below ; and, incredible as it may appear, she
sustained but little injury from the desperate at-
tempt ; her face was a little disfigured, and her
body bruised by the brambles and rocky projections
that interrupted her fall ; but she was enabled to
walk to her home with very little assistance. Her
bonnet, cap and handkerchief were left on the sum-
mit of the rock, and some fragments of her torn
garments, that waved in the few bushes through
which she had passed, marked the course of her
descent ; she therefore returned to her dwelling
shorn of part of her habiliments. Her marvellous
escape made a serious impression on her mind, and
gave a new turn to her feelings ; her fit of love sub-
sided, and she ever afterwards lived in a very exem-
plary manner in the vicinity of the place which had
been the scene of her folly, and she died unmarried.'
Lovers seem, judging from the number of rocks
and localities so called, to have had a partiality for
leaping into danger in Derbyshire ; but being doubt-
less possessed of Cupid's wings, they have seldom,
it would appear, done themselves much injury.

CHAPTER X.

Eyam — An Ancient Village — Its Geological Peculiarities — A
Hideous Pestilence — A Singular Story — The Eyam Cross —
Eminent People — Quaint Customs — Eccentric Characters.

'The Queen of the Peak.' 'A little Athens.' By
such poetic phrases has Eyam been called ; and it is
perhaps the fairest of all the villages in the county
which Charlotte Bronte has so appropriately
described as ' a north Midland shire, dusk with
moorland, and ridged with mountain.' An ancient
place, it dates back to the time of Edward the
Confessor, whose figure ' stood out bright in the
darkness when England lay trodden under foot by
Norman conquerors.' The village, which is almost
a little town, with its more than 1,500 in-
habitants, was christened, in the Saxon tongue,
Eaham, a well-watered hamlet, or Eyam, a high
dwelling-place. It is a village of venerable weather-
stained houses, and of one quiet street, winding for a
mile along the hillside ; it is a village of pleasant
pathways, pure springs and brooklets, and romantic
dells ; a village hemmed in by green slopes and
majestic hills that only need climbing to reveal

1 1 8 History of Derbyshire.

delightful pictures of fern-glade, and moss-covered
rock, and lovely woodland, and wide-spreading valley.

Eyam, which is not half an hour's stroll from
Middleton Dale, is geologically eccentric. It
stretches itself, being partial to variety, over
several different strata. On the south side of its
long street, the dwellings are built on limestone ;
across the road the habitations stand on shale and
sandstone. Bordering the village are ranges of
mountain limestone, honeycombed with caverns ; in-
tricate lead-mines, in which many a provincial hero
has braved death for the. sake of his fellows ; great
masses of shale and sandstone, capped with mill-
stone grit ; and on the moors round about are rocks
and stones that tell not merely of freaks in the earth's
formation, but of primeval worship and early super-
stitious rites.

The ' mountain village,' so attractive in its
picturesqueness and geological peculiarities, is also
historically famous. In 1665 and 1666 it was the
scene of a fierce battle — not of lords, knights, and
yeomen, striving with rash courage to take each
other's lives ; but of a nobler battle, in which the
villagers, led by undaunted men, fought a foe more
insidious and merciless than human enemies — the
plague. The wakes, with their feasting, and
dancing, and rural merriment, had just ceased. On
a September day, in 1665, a box of tailor's patterns,
in cloth, and, it is said, some old clothes, arrived
at an Eyam cottage. The patterns and garments
were, so tradition avers, a gift from the metropolis ;

A Hideous Pestilence. 1 1 9

but in their folds lurked a hideous pestilence. A
journeyman tailor named Vicars, by whom the box
had been opened, noticed that the garments were
damp, and held some of them before the fire ;
he was immediately seized with violent sickness,
other symptoms rapidly showed themselves, and he
shortly afterwards became delirious, and died.

The plague spread ; nervous people stayed at
home ; mothers trembled for the safety of their
little ones ; old friends looked askance at each
other in the street, fearing contagion. One by one
the villagers were infected. Parents were rendered
childless and children made orphans by the loath-
some pest. Nor was the Angel of Death satisfied
with a hasty visit to the village. He folded his
wings, and stalked grimly into nearly every house.
Like Shylock, ravenous for his pound of flesh, the
plague showed no mercy. It claimed its victims in the
bright autumn days, through the long wintry nights,
in the fresh spring-time, and the succeeding sultry
summer ! Destitution and despair reigned in many
a home ; and the village would have been deserted
altogether had it not been for the moral courage of
the Rev. William Mompesson, the rector, and
another divine, the Rev. Thomas Stanley. By their
eloquence, self-sacrifice, and heroic example, they
deterred the inhabitants from flight, and prevented
the pestilence from spreading to other parts of the
Peak.

But what heart-breaking sights they saw — what
tears, what silent grief, what hysterical woe !

120 History of Derbyshire.

Ultimately, the listlessness of despair filled the
hearts of the people. The labourer seldom went
into the field, the lead-getter stayed away from
the mine, and the shoemaker put aside his leather-
apron, hammer, and last. Such food as could be
obtained was placed on the boundary, outside the
village, by kind-hearted folks from the hamlets near :
and money never changed hands without being
dipped in the springs, one of which retains to this
day the name of ' Mompesson's Well.'

So rapidly did the infection spread, and so terrified
were the people, that they dare not worship in the
church. The old edifice, in which they had been
christened and married, was closed ; and the brave
Mompesson, strong in his faith, though the villagers
were falling like dead leaves around him, preached
God's Word in the open air, in the picturesque ravine
once familiar as 'Cussy Dell,' and now known as
' Cucklett Church.'

And death became so common, that interment
took place without passing-bell or funeral rite.
Bodies were buried in shallow graves in gardens
and fields ; and the moss-grown tombs and worn
inscriptions on the hillside, outside the village, indi-
cate where some of the plague-stricken victims were
rudely laid. ' The condition of the place,' wrote the
rector in one of his letters, ' exceeds all history and
example. Our town has become a Golgotha, the
place of a skull. My ears never heard such doleful
lamentations, my nose never smelt such horrid
smells, and my eyes never beheld such ghastly spec-

A Hideous Pestilence. 121

tacles. Here have been seventy-six families visited
within my parish, out of which 259 persons died.'
It is more than two hundred years since the pesti
lence raged in Eyam, but it will never be forgotten ;
and the villagers, if angered by their children or
pestered by the importunate, even now relieve their
feelings by saying, 'A plague on thee!' or 'The
plague take thee !'

The restorer's hand has stripped the church of
most of its ancient beauties ; and with the exception
of the Norman font, and the curious sun-dial, there
is little about the edifice to tempt the antiquary.
An unobtrusive stone in the corner of the vestry is,
however, linked with a very singular story. It
' records the death of Joseph Hunt, rector of Eyam,
who was buried December 16, 1709, and of his wife
Ann, who died six years previously. She was the
daughter of a village publican, whom he had been
obliged by the bishop to marry in consequence of
his having gone through a mock ceremony with her
in a drunken freak. This caused an action for
breach of promise with a Derby lady to whom he
was previously engaged. Some years passed in
litigation, which drained his purse and estranged his
friends ; and eventually he had to take shelter in the
vestry (which some say was built for that purpose),
where he resided the remainder of his life to keep
the law hounds at bay.'

In the churchyard, a pleasant shadowed retreat,
is the hallowed grave of Mrs. Catherine Mompesson,
the wife of the rector, who, in the midst of her

122 History of Derbyshire.

devotedness to the people of the village and of her
unswerving attention to her husband in that trying
time, fell a victim to the plague. The tomb bears
the inscription :

' Catherina, vxor Gvlielmi Mompesson hvjvs Ecclesiaa Rect.
filia Radvlphi Carr, nvper de Cocken in comitatv Dvnelmensis,
armigeri. Sepvlta Vicessimo Qvinto die mensis Avgti, Ano.
Dni., 1666;'

and on other parts of the tomb are, ' Cave

NESCITIS NOVAM,' and ' MlHI LVCRVM.'

Near, is what is usually known as 'Eyam Cross.'
It is about eight feet in height ; and is one of the
finest of its early period known. It is rich in quaint
carving, in rudely sculptured figures of angels bearing
crosses and blowing trumpets, and its sides are
curiously adorned with scroll-work and interlacings.

Striving to account for the occurrence of crosses
in all parts of the kingdom, a writer in the ' Archi-
tectural Antiquities of Great Britain,' says : ' The
cross became a part of the decoration of every
altar. It was employed in every sacred rite, and
occurred in the diplomas as an inviolable test of
every compact ; nor can we be surprised to find it
sculptured on so many of our public monuments
when designed to excite sentiments of piety or
compassion ; or on landmarks, which no man was
for conscience' sake to remove. It was frequently
fixed at the entrance of the church to inspire
recollection in those persons who approached, and
reverence towards the mysteries at which they were
about to be present. On the high-road the cross

Eminent People. 123

was frequently placed with a view to call the thought
of the passengers to a sense of religion, and to
restrain the predatory excursions of robbers. In
the market-place it was a signal for upright inten-
tion and fair dealing, and was in every place
designed as a check upon a worldly spirit.'

Eyam has been the home of many eminent people,
ancient customs, and eccentric characters.

John Nightbroder, the author, who founded the
house of Carmelites at Doncaster in 1350, was born
in this village, which was also the birthplace of
Anna Seward, the gifted poetess, who was so pre-
cocious that at three years old she could lisp the
'Allegro' of Milton, and whose poems and letters
are among the choicest of English classics. Here,
too, the Rev. Peter Cunningham wrote much of his
graceful verse ; the urbane Thomas Birds, the Peak
antiquary, collected his fossils and relics of Roman
occupation, now unfortunately scattered through the
land, or perhaps altogether destroyed : and here
Peter Furness, the Peak poet, and William Woods,
the historian of the village, lived, and revelled in
literary pursuits.

Of the old customs, once so common in Eyam,
few remain. One of the prettiest was that of
hanging bouquets of flowers outside the cottage-
windows, or on the door-lintels, to denote any joy-
ful event. Another was that of sprinkling May-dew
on the foreheads of sick children, in the belief that
it was a shield against death. And there was yet a
third custom, observed until the last century, that of

124 History of Derbyshire.

guarding Ligget Road, the chief way into the village.
Across the highway a strong gate was placed, and
here ' watch and ward were kept every night ;' the
householders standing in turn at the gate, and
questioning all who wished to enter the village.

With such entries in its parish register as ' Old
Robert Slinn, died November 26, 1692,' one is pre-
pared to find that very peculiar people have lived at
Eyam, and the hamlet has certainly been familiar
to some singular characters.

Michael Barber, the astrologer and parish clerk,
was one of these. While with a villager one day
Michael saw two teams ploughing in a field, and his
companion, seeing the horses tugging over the fur-
rows, said : 'Now, Michael, if thou canst stop yon
two teams I shall believe in thy astrology!' Im-
mediately Michael went through a grotesque incan-
tation, and one of the teams stopped as if by magic.
' There,' said Michael, ' I have stopped one, but the
other I cannot stop.' ' How is that ?' asked the
villager. ' Because,' said Michael, in solemn tones,
' the ploughman said his prayers this morning, and I
have no power over those who live in the fear of the
Lord.' John Gregory, of Kiley, was also a very
eccentric man, chiefly noted for the extreme
frugality of his diet, and his great knowledge of the
abstruse sciences. Scarcely so whimsical was he,
however, as Cornelius Brushfield, of the Hanging
Flat, who lived like a hermit in a tiny cottage built
on a ledge of rock, and never travelled a mile
beyond Eyam !

CHAPTER XL

Tideswell— ' The Cathedral City of the Peak '—A Curious
Tenure — The Church — A Good Bishop — An Eminent
Vocalist — The ' Drunken Butcher of Tideswell ' — An Amusing
Ballad.

Like Eyam, the old market-town of Tideswell has a
poetic name, and is often called ' The Cathedral City
of the Peak.' But though it is a bishop's birthplace,
and possesses a noble church, it lacks both the size
and ponderous pride of the Cathedral city. There
is no pretension about Tideswell. Even the ' Eb-
bing and Flowing Well' that gave the place its
name is now partially dried up. Like the modest
violet hiding away beneath sheltering banks, the
homely town (fringed on the south by the limestone
grandeur of Cressbrook Dale and on the north by
wide stretches of bleak uplands) takes some rinding ;
but once discovered, the pedestrian and the traveller
by carrier's cart are loth to leave the out-of-the-
way place, which is distinguished quite as much
for its love of music and quaint ballads, as for its
grand old church.

Tideswell, which lies only five miles west of Eyam,
is a very small ancient town. Its market was granted

126 History of Derbyshire.

in 1250, and at the same time it obtained the right
to hold a fair on the festival of the decollation of St.
John the Baptist.

Twelve acres of land were held here by a very
curious tenure — on the very easy condition that
the precentor of Lichfield, after a first payment of
fifteen marks, should render yearly to Sir Richard
Daniel, of Tideswell, Knight, or his heirs, one
pair of white gloves at Easter, and sixpence at
Michaelmas. In olden time the vicar was not let
off quite so easily. He had not only to preach, but
was, like the virgins in the parable, responsible for
keeping a lamp burning in the church.

This edifice, which is of singular beauty, with its
grand proportions and graceful tracery, is in the
Decorated style, and does not look unlike a little
cathedral. The church contains many evidences
of the deftness of bygone sculptors, and its ancient
font, ornamented with cleverly chiselled devices, is
a great treasure and much prized ; but it went
through a novel experience in 1824, when according
to Mary Sterndale, it was 'regularly used by the
workpeople to mix their colours in when, they beauti-
fied the church with blue and mahogany paint.' In
the church are monuments to the Foljambe, Litton,
De Bower, and Meverell families ; but the most
interesting relic is the fine brass in memory of
Bishop Pursglove, with his engraved effigy, in vest-
ments. A Tideswell boy, Robert Pursglove was sent
to St. Paul's school in London ; and mounted the
ladder of success so rapidly that in 1552 he was

A Good Bishop. 127

consecrated Bishop of Hull, and in 1553 was ap-
pointed Archdeacon of Nottingham. An old manu-
script states that he lived ' in the most sumptuous
style, being served at table by gentlemen only.' But
early in Elizabeth's reign, when ' all spiritual persons
holding preferment were required to take the oath
of supremacy,' he refused to obey this mandate,
relinquished his purple and fine linen, and returned to
Tideswell, where he died in 1579, after founding the
Grammar School there, and another at Guisborough
in Yorkshire, and acting most benevolently in other
ways. The inscription- beneath his effigy on a brass
plate is here given from a copy taken by Mr. Jewitt :

' Enbcr this stone as here both %y gl corps sometime of fame

in tibbrstoall brcb attb bom trurlrj, Robert Pursglove by name

anb there brought up by parents care at Schoole <& learning irab

till aftcrtoarbs by uncle bear to Lonbon he toas Irab

toho William Bradshaw hightbnnamc inpauls inch bib him place

anb ur at Schoole bio him maintain full tliricc 3 toholc ncars space

anb then into the Abbciijc tons placcb as 1 hush

in Southtoarkc call'b Inhere it both |Cn Saint mart cveris

to Oxford then toho bib him Scnb into that (Collcbgc right

Anb there 14 gears bib him fi'nb, toh (Corpus Oristi hight

From thence at length atoaji he tocnt, 31 Clcrkc of learning great

to Gisburn Abbey Streight bias sent anb placb in Priors sent

Bishop of Hull he teas also Archdeacon of Nottingham

Provost of RoTHeram Colledge too, of York eah Suffragan

ttoo Gramer Schooles he bib oroain toi tit LAnd for to Endure

one HospitaI for to maintain ttoclbc impotent anb pour

O Gisburne thou toith Tiddeswall Town ^Cement & mourn jou

man
for this saib Clerk of great rcnoton ICijcth here rompnst in dan
though crucll Death hath nolo boto' brought this body toe here

doth ly
jet trump of Fame Stan can he nought to Sounb his praise on high
Qui Iegis hunc bersum crcbo rdiquum mcinoreris
bile cababer Sum tuque cababcr eris.'

t 2 8 History of Derbyshire.

Around the slab, also engraved on brass, is the
following inscription, and at the four corners are,
relatively, the Evangelistic symbols :

' »J< Christ is to mc as life on .earth, anb brnth to mc is game
^Because I trust through g^im alone saltation to obtain*
<So brittle is the state of man, so soou it both brcag,
c§o all the glory of this tuorlb must pass attb fabe aroag.
' ^hts Robert $nrsglobc somctgrne ^ishouuc of ^ull beceasscb
the 2 ban of #taii in the r.cre of our ICorb <Sob 1579.'

Many sweet singers has Tideswell produced, but
none who have gained greater fame than Samuel
Slack, the eminent vocalist. His talent was first
noticed by Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire, and
she placed him under Spofforth, the great master of
singing. Uncouth in gait, and fond of his pipe and
glass though he was, Slack had an angel's voice, and
whether in simple ballad or grander oratorio, thrilled
the heart. Two amusing stories are told of him.
He once had the honour of singing before George
III., and was afterwards told by one of the lords in
waiting how much his Majesty had been pleased
with his efforts. ' Oh,' replied Slack, ' he wer
pleased, wor he ? Ah, I know'd — I know'd I could
dow't.' The refining influences of music were
powerless to wean him from his early acquired
habits ; and when attending metropolitan or pro-
vincial festivals, he seldom associated with other
vocalists, but generally spent his nights in some
pothouse. After one of his carouses, he staggered
into a field, and lay down in search of rest and
sobriety. At dawn he was observed by a bull, and

An Eminent Vocalist. 129

the animal, possibly under the impression that he
was dead, turned him over on the grass. Slack
immediately awoke, and after gazing in some sur-
prise at the disturber of his slumbers, uttered such
fearful sounds with his deep voice, that the bull,
forgetting its inherent ferocity, turned tail, and ran
off as though it were attacked by an army of gad-
flies ! On his gravestone, in Tideswell Churchyard,
is this inscription :

' This stone was erected by the voluntary contributions of the
Barlow Choir and a few other admirers of that deep-toned
melodist, who died Aug. 10, 1822, aged 65 years.'

Tideswell is identified with at least two very
humorous Derbyshire ballads, one of the drollest of
which recounts the strange adventure of ' The
Drunken Butcher of Tideswell.' It was written
by Mr. William Bennett, the author of the ' King of
the Peak,' and 'The Cavalier.'

'The legend is still so strong in the Peak,' wrote
its author, ' that numbers of the inhabitants do not
concur in the sensible interpretation put upon the
phantom by the butcher's wife, but pertinaciously
believe that the drunken man was beset by an evil
spirit, which either ran by his horse's side or rolled
on the ground before him faster than his horse could
gallop, from Peak Forest to the sacred enclosure of
Tideswell Churchyard, where it disappeared ; and
many a bold fellow, on a moonlight night, looks
anxiously around as he crosses Tideswell Moor, and
gives his nag an additional touch of the spur as
he hears the bell of Tideswell Church swinging

9

130 History of Derbyshire.

midnight to the winds, and remembers the tale of
' " The Drunken Butcher of Tideswell." '

' Oh list to me, ye yeomen all,

Who live in dale or down :
My song is of a butcher tall,

Who lived in Tideswall town.
In bluff King Harry's merry days,

He slew both sheep and kine ;
And drank his fill of nut-brown ale,

In lack of good red wine.

' Beside the church this butcher lived,

Close to its grey old walls ;
And envied not when trade was good

The baron in his halls.
No carking cares disturbed his rest,

When off to bed he slunk ;
And oft he snored for ten good hours,

Because he got so drunk.

' One only sorrow quelled his heart,

As well it might quell mine —
The fear of sprites and grisly ghosts

Which dance in the moonshine ;
Or wander in the cold churchyard,

Among the dismal tombs,
Where hemlock blossoms in the day,

By night the nightshade blooms.

' It chanced upon a summer's day,

When heather-bells were blowing,
Bold Robin crossed o'er Tideswall moor,

And heard the heath-cock crowing :
Well mounted on a forest nag,

He freely rode and fast ;
Nor drew a rein till Sparrow Pit*

And Paislow Moss was past.

Sparrow Pit is two miles from Chapel-en-le-Frith.

' The Drunken Butcher of Tideswell? 131

' Then slowly down the hill he came,

To the Chappelle-en-le-frith,
Where at the Rose of Lancaster

He found his friend the smith ;
The parson and the pardoner, too,

They took their morning draught ;
And when they spied a brother near

They all came out and laughed.

' " Now draw thy rein, thou jolly butcher :

How far hast thou to ride ?"
" To Waylee Bridge, to Simon the tanner,

To sell this good cow-hide."
" Thou shalt not go one foot ayont,

Till thou light and sup with me ;
And when thou'st emptied my measure of liquor,

I'll have a measure wi' thee.'.'

' " Oh no, oh no, thou drouthy smith !

I cannot tarry to-day ;
The wife she gave me a charge to keep,

And I durst not say her nay."
" What likes o' that," said parson then,

" If thou'st sworn, thou'st ne'er to rue ;
Thou may'st keep thy pledge, and drink thy stoup,

As an honest man e'en may do."

' " Oh no, oh no, thou jolly parson !

I cannot tarry, I say ;
I was drunk last night, and if I tarry,

I'se be drunk again to-day."
" What likes, what likes !" cried the pardoner then,

" Why tellest thou that to me ?
Thou may'st e'en get thee drunk this blessed night,

And well shrived for both thou shalt be."

' Then down got the butcher from his horse,

I wot full fain was he ;
And he drank till the summer sun was set
In that jolly company ;

9—2

132 History of Derbyshire.

He drank till the summer sun went down,

And the stars began to shine :
And his greasy noddle was dazed and addle

With the nut-brown ale and wine.

' Then up arose those four mad fellows,
And joining hand in hand,
They danced around the hostel floor,

And sung tho' they scarce could stand,
" We've aye been drunk on yester night,

And drunk the night before,
And we were drunk again to-night,
If we never get drunk any more."

' Bold Robin the butcher was horsed and away—

And a drunken wight was he ;
For sometimes his blood-red eyes saw double,

And then he could scantly see.
The forest trees seemed to featly dance,

As he rode so swift along,
And the forest trees to his wildered sense

Re-sang the jovial song.

' Then up he sped over Paislow Moss,

And down by the Chamber Knowle ;
And there he was scared into mortal fear

By the hooting of a barn owl :
And on he rode by the forest wall,

Where the deer browsed silently ;
And up the slack till on Tideswall Moor

His horse stood fair and free.

' Just then the moon from behind the rack

Burst out into open view ;
And on the sward and purple heath

Broad light and shadow threw :
And there the butcher whose heart beat quick,

With fear of gramarye,
Fast by his side, as he did ride

A foul phantom did espy.

1 The Drunken Butcher of Tidcswell! 133

' Up rose the fell of his head, up rose

The hood which his head did shroud ;
And all his teeth did chatter and grin,

And he cried both long and loud ;
And his horse's flanks with his spur he struck,

As he never had struck before :
And away he galloped with might and main,

Across the barren moor.

' But ever as fast as the butcher rode

The ghost did grimly glide :
Now down on the earth before his horse,

Then fast his rein beside :
O'er stock and rock and stone and pit,

O'er hill and dale and down,
Till Robin the butcher gained his door-stone

In Tideswall's good old town.

' " Oh, what thee ails, thou drunken butcher ?"

Said his wife as he sank down ;
" And what thee ails, thou drunken butcher ?"

Cried one half of the town.
" I have seen a ghost ; it hath raced my horse

For three good miles and more ;
And it vanished within the churchyard wall

As I sank down at the door."

' " Beshrew thy heart for a drunken beast !"

Cried his wife, as she held him there ;
" Beshrew thy heart for a drunken beast,

And a coward with heart of hare.
No ghost hath raced thy horse to-night,

Nor evened his wit with thine :
The ghost was thy shadow, thou drunken wretch !

I would the ghost were mine !" '

The other ballad, also a very amusing one,
called 'Tideswell in an Uproar; or, the Prince in the
Town and the Devil in the Church,' appears like the
previous one in Mr. Jewitt's ' Ballads and Songs of

134 History of Derbyshire.

Derbyshire.' One Sabbath in 1806 the Prince of
Wales, a short time prior to his coronation as
George IV., stopped to change horses at the chief
inn ; and so great was the curiosity of the inhabitants
to see their royal visitor, that the entire congrega-
tion, as well as the rector and the parish-clerk,
deserted the church to watch the Prince pass by.
And this is how the ballad describes the scene :

' Declare, O Muse, what demon 'twas

Crept into Tideswell Church,
And tempted pious folk to leave

Their parson in the lurch !

' What caused this strange disaster, say ?
What did the scene provoke ? —
At which the men unborn will laugh,
At which the living joke ?

' The Prince of Wales, great George's heir,

To roam once took a freak ;
And as the fates did so decree,
He journeyed through the Peak.

' But ah ! my prince, thy journey turn'd

The Sabbath into fun day ;
And Tideswell lads will ne'er forget
Thy travelling on a Sunday.

' The ringers somehow gain'd a hint —
Their loyalty be prais'd ! —
That George would come that way, so got
The bells already rais'd.

' The prince arrived, then loudest shouts
The Tideswell streets soon rang ;
The loyal clappers straight fell down
With many a merry bang.

An Amusing Ballad. 135

1 To pulpit high, just then the priest
His sacred gown had thrust ;
And — strange coincidence! — his text,
" In princes put no trust."

' With man o' God they all agreed,

Till bells went clitter-clatter ;

When expectation did them feed,

But not with heavenly matter.

' The congregation, demon-rous'd,
Arose with one accord ;
And, shameful, put their trust in prince,
And left the living Lord.

' They helter-skelter sought the door,
The church did them disgorge :
With fiercest fury then they flew
Like dragons to the George.

' As through the churchyard with tumult dire
And wild uproar they fled,
Confusion was so great, some thought
They would have rais'd the dead.

' The parson cried, with loudest lungs,
" For love of God, pray stay !"
But love of prince more prevalent,
Soon hied them fast away.

' The demon, hov'ring o'er their heads,
Exulted as they pass'd ;
" Friend Belzebub I" the parson cried,
" Thou'st got a prize at last !"

' The clerk then to his master said,
" We're left behind complete ;
What harm if we start off for prince,
And run the second heat?"

' The parson, with good capon lin'd,
Then ran with middling haste ;
Spare clerk was at his rear, who knew
" Amen " should come the last.

136 History of Derbyshire.

1 Amid the mob they soon descried
The prince, Great Britain's heir ;
Then with the mob they both did join,
And play'd at gape and stare.

' Their wish the sovereign people show,
Impress' d with one accord ;
It was to turn themselves to beasts,
And draw their future lord.

' The prince put forth what's filled with sense-
It was his royal sconce :
Insisted they should act like men,
And break their rules for once.

' Steeds more appropriate being brought,
Huzzahs formed parting speech ;
The prince drove on, and people went
To swig with Mrs. Leech.

' Thy flock's frail error, reverend sir,
Did serve a loyal dish up ;
For which, if prince has any grace,
He'll surely make thee bishop.'

CHAPTER XII.

Castleton— Peveril of the Peak — A Tournament— An Old
Custom — A ' Breeches ' Bible — An Enthusiastic Geologist —
The Devil's Cave— The Speedwell Mine— Eldon Hole and a
Peasant's Adventure— The Blue John Mine— The Winnats
and Mam Tor — Ferns and Fossils — A New Railway.

If Eyam is the queen, Castleton is the king of
Derbyshire villages. After struggling north-east
over the few miles of rough country that separate
it from Tideswell, its quaint stone houses and little
gardens, enthroned amid the hills, meet the eye
as suddenly as the dreary desert changes to the
fairy palace in the pantomime. The village clusters
at the feet of a majestic limestone rock, crowned
by a ruined castle ; it is shut in on the south
and west by bluff hills, chasm-riven and under-
mined with vast caverns rich in nature's freaks,
and by Mam Tor, the strange shivering mountain
that is always crumbling away, and never appears
to get less ; and away to the north spreads ' the
fruitful plain ' of Hope, a valley of sylvan beauty,
leading to the more secluded loveliness of Edale,
and the romantic village of Hathersage, the reputed

138 History of Derbyshire.

burial-place of Robin Hood's staunch companion
Little John. As Charles Cotton says in his rhyming
description, Castleton is :

' A place of noted fame,
Which from the castle there derives its name.
Ent'ring the village, presently you are met
With a clear, swift, and murmuring rivulet ;
Towards whose source if up the stream you look,
Or on your right, close by, your eye is strook
With a stupendous rock, raising so high
His craggy temples towards the azure sky,
That if we this should with the rest compare,
They hillocks, molehills, warts, and pebbles are.
This, as if king of all the mountains round,
Is on the top with an old tower crown'd —
An antick thing, fit to make people stare ;
But of no use, either in peace or war.

The castle, though merely a shattered ruin now,
was once a formidable stronghold, and when William
Peveril, the Conqueror's natural son, erected it,
' over the mouth of the Devil's Cavern,' he knew
perfectly well what he was about, intending as he
did that the fortress should be a perpetual menace
to his enemies. This feudal lord temporarily bene-
fited perhaps more than any other person from the
Norman Conquest. ' He had in Nottingham forty-
eight houses of merchants, twelve houses of knights,
and thirty-nine manors with many dependent vil-
lages in Nottinghamshire : forty-four lordships in
Northamptonshire, and two in Essex. He had one
manor and a dependent village in Bedfordshire, two
towns in Oxfordshire, eight manors and their de-
pendencies in Buckinghamshire ; and besides the

A Tournament, 139

Manor of Winfield, twelve manors and their villages in
Derbyshire.' He lived in great pomp and splendour,
and occasionally resided at his Peak Castle, in the
vicinity of which a very chivalric tournament is said
to have been at one time held.

Pain Peveril, William's half-brother, had two
daughters, one of whom, possessing a valiant spirit,
determined to wed no craven knight, but a hero
who scoffed at danger, and delighted in the clash of
arms. Her father encouraged the girl's resolve, and
decided to give a lover's tournament at ' Peveril's
place in the Peak,' declaring that whoever was the
victor should not only win his daughter, but his bold
castle in Salop too. The rough Derbyshire roads
were soon thronged with knights in armour, and
the guests could scarcely stir without ^tumbling over
lances and battle-axes. The tournament was perhaps
the most successful ever held in the days of chivalry.
Knight after knight bit the dust, or retired crest-
fallen before a more powerful foe. But not so
Guarine de Meez, an ancestor of the Lords Fitz-
Warrine. He vanquished the King of Scotland's
son, and annihilated the Baron of Burgoyne, and as
the flourish of trumpets in honour of his prowess
ceased, he claimed the reward of his courage and
knightly skill.

The church, which is dedicated to St. Edmund,
and was anciently known as ' the Church of Peak
Castle,' has been so frequently repaired and restored
that scarcely anything remains of the original struc-
ture except the tower. This tower is inseparable

140 History of Derbyshire.

from a very old custom, always observed at Castleton
on ' Royal Oak Day,' the 29th of May. ' The
ringers and others,' says Mr. Cox, in his ' Churches
of Derbyshire,' ' parade the town headed by a man
on horseback bearing a garland of large dimensions.
When evening approaches the garland is carried
below the church tower, and raised to the summit
by a pulley. It is then placed on the central pinnacle
on the south side (the other pinnacles having been
adorned with oak boughs at an early hour in the
morning), and there left to wither away till the
anniversary of its renewal again comes round.' The
parish register proves that this custom is no modern
whim, for in 1749 there is this entry : ' paid for an
iron rod to hang ye ringer's garland in, 8d.'

In the church there is comparatively little to in-
terest the antiquary, but the vestry is put to a novel
use. It contains a library of rare books left by a
former vicar, 'to be lent out to the parishioners at the
discretion of the minister.' These volumes include
Newcome's ' History of the Abbey of St. Alban,'
printed in 1793, and two early copies of the English
version of the Bible. One of these is ' Cranmer's
Bible,' issued in 1539 ; and the other, bearing the
date 1611, is a ' Breeches Bible.' In modern
editions of the Word of God occurs this passage in
the Book of Genesis (chap. iii. verse 7), ' And they
sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves
aprons.' In the Castleton Bible the translation is,
' They sewed figge leaves together and made them-
selves breeches ' !

An Enthusiastic Geologist. 141

Elias Hall, the painstaking geologist, is buried in
the churchyard. Possessing the indomitable energy
that seems to be the characteristic of all self-made
men, he conquered every obstacle that threatened
to hinder his pursuit of this favourite science, and
did much to make the peculiar strata of the county
familiar to many who had hitherto turned with
abhorrence from any word ending ' ology.' He died
in 1853, and the simple headstone over his grave
bears the inscription :

' Born of parents in humble life, and having a large family to
provide for, yet he devoted himself to the study of geology for
seventy years, with powers of originality and industry rarely
surpassed.'

It is to its caves and precipices, to the grandeur
of its scenery, that Castleton owes its fame. Beneath
the old fortress, that used to echo with Peveril's
despotic voice, the remarkable Peak Cavern, or
Devil's Cave, extends more than two thousand feet
into the earth. A cleft in the mountain limestone is
responsible for the huge cavity's origin; but its
present shape is chiefly attributable to the drip, drip
of water, and to the subterranean stream that rushes
nearly always with a torrent's strength through
its depths. The striking beauty of the deep ravine,
with its towering masses of dark grey limestone,
half-covered with ferns and tendrils, changes not,
except in the verdure tints ; nor does the vast
yawning mouth of the cavern, where the twine-
makers toil, alter much ; but in the dark solitudes
beyond, the forces of nature, like modern legislators,

142 History of Derbyshire.

are slowly effecting reform, either in the rivulet's
banks, or the grotesque faces of the rugged rocks, or
the great dome-like arches under which chaos seems
determined to linger. The sunlight never penetrates
the Devil's Cave ; and its gloomy passages, curious
galleries, great halls, and even the ever-damp Roger
Raine's house, with its ceaseless splashing of descend-
ing water, have a grandly weird, almost awe-inspiring
look, in the feeble light of the tourist's candle, as he
stumbles onward over the rough, low-roofed paths,
or stands in surprised admiration in some of the
loftier parts of the cavern.

' I had to cross in a boat a stream which flows
under a rock so close upon the water as to admit the
boat only to be pushed on by the ferryman, a sort of
Charon, who wades at the stern, stooping all the
time.' So wrote Lord Byron, in describing one of
the incidents of his visit to Peak Cavern ; but it is un-
necessary now to cross the waters of the Styx in this
romantic fashion, a passage having been cut through
the rock in order to avoid the journey in the old punt
that formerly plied beneath the forbidding archway.

In the Speedwell Mine, however, at the foot of the
Winnats, about half-a-mile away from the village, it
is impossible to do without a boat, and the voyage
is almost as full of adventure as Professor Linden-
brock's navigation of the subterranean sea, whose
beach was of 'fine golden sand, strewn with the
small shells in which the first created things had
lived.' This cavern, notwithstanding its flashing
veins of lead ore, is gloomy enough to stifle even

The Speedwell Mine. 143

Mark Twain's spirit of fun and levity, especially if
he were left in its dark recesses without guide or
lamp. Passing down the steps to the waterside, and
seating yourself in the flat-bottomed boat, you are
ferried through a rock-bound channel, full of strange
lights, and shadows, and mysterious noises. Pene-
trating some seven hundred yards into the cave by
this waterway your voyage ends, and stepping upon
a ledge, you are half bewildered at the prospect
above, beneath, and around you. The chasm in
which you stand has a roof so elevated that well-
charged rockets have failed to touch it ; to the
' blackness of darkness ' below you there seems no
limit ; and into the deep gulf plunges, with reckless
impetuosity, a spray-laden waterfall, on its wild
career to the dark pool that fills the lower part of
the abyss. It is a fear-inspiring cave, and they were
hardy, venturesome men who first sought lead in its
labyrinths.

These caverns, so marvellous in their formation,
by no means exhaust the natural wonders in and
around Castleton. Only three miles away, on the
road towards Chapel-en-le-Frith, is Eldon Hole, the
deep but not bottomless chasm down which the
Earl of Leicester once induced a man to go with
startling consequences, if Hobbes's poem is to be
believed :

' "Tis said great Dudley to this cave came down,
In great Eliza's reign, a peer well-known.
He a poor peasant for a petty price,
With rope around his middle, doth entice,

144 History of Derbyshire.

And pole in hand, like her, Sarissa hight,

And basket full of stones down to be let,

And pendulous to hang i' th' midst o' th' cave ;

Thence casting stones intelligence to have,

By list'ning of the depth of this vast hole.

The trembling wretch descending, with his pole

Puts back the rocks that else might on him rowl,

By their rebounds, casts up a space immense,

Where every stroke does death to him dispense,

Fearing the thread, on which his life depends,

Some rogue might cut ere fate should give commands.

Then, when two hundred ells he had below

I' th' earth been merged far as the rope would go,

And long hung up by it within the cave,

To th' earl — who now impatient was to have

His answer — he's drawn up ; but whether fear

Immoderate distracted him, or 'twere

From the swift motion as the ropes might wreathe,

Or spectrums from his dread, or hell beneath

Frightened the wretch, or the soul's citadel

Were stormed or taken by the imps of hell,

For certain 'twas he rav'd ; this his wild eyes,

His paleness, trembling, all things verifies.

While venting something none can understand,

Enthusiastic hints ne'er to be scann'd,

He ceased and died, after eight days were gone.

But th' earl, informed how far the cave went down,

Tremblingly from it hastes, not willing now,

Nor yet this way down to the shades to go.'

A mile and a half west of the village is the cele-
brated Blue John Mine. Pretty and scarce is this
Blue John, ' a fluor-spar coloured like amethyst and
topaz by oxide of manganese,' and made into trays,
ring-stands, brooches, and more elaborate orna-
ments. Notable, indeed, is the mine that contains
this treasure, for it is a huge cavern with great
vaulted chambers, which glisten with crystal forma-

Mam Tor. 145

tions, and from whose lofty arches hang numberless
stalactites, like gigantic icicles that have experienced
centuries of frost.

A mile away lies the Odin Mine, worked for lead
in Anglo-Saxon days.

Nearer still is the wild mountain pass, ' the
Winnats,"* a gigantic rift in the limestone, through
which the wind is nearly always howling, and along
whose rock-bound road the lonely traveller always
hurries at nightfall, for the ravine, gloomily romantic
in itself, is associated with a terrible crime com-
mitted, it is said, many years ago — the murder of a
loving couple, who were either going or returning
from the church of Peak Forest, then the Gretna
Green of the Peak.

Not far from the pass. Mam Tor rises to a height
of 1,700 feet, and bears on its summit the remains
of an ancient British fort ; but the great hill of shale
is chiefly famous for a peculiar characteristic — it is
slowly but steadily crumbling away, and earning
with ceaseless industry its appropriate title, ' the
shivering mountain.'

Castleton, sheltered by great crags and lofty
peaks, is fringed, too, by many varieties of ferns,
and rare mosses that ' neither blanch in heat nor
pine in cold,' as they weave their ' dark eternal
tapestries on the hills.' Out of its curious strata the
mineralogist scoops elastic bitumen, and the fossil-
hunter chips highly valued relics of a bygone
period. In Cave Dale, whose rough weather-beaten
* ' Winnats ' — The gates of the wind.

10

146 History of Derbyshire.

rocks and wild beauty are overlooked by the crum-
bling castle, have been found the bones of the Celtic
ox, the wolf, and the red-deer ; and the limestone
formations abound in shells and corals. Indeed,
Castleton ' is an epitome of all that the Peak of
Derbyshire contains — hills, rocks, caverns, mines,
fossils, and minerals are here congregated together,
presenting a rich variety of materials for study and
contemplation.'

And it will soon -be much easier of access than it
has been by coach. Powers have been obtained for
the construction of a new railway through this
remote part of the Peak ; and the line, traversing
the moorland from Dore Station, near Sheffield, to
Chinley, on the north-west of the county, will skirt
Hathersage, Hope, and Castleton, passing through
a land conspicuous alike for natural beauty and
historic associations — a pedestrian's paradise,
hitherto innocent of the locomotive's voice, but now
to be opened up for mineral traffic, and for rambles
by many a worker in forge, factory, and mill, who
knows how to wisely spend his ' half-holiday.'

JIP

CHAPTER XIII.

Buxton Once an Ocean's Bed— St. Anne and Lord Crom-
well's Crusade against Crutches — The Ancient Baths —
Curious Charges — Distinguished but Thirsty Visitors in Eliza-
beth's Reign — Mary Queen of Scots and the Tepid Waters
—The Town's Popularity— Monsal and Miller's Dale.

Buxton, the haunt of fashion and the refuge of the
invalid, may be called the Scarborough of Derby-
shire. It is a spa ; it is a town of fine buildings,
good promenades, ornamental gardens, and elegant
baths. But it is a Scarborough without the sea !
The waves never creep gently along its shore, nor
dash boisterously against its barriers. Yet there
was a time when the ground forming its wide streets
and crescent paths was an ocean's bed, frequented
by the oyster and humbler shell-fish, who passed
their obscure lives contentedly in the very places
where the bath-chair now trundles, and the donkey-
boy yells, and the town-weary exquisite languidly
inhales the ozone breezes that come down so freely
from the hills.

The waters that ebbed and flowed in this huge
Peak basin when the fossilized mollusc was alive

10 — 2

148 History of Derbyshire.

have receded, until Buxton stands high and dry,
one thousand feet above the sea-level. But the
resort so famed for its mineral waters is not
denuded of all charm because the prehistoric sea
has forsaken it. Buxton lies, as it were, in the bosom
of the Peak country. At its feet the picturesque
Wye winds wilfully through a romantic dell, walled
in by giant limestone crags. Coombs Moss and
Axe Edge rear their heads by its side, and away to
the north beyond the dark masses of mountain,
and the sloping hillsides, and the moorland summits
of gritstone, lofty Kinderscout invites the strong-
limbed to climb its rugged flanks and explore the
glens and gorges that give it such wild beauty.

The Romans, traversing their military roads
through the Peak in all kinds of weather, greatly
valued the warm springs that issue from the base of
St. Anne's Cliff; and no doubt the followers of the
'tyrant Maximian' were the builders of the ancient
bath that formerly stood on the site of the Crescent.
Up to three hundred years ago, St. Anne, the
guardian saint of these waters, was devoutly wor-
shipped, and there were credulous people who
implicitly believed that this spirituelle lady enticed
the soothing streams from the far-off river Jordan to
cure their ailments. Sincere prayers were offered
to the female yEsculapius for the miracles she
wrought, and in the ancient chapel of St. Anne
were hung the crutches and offerings of those
who had found comfort, and were grateful for their
release from pain.

Si. Anne and Lord Cromwell' s Crusade. 149

But in the reign of Henry VIII. Lord Cromwell
rudely upset some of the superstitious faith in
St. Anne, as will be seen from the following letter
written to him by Sir William Basset : ' According
to my bounden duty and the tenor of your lord-
ship's letters lately to me directed, I have sent
your lordship by this bearer, my brother Francis
Basset, the images of Saint Anne of Buckston and
Saint Andrew of Burton-on-Trent, which images
I did take from the places where they stand,
and brought them to my house within forty-eight
hours after the contemplation of your said lordship's
letters, in as sober a manner as my little and rude
will would serve me. And for that there should be
no more idolatry and superstition there used, I did
not only deface the tabernacles and places where
they did stand, but also did take away crutches,
shirts and shifts, with wax offered, being things to
allure and entice the ignorant to the said offering ;
also giving the keepers of both places orders that no
more offerings shall be made in those places till
the King's pleasure and your lordship's be further
known. My lord, I have locked up and sealed the
baths and wells of Buckston, that none shall enter
to wash until your lordship's pleasure be further

known And, my lord, as touching the opinion

of the people and the fond trust they did put in
those images, and the vanity of the things, this
bearer can tell your lordship better at large than I
can write, for he was with me at the doing of all
this, and in all places, as knoweth good Jesus,

150 History of Derbyshire.

whom ever have your lordship in precious keep-
ing.'

Lord Cromwell's ruthless crusade against the
crutches did not wash out the fame of the Buxton
waters, for a little later the Earl of Shrewsbury
erected a house for the convenience of patients, and
the building was thus quaintly described by Dr.
Jones, an eminent physician, in 1572: 'Joyningeto
the chiefe sprynge betweene the river and the bathe
is a very goodly house, foure square foure stories hye,
so well compacte with houses and offices underneath,
and above, and round about, with a great chambre,
and other goodly lodgings to the number of thirty,
that it is and will be a bewty to beholde ; and very
notable for the honourable and worshipful that shall
neede to repaire thither, as also for others. Yea,
and porest shall have lodgings and beds hard by for
their uses only. The bathes also so beautified with
seats round ; defended from the ambyent air ; and
chimneys for fyre to ayre youre garmentes in the
bathes side, and other necessaries most decent.'

At this time persons anxious to derive benefit from
the baths were charged not according to their
length of stay, but according to their social status.
Every yeoman paid 12 pence, every gentleman 3s.,
every esquire 3s. 4d., every knight 6s. 8d., every lord
and baron 10s., every viscount 13s. 4d., every earl
20s., every marquis 30s., every duke £3 10s., every
archbishop £5, every bishop 40s., every judge 20s.,
every doctor and serjeant-at-law 10s., every chan-
cellor and utter barrister 6s. 8d., every archdeacon,

The Ancient Baths. 151

prebendary and canon 5s., every minister 12 pence,
every duchess 40s., every marquesse 20s., every
countess 13s. 4d., every baroness 10s., every lady
6s. 8d., every gentlewoman 2s.; and of this money
one half went to the physician, the other going
towards a fund to enable the poor to get relief at
the waters.

In Elizabeth's reign the baths were frequented by
the rich and wealthy as well as by the poor, who
flocked in hopefully from all quarters. The ambi-
tious Earl of Leicester, with his head full of schemes
to wed his own sovereign, soothed his throbbing
brow with the famous tepid waters. Lord Burghley,
according to the Harleian MS., had great faith in
them, drinking copiously at the warm springs. And
the Earl of Sussex apparently had unlimited con-
fidence in their healing properties, for writing in
1582 he says : ' The water I have drunke liberally,
begyning with thre pynts, and so encreasyng dayly a
pynt till I shall agyne reterne to 3 pynts, and then I
make an ende."

Mary Queen of Scots, tortured by rheumatic
pains, visited Buxton four times during her captivity.
During her first stay in 1573, the Earl of Shrews-
bury's surveillance was not very strict, and Mary had
not only opportunities for bathing and exercise, but
was allowed to roam through some of the pic-
turesque spots that encircle the town, penetrating
even as far as Poole's Hole, in which there is a
huge stalactite, still called Mary Queen of Scots'
pillar.

152 History of Derbyshire.

But in 1580 she was not so indulged, for Mr.
J. D. Leader, in his gracefully-written and instruc-
tive work on ' Mary Queen of Scots in Captivity,'
says : ' Mary neither saw nor was seen by anyone
but her own people, and those specially appointed
to attend her. Not so much as a beggar was
allowed to be in Buxton ; and during the time
the Queen was there, though she took the baths
regularly, she only once came out of doors, and that
was one evening when she walked for a short time in
the close about the house to take the air.' Notwith-
standing the guards about her, and the strict
precautions taken lest she should escape, Mary
always derived benefit from her sojourns at Buxton,
and admitted as much in her letter to Monsieur
de Mauvissiere, remarking : 'It is incredible how
this cure has soothed my nerves, and dried my body
of the phlegmatic humours, with which, by reason
of feeble health, it was so abundantly filled.' It was
in 1584 that she drank the waters for the last time,
and the captive Queen, soon to ride through Derby-
shire on her way to the headsman's axe, had some
prescience that the shadows of death were creeping
very near, for she scratched with a diamond on the
window-pane :

' Buxton, whose fame thy tepid waters tell,
Whom I perhaps no'more shall see, farewell.'

A singular proof of the popularity of the Buxton
waters is found in a petition from the inhabitants of
Fairfield, who in asking during the sixteenth century

Curious Charges. 153

for a grant towards the maintenance of their minister,
chiefly accounted for their great poverty ' by reason
of the frequent accesse of divers poor, sick, and
impotent persons repairing to the Fountain of
Buxton.'

Then Lord Macaulay speaks, and with some
irony too, of the eagerness of the affluent to rush
to this noted spa. ' England,' he says, ' was not
in the seventeenth century destitute of watering-
places. The gentry of Derbyshire and the neigh-
bouring counties repaired to Buxton, where they
were crowded into low wooden sheds, and regaled
with oatcake, and with a viand which the hosts
called mutton, but which the guests strongly sus-
pected to be dog.'

Macaulay's flippant description does not apply
now. St. Anne, invulnerable as Achilles, was not
offended at Sir William Basset's discourteous treat-
ment, and has remained faithful to the town.

For two centuries Buxton has been constantly
improving. The old hall that sheltered Mary
Queen of Scots has been so altered and enlarged
that it retains only a few traces of the original
building in which her Majesty was so carefully
guarded by the Earl of Shrewsbury's servitors.
The interesting fabric, to which so many historic
memories cling, is a noted hotel now, and probably
confers as much happiness upon humanity by its
practice of the art of cookery as by the tepid waters
that still bubble and sparkle beneath its eastern
corner.

154 History of Derbyshire.

Neither the gentry nor the poor need crowd into
wooden sheds at Buxton now. The Crescent, with
its stately freestone facade, fine hotels connected
with the hot baths by covered ways, elegant apart-
ments, and rusticated colonnade, curves gracefully in
front of St. Anne's cliff. The Palace Hotel, stand-
ing in its own grounds of greater beauty than ' the
pleasant, warm bowling-green planted about with
large sycamore trees ' that encompassed the Earl of
Shrewsbury's good house, successfully tempts the
luxurious ; and on the hillside rises one of the
noblest of Buxton's buildings, the Devonshire
Hospital, where the poor, warped by rheumatics, and
rendered irritable and querulous by pain, get relief at
the expense of the generous, who understand the
true meaning of charity. And for the accommoda-
tion of those who can afford to pay, but only
moderately, for the health and vigour Buxton seldom
withholds, there are many hotels and comfortable
boarding-houses dotted about the amphitheatre of
hills in which the town rests.

The ' Spa of the Peak ' has nearly doubled its
population in the last ten years. It has now over
6,000 inhabitants, and they depend, as a writer
at the beginning of the present century quaintly
remarked, ' not so much upon any regular employ-
ment as upon the crowds who assemble here during
the bathing season.'

The fashionable and the ragged find Buxton neces-
sary to their existence. It is the Mecca of Derby-
shire. Wearied statesmen, languid society beauties,

Monsal and Miller s Dale. 155

and jaded business men saunter about its gardens,
or listen with revived interest to the music in the
pavilion ; dandies who have no malady except lazi-
ness, and look as if they had been dressed by Mr.
Vigo, in Lord Beaconsfield's novel, move aimlessly
about the terrace-walk ; working-men, liberated from
the fetters of illness, stride briskly into the country,
either along the ' Duke's Drive,' or the more hilly
highway to the ' Cat and Fiddle ;' and all, from
the gouty epicure to the struggling artisan, are so
glad of their freedom from aches and twinges that
there is no corner left in their hearts for gratitude.
Very much the same spirit prevails now as when
Hobbes wrote :

' Unto St. Anne the fountain sacred is ;
With waters hot and cold its sources rise,
And in its sulphur veins there medicine lies.
This cures the palsied members of the old,
And cherishes the nervous grown stiff and cold.
Crutches the lame unto its brinks convey,
Returning — the ingrates fling them away.'

' That valley,' says Mr. Ruskin, ' where you might
expect to catch the sight of Pan, Apollo, and the
Muses, is now desecrated in order that a Buxton
fool may be able to find himself in Bakewell at the
end of twelve minutes, and vice versa.'' In such
contemptuous language does the eminent art critic
speak of the railway constructed through Monsal
Dale ; but this line, penetrating huge limestone
rocks and threading its narrow way over lofty
bridges, past scenes of great beauty, is a real

156 History of Derbyshire.

blessing. Every lover of nature, journeying along
its steel track, in the comfortable carriages of the
Midland Railway Company, has cause to admire the
railway enterprise and engineering skill that gives
him such easy access to the lovely dales and glens
of the Peak. At the risk of being called a Buxton
fool, pray take this delightful run by pleasant slope,
strangely- shaped rock, wooded height, rippling river,
fertile pasture, and dark barren land.

There are many noted haunts around Buxton :
Ludchurch, where the Lollards worshipped ; the
valley of the Goyt, with its varied beauty ; Poole's
Hole, the mysterious cavern in which the Wye
springs into life ; but none of these places can
compare in loveliness or grandeur to the country
traversed by the railway that has so thoroughly
aroused Mr. Ruskin's spleen.

Words convey little idea of the sylvan charm of
Monsal Dale, with its broad sweeps of bright
meadow, its restful green slopes, its silvery river
winding gently beneath the lofty bridge, and by the
feet of Fin Cop, whose thickly-wooded shoulder is
in such conspicuous contrast to the barer, crag-
fringed hills.

Miller's Dale is more rugged, but its stony paths,
through glen and ravine, past forest and dell, lead
to strikingly picturesque solitudes, in which the
silence is only broken by the birds' song, the voice
of the stream, or the rustling leaves.

Of this dale, so familiar to the artist and the angler,
Mr. Bradbury says, in his cleverly-written' Pilgrimages

Monsal and Millers Dale. 157

in the Peak' : ' It is wild and savage, and occasion-
ally gruesome in its aspects. The river tumbles
in a succession of waterfalls. Limestone crags
rise from the water's edge, their sternness scarcely
softened by the luxuriant foliage that smiles at
their feet. The path is rough with stones. There
is no sound save the brawl of the river, and one
seems to commune alone with Nature in her own

secret solitude At Chee Tor the impressive

wilderness of Miller's Dale reaches the highest point
of romantic grandeur. The Tor is a stupendous
promontory of rock, convex in shape, and rising
sheer from the edge of the river, an impending
precipice over 300 feet high. A pendent tree, ash or
hazel, here and there mixes its green with the pale
grey of the lifeless limestone. Rooks, and daws, and
jays hold a clamorous convocation in the rents of
the rock above. The river is confined in a narrow
strait, and the water rushes with an angry swirl
through the rocky channel to the broader and more
peaceful channel beyond. A corresponding bastion
of limestone, though hidden by hanging foliage,
rises opposite the giant Chee in the form of a
crescent, which faithfully responds in size, and shape,
and strata to the gigantic Tor, from which, in some
pre-historic revolution, it must have been severed.
There is a perilous path over the river, which is
rushing with foamy agitation through the rocky
abyss beneath. After this Alpine pass is left behind,
the dale again widens, and the rocks are less bare.
We tread knee-deep in ferns to Blackwell Mill. . . .

158 History of Derbyshire.

The dale here expands, giving way to sloping hills of
an open and wild character, that impart the charm
of variety to the scenery. The path now crosses
the river over a wooden bridge of primitive planking,
and then leads through a plantation of firs and
pines and birches to the foot of Topley Pike, where
the high road to Buxton is reached.'

And from this point the pedestrian is soon among
the frivolity and fashion of the 'Spa of the Peak'

again.

CHAPTER XIV.

Around Kinderscout— A Sad Episode — ' Under the Snow '
— ' The Apostle of the Peak ' — A Staunch Royalist — Famous
John Bradshaw — The Titan of the Peak— An Uncommon
Occurrence — A Merchant and his Monument — Glossop — A
Pretty Custom and a Curious Wedding — Over the Moors to
Ashopton.

It is a long, but never tedious, tramp through the
varied country that lies at the feet of Kinderscout.
The path is over hill and dale ; it traverses at least
two ancient towns ; skirts many old-world villages ;
and goes through a vast tract of rugged and bleak
moorland; a great heather-clad rough-rocked soli-
tude, where the only sound is the cry of the moor-
cock, or the murmur of the stream.

The road from Buxton to Glossop, although it
winds about picturesque uplands, and along wide-
stretching valleys, is only on the edge of the Peak,
and does not penetrate the heart of the lonely land,
where the great piles of gritstone tower high above
' a wilderness of heath.' But it goes through a dis-
trict rich in history, in story, and superstition.

Here is Fairfield, with its breezy common and old
church, in which the monument to William Daykin,

160 History of Derbyshire.

merchant, of London, bears the emphatic inscription
—the family motto of the Daykins — ' Stryke Daykine
the Devil's in the Hemp.' On the left looms
Coombs Moss, the great tableland that still bears
on its lofty plateau both fosse and rampart con-
structed in the reckless time when the hardy Britons
were fighting the foreign legions knee to knee, and
striving with rude but futile valour to rid the soil of
the invader.

On the right, in the little hamlet between the
Great Rocks and Tunstead, James Brindley, the
eminent engineer, was born. But it is not only as
the birth-place of Brindley, the engineer, of whom
so admirable a life has been written by Smiles, that
Tunstead is famous in story, for it has a miraculous
skull, whose exploits have formed the theme for
many a verse and many a page of prose-writing.
This human skull, preserved at a farm-house at
Tunstead, has been there for several generations,
and nothing is known as to how or whence it came
there. It is known as ' Dickie,' or ' Dicky o' Tun-
stead,' and occupies a position on a window-seat
of the house. ' No matter what changes take place
to the other occupiers of the house,' says Mr. Jewett,
in his ' Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire,' ' Dickie
holds his own against all comers, and remains quietly
ensconced in his favourite place. It is firmly and
persistently believed that so long as Dick remains in
the house unburied, everything will go on well and
prosperously, but that if he is buried, or "discom-
moded," unpleasant consequences will assuredly

A Wonderful Skull. 161

follow. On more than one occasion he has been
put " out of sight," but tempests have arisen and
injured the building, deaths have ensued, cattle have
been diseased and died off, or crops have failed,
until the people have been humbled, and restored
him to his proper place. One of the crowning
triumphs of Dickie's power is said to have been
evinced over the formation of the new Buxton and
Whaley Bridge line of railway. He seems to have
held the project in thorough hatred, and let no
opportunity pass of doing damage. Whenever there
was a landslip or a sinking of ground, or whenever
any mishap to man, beast or line, happened, the
credit was at once given to Dickie, and he was
sought to be propitiated in a variety of ways.

' Hutchinson, who wrote " A Tour, through the
High Peak," in 1807, thus speaks of the skull, and
of the supernatural powers attributed to it : " Having
heard a singular account of a human skull being
preserved in a house at Tunstead, near the above
place, and which was said to be haunted, curiosity
induced me to deviate a little, for the purpose
of making some inquiries respecting these natural
or stt^>£/-natural appearances. That there are three
parts of a human skull in the house is certain, and
which I traced to have remained on the premises
for near two centuries past, during all the revolutions
of owners and tenants in that time. As to the truth
of the supernatural appearance, it is not my design
either to affirm or contradict, though I have been
informed by a creditable person, a Mr. Adam Fox,

11

1 62 History of Derbyshire.

who was brought up in the house, that he has not
only repeatedly heard singular noises, and observed
very singular circumstances, but can produce fifty
persons, within the parish, who have seen an appari-
tion at this place. He has often found the doors
opening to his hand — the servants have been
repeatedly called up in the morning — many good
offices have been done by the apparition, at different
times ; and, in fact, it is looked upon more as a
guardian spirit than a terror to the family, never
disturbing them but in case of an approaching death
of a relation or neighbour, and showing its resent-
ment only when spoken of with disrespect, or when
its own awful memorial of mortality is removed.
For twice within the memory of man the skull has
been taken from the premises, once on building the
present house on the site of the old one, and another
time when it was buried in Chapel churchyard ; but
there was no peace ! no rest ! it must be replaced !
Venerable time carries a report that one of two co-
heiresses residing here was murdered, and declared,
in her last moments, that her bones should remain
on the place for ever.* On this head the candid
reader will think for himself; my duty is only faith-
fully to relate what I have been told. However, the
circumstances of the skull being traced to have
remained on the premises during the changes of
different tenants and purchasers for near two
centuries, must be a subject well worth the anti-

* On examining the parts of the skull, they did not appear
to be the least decayed.

Address to ' Dickie.' 163

quarian's research, and often more than the investi-
gation of a bust or a coin." ' The following clever
Address to 'Dickie' was written by Mr. Samuel
Laycock, and first appeared in the Buxton Advertiser :

' Neaw, Dickie, be quiet wi' thee, lad,

An' let navvies an' railways a be ;
Mon, tha shouldn't do soa, — it's to' bad,

What harm are they doin' to thee?
Deod folk shouldn't meddle at o',

But leov o' these matters to th' wick ;
They'll see they're done gradeley, aw know, —

Dos' t' yer what aw say to thee, Dick ?

' Neaw dunna go spoil 'em i' th' dark

What's cost so mich labber an' thowt ;
Iv tha'll let 'em go on wi' their wark,

Tha shall ride deawn to Buxton for nowt ;
An' be a " director " too, mon ;

Get thi beef an' thi bottles o' wine,
An' mak' as much brass as tha con

Eawt o' th' London an' North-Western line.

' Awm surproised, Dick, at thee bein' here ;

Heaw is it tha'rt noan i' thi grave?
Ar' t' come eawt o' gettin' thi beer,

Or havin' a bit ov a shave ?
But that's noan thi business, aw deawt,

For tha hasn't a hair o' thi yed ;
Hast a woife an' some childer abeawt ?

When tha'rn living up here wurt wed ?

' Neaw, spake, or else let it a be,

An' dunna be lookin' soa shy ;
Tha needn't be freeten'd o' me,

Aw shall say nowt abeawt it, not I !
It'll noan matter mich iv aw do,

I can do thee no harm iv aw tell,
Mon there's moor folk nor thee bin a foo',

Aw've a woife an some childer misel'.

II— 2

164 History of Derbyshire.

1 Heaw's business below ; is it slack?

Dos' t' yer ? aw'm noan chaffin thee, mon.
But aw reckon 'at when tha goes back

Tha'll do me o' th' hurt as tha con.
Neaw dunna do, that's a good lad,

For aw'm freeten'd to deoth very nee,
An' ewar Betty, poor lass, hoo'd go mad

Iv aw wur to happen to dee !

' When aw'm ceawer'd upo' th' hearston' awhoam,

Aw'm inclined, very often, to boast ;
An' aw'm noan hawve as feart as some,

But aw don't loike to talke to a ghost.
So, Dickie, aw've written this song,

An' aw trust it'll find thee o' reet ;
Look it o'er when tha'rt noan very throng,

An' tha'll greatly obleege me, — good neet.

' P.S. — Iv tha'rt wantin' to send a reply,

Aw can gi'e thee mi place ov abode,
It's reet under Dukinfilt sky,

At thirty-nine, Cheetham Hill Road.
Aw'm awfully freeten'd dos t' see,

Or else aw'd invite thee to come,
An' ewar Betty, hoo's softer nor me,

So aw'd raythar tha'd tarry awhoam.'

A little farther north is Chapel-en-le-Frith, the
pleasant town of gritstone houses that sprang up
around the ancient chapel of the forest. The old
building, frequented centuries ago by the foresters
and deerkeepers of the Peak, fell into ruins long
since ; but the present church, dedicated to St.
Thomas a Becket, has some thrilling historic
memories. In 1591 it was used as a Court of
Justice ; and in 1648, after the defeat of the Scottish
army at Preston, fifteen hundred of these crestfallen

' Under the Snow.' 165

soldiers, weary with long marching, were thrust into
this church, and kept prisoners there for sixteen days.
What thirst, hunger, and stifling heat they must
have endured ; for forty-four of their number died
before the army continued its march into Cheshire !
The parish register tells a pitiful story of the havoc
death made in their ranks ; we quote the words from
the ' Reliquary' as follows :

' 1648, Sept. 11. — There came to this town a Scots
army led by Duke Hambleton [Hamilton], and
squandered by Colonell Lord Cromwell, sent hither
prisoners from Stopford [qy. Stockport] , under the
conduct of Marshall Edward Matthews, said to be
1500 in number, put into ye church Sep. 14. They
went away Sep. 30 following. There were buried
of them before the rest went, 44 pr., and more buried
Oct. 2 who were not able to march, and the same
day ye died by the way before they came to Cheshire
10 and more.'

The registers also contain a strange story of a
maiden, named Phoenix, a parish apprentice, who in
1717 was overtaken by a storm, on her way to her
masters house at Peak Forest. The entry, thus
quaintly written, is thus printed in the ' Reliquary' :

' 1717, March ye 12. — There came a young girl
about 13 years of age, whose name was Alice Phenix,
who came to this town to a shop for half a stone of
towe for her master, being an apprentice to her
master, Wm. Ward, of the Peak Forest. She went
from this towne in the evening, and called at Peter
Down's house, who liv'd then at Laneside. They

1 66 History of Derbyshire.

sent her away in good time to have gone home.
She turned againe, and was found at the house when
they were going to bed. Peter called her in and
sent her to bed with his daughter. Next morning,
calling her up very soon, he sent her away, but as
they were going to plough found her again, and his
son did chide her very ill, and she deemed then to
make best haste home ; but sitting down betwixt two
ruts in George Bowden's part on Paislow, sat there
that day and next, and Friday, Saturday, Sunday,
and Monday till noon. Two of which days, the
15th and 16th, was the most severe snowing and
driving that had been seen in the memory of man.
This girl was found about one o'clock on Monday,
by William Jackson, of Sparrowpit, and William
Longden, her neighbour in the fforest. They carried
her to the same house back again, to Peter Downe's
house ; and after she had got some refreshment, a
little warm milk, could warm herself at the fire after-
wards, and could turn her and rub her legs with her
hands, and after was carried to her master's house
that night, and is now (March 25, 1717) quite well,
but a little stiff in her limbs. This is the Lord's
doings and will be marvellous in future generations.
She had no meat these five days, but was very
thirsty and slept much.'

It was to Ford, near Chapel-en-le-Frith, that
William Bagshaw, ' the Apostle of the Peak,' retired
when ejected from his living at Glossop, because of
his nonconformity. Preaching in the wildest and
most inaccessible places to the rudest and most

Hay field. 167

ignorant people, he was a thorough apostle ; but he
was a student and a writer also, and when he died
in 1702, ' left fifty volumes on different subjects
fairly written with his own hand.' The best re-
membered of these is ' De Spiritualibus Pecci,' in
which he tells, among other reminiscences of pious
persons, how a Taddington curate was dragged up
at Bakewell sessions in 1640, and ' declaimed against
as a Puritan or Roundhead.' Christopher Fulwood,
of Middleton-by-Youlgreave, a wise lawyer, was the
chief magistrate ; and though a staunch Royalist, he
released the hapless curate, and sharply reprimanded
his accusers. Notwithstanding his clemency and
mercy to others, there was a cruel fate awaiting this
popular Derbyshire justice. In 1642 he raised a
lifeguard of Peak miners to defend Charles I. ;
another year elapsed, and he was hunted from his
home by Sir John Gell's soldiery, tracked to his
hiding-place behind a rock, in the dale below the
village, and ruthlessly shot because of his loyalty.

Chapel-en-le-Frith and the district is closely
associated with the Bradshaws, a noted Derbyshire
family, one of whose members represented the
county in Parliament in the reign of Henry IV.
John Bradshaw, a friend of Milton's, and ' an in-
trepid patriot,' who sprang from the Cheshire branch
of the same family, played a very conspicuous part
in his country's history. When a boy he wrote :

' Harry shall hire his father's land,
And Tom shall be at his command ;
But I, poor Jack, will do that
That all the world shall wonder at.'

1 68 History of Derbyshire.

And so he did, for as President of the High Court of
Justice that met at Westminster he sentenced
Charles I. to death.

It is not far from Chapel-en-le-Frith to Hayfield.
The little town of ' scattered stone houses and
isolated print-mills' is not very attractive ; but it lies
on the threshold of Kinderscout, on the western
edge of the high, rugged, and wildly picturesque
tableland, always marked in the tourist's maps ' The
Peak' — a land of moss and heather, of glen and
gorge, of rock and ridge, and mountain streams and
pretty waterfalls ; a land whose loftiest point is
Kinder Low, which ridicules its own name, as it rises
to a height of 2,088 feet, the Titan of this upland
country.

Hayfield, besides being the chief portal to Kinder,
is not without some singular event to keep its
name in remembrance. Indeed, it seems to have
had a resurrection on its own account in 1745.
Dr. James Clegg, a Presbyterian minister, who
resided at Chapel-en-le-Frith in the middle of
the last century, gave an account of the extraordi-
nary occurrence in a letter to his friend, the Rev.
Ebenezer Latham, then the principal of Findern
Academy.

' I know,' he wrote, ' you are pleased with any-
thing curious and uncommon by nature ; and if what
follows shall appear such, I can assure you from eye-
witnesses of the truth of every particular. In a
church about three miles from us, the indecent
custom still prevails of burying the dead in the place

Joseph Hague s Monument. 169

set apart for the devotions of the living ; yet the
parish not being very populous, we could scarce
imagine that the inhabitants of the grave could be
straightened for want of room ; yet it should seem
so ; for on the last of August several hundreds of
bodies rose out of the grave in the open day in the
church, to the great astonishment and terror of
several spectators. They deserted the coffin, and
arising out of the grave, immediately ascended
towards heaven, singing in concert all along, as they
mounted through the air. They had no winding-
sheets about them, yet did not appear quite naked ;
their vesture seemed streaked with gold, interlaced
with sable, skirted with white, yet thought to be
exceedingly light, by the agility of their motions,
and the swiftness of their ascent. They left a most
fragrant and delicious odour behind them, but were
quickly out of sight ; and what has become of them,
or in what distant regions of this vast system they
have since fixed their residence, no mortal can tell.
The church is in Heafield, three miles from Chap-
pelle-en-le-frith, 1745.'

The church contains a monument to Joseph
Hague, 'whose virtues as a man were as dis-
tinguished as his character as a merchant.' Settling
in London in 1717, this Derbyshire lad, like a second
Dick Whittington, succeeded in scraping together a
large fortune ; and he was not niggardly with his
wealth ; for he ' built and endowed the Charity
School at Whitfield in the year 1778, and died at
Park Hall in this parish on the 12th day of March,

1 70 History of Derbyshire.

1786, aged 90 years, leaving the annual interest of
£1,000 to be laid out in clothing 12 poor men and 12
poor women out of the eight townships of Glossop
Dale for ever ; besides other charities bequeathed to
Glossop and the Chapelry of Hayfield.' Still his life
was not by any means a remarkable one ; not nearly
so remarkable as the experience of the handsome
monument — the handiwork of Bacon the sculptor —
erected to his memory. Originally the marble
memento was placed in the church at Glossop, but
during the rebuilding of the chancel the precious
monument was put in the lock-up for safety ! The
precaution turned out unfortunate. Forgetting
probably that the cell held this treasure, the police
thrust a drunken man into the lock-up. Hague's
bust irritated the heroic worshipper of Bacchus, and
the tipsy prisoner knocked it about, until the head
and face of the great merchant were considerably
disfigured. A friend of the family, highly incensed
at this outrage, insisted upon the removal of the
monument to Hayfield Church, and the dinted bust
was taken there. Some years ago a stranger begged
hard to see the monument, and the parish clerk told
him the story connected with it. ' Nobody,' said the
stranger, ' knows that better than myself. I was the
drunken man who knocked the monument about in
Glossop lock-up. I have been abroad for many
years, and only just returned to England. The
damage I did to that monument has often troubled
my conscience, and I determined that as soon as I
set foot in England again, I would at once journey

Glossop. 171

to Derbyshire to see what had become of it ; and
now I am satisfied.'

A little north of Hayfield, some four miles, is
Glossop, with its dull-looking stone houses, and
gigantic mills stretching along the slopes, and hiding
in the deep hollows of ' the remotest corner of
Derbyshire.' The town, for years connected with
the cotton-spinning industry, is also associated with
many old customs. One of the prettiest was that
of 'rush-bearing.' No sooner did the wakes come
round than a cart bearing a pyramid of rushes, and
decorated with flowers and garlands, was drawn
through the streets to the church gates. There the
vehicle was bereft of its gay burden, and the rushes
and flowers, carried by the morris-dancers into the
church, were strewn upon the floor of the edifice,
the garlands being hung in the chancel.

There have been some curious scenes at Glossop
since the Romans left the neighbourhood, and their
stronghold, Melandra Castle, was deserted. Within
the past century bulls were baited in the market-
place ; lovers raced on horseback from the out-
lying villages to the parish church, to be married,
and adorned their hats and bonnets with brightly
coloured ribbons in honour of the wedding; and some
eighty years ago there was quite a startling incident
here in the way of nuptials — a woman persisting in
going to the altar in her shift only, believing that by
this novel expedient she would escape liability for debts
contracted by her first husband. ' The wedding,'
says the minister who officiated, ' caused a very high

172 History of Derbyshire.

degree of mirth in very many people. The woman
undressed in the vestry. As soon as she was ready
she came forth in a long shift, and she went through
the ceremony as unconcerned as if she had been
regularly dressed. As soon as it was over she went
back to the vestry, and there signed her name. The
church was crowded with people, but the greatest
order and decency was kept,' a constable being in
attendance to prevent confusion and suppress any
hilarity. It was with difficulty the spectators could
control their sense of the ludicrous, and when the
ceremony was over, there were a great many ' laugh-
ing faces and shaking shoulders ' amongst the crowd.
Glossop is not a very inviting town. It can claim
scarcely any architectural beauty, and even its more
important thoroughfares, High Street and Victoria
Street, are somewhat dreary. But it is worth
while penetrating to this out-of-the-way place, either
by road from Chapeben-le-Frith, or by rail from
bleak Dinting, if only to utilize it as a starting-point
for one of the grandest walks in England, a walk
through one of the wildest parts of the Peak, over
the moorland that spreads between the cotton-
spinning town and the fair vale in which Ashopton
reposes, protected by the sheltering hills.

It is a terrible journey in winter, when the moun-
tain road is covered thickly with snow, and the
treacherous mist creeps over ridge and fell, render-
ing shadowy and indistinct the tall poles placed
here and there to guide the traveller on his way.
But in summer, when the sun is pouring its golden

Over the Moors to A shop ton. 173

light on the rugged summits of the hills, and
chasing the cloud-shadows that flit about the
broken slopes, purple with heather and golden with
gorse, it is a revelation of loveliness. The walk,
nevertheless, is for at least half the distance one
long solitude. It is not until you have passed
Featherbed Moss, and traversed miles of this moor-
land territory, that you reach the Snake Inn, the
first habitation met with after leaving Glossop. One
may traverse this road half a dozen times without
seeing a human being. Even tramps avoid the little-
frequented highway. It does not pay them to
shamble over the solitary country-side. Their
piteous tales, and mock humility, and transcendent
deceit are useless here. They cannot beg, for there
is no one about to pester for alms ; so experienced
vagrants wisely choose other paths. The Snake, a
homely hostelry, that derives its sign from a device
of the Cavendish family, stands by the wayside,
almost equi-distant between Glossop and Ashopton.
Formerly it was a post-house ; now it has scarcely
any customers except sportsmen and tourists. The
little lime-washed tavern, gleaming white among
the trees, is hemmed in by the hills. At its back
stretch the stern wastes of Alport Moor ; opposite
its doorway rises the heather-clad shoulder of Fair-
brook Naze ; and just below tower the whimsically
shaped rocks of Seal Edge ; but the road beyond
winds through a land of less barren character. In-
deed, at Ashopton, where the mountain stream and
the Derwent mingle, under the shadow of Winhill,

1 74 History of Derbyshire.

the vale is sylvan rather than rugged — a delicious
haunt in which to idle through a summer's day
by aimless wanderings about the flower-studded
meadows and cool woodlands and inviting country-
lanes, or by the long reaches of the wide river,
where patient men who have come down from the
well-appointed Ashopton Inn, burdened with the
newest thing in rods and creels, are whipping the
water for trout that not only decline to be caught,
but lie safely among the friendly rushes, chuckling
at some new-fledged angler's folly.

CHAPTER XV.

HATHERSAGE — Little John's Grave— A Sorrowful Ballad — A
Wild Country — A British Fort — Fox House — Beauchief
Abbey — Banner Cross — A Glimpse of Sheffield.

There is such a diversity of scenery in the Ashopton
district — so many tempting ways — that it is difficult
to decide which path to pursue ; whether to wander
along the tree-shaded road to Derwent Hall, or the
wilder and even more picturesquely bordered high-
way to Ladybower, or to traverse the turnpike to
Hathersage, nestling on ' the edge of the heather'
in the hollow vale so minutely described by Charlotte
Bronte in ' Jane Eyre.' The latter shall be our
route. It is a delightful walk, unfolding at nearly
every step new beauties of hill and dale and river.
In fact, the shining Derwent keeps us company all
the way ; and no sooner are the rocky slopes of
Bamford Edge left behind than Hathersage is
sighted.

The village, which is noted for its manufacture of
pins and needles, is an old-fashioned quiet place,
with ancient, weather-beaten stone houses clustering
about its one long street, in which the Ordnance

1 76 History of Derbyshire.

Arms and the George Inn cater leisurely for
travellers.

On the slope above the hamlet stands the church
where Robert Eyre, who fought at Agincourt, lies
buried ; and in the churchyard is the grave of Little
John. There is a widespread belief that the latter
was born in the village, and returned there broken-
spirited to die soon after Robin Hood had been
placed in his grave at Kirklees. In the MS. of Elias
Ashmole, dated 1652, is this record : ' Little John
lyes buried in Hatherseech Churchyard within 3
miles fro Castleton in High Peake, with one stone
set up at his head and another at his feete, but a
large distance betweene them. They say a part of
his bow hangs up in the said church. Neere Grindle-
ford Bridge are Robin Hood's 2 pricks.' Just before
Little John died he expressed the wish that his cap
and bow should be hung up in the church. The
wish was not disregarded, and some sixty-five years
ago the green cloth cap once worn by Robin Hood's
faithful companion still hung in the chancel. The
bow, which was one of the treasures of Hathersage
Hall in the reign of Charles I., was afterwards re-
moved to Cannon Hall, and then became one of the
curiosities at Wharncliffe Chase. Little John's
grave, ten feet long, is still pointed out in Hather-
sage churchyard ; and how he got there is pathe-
tically told in the following ballad, which was
written by Mr. Haines, and appeared in the ' Reli-
quary.'

A Sorrowful Ballad. 177

' When Robin Hood, by guile betrayed,
In Kirklees' cloister died,
Silent his merry men dispersed,
And never more allied.

' Some passed unknown or pardon got,
And peaceful callings sought
Beyond the seas, while others fled,
And 'gainst the Paynim fought.

' But Little John, as lonely through
Their vacant haunts he strode,
Repented sadness in his soul
Had e'er of old abode.

' As there beneath an oak his limbs
Repose long failing found,
A shape thrice warned him in a dream
To shun St. Michael's ground.

a1

' Affrighted from the sward he starts —

Deep shone the guardian night !
The moon the woods bowed motionless
With plenitude of light.

' St. Michael's road, presaging nought,

Leal John yestreen had ta'en ;

But now another way he chose,

Lest there he should be slain.

' Northward, compelling soon his steps,
Across the Tweed he hied ;
Thence sea and land to traverse far,
A long and cheerless ride.

' For aye his heart in greenwood was,
Wherever he might be ;
Till pleasing rose resolve, once more
The forests fair to see.

12

178 History of Derbyshire.

1 Yet'bootless he retraced deject

Each loved resort at last ;
The birds were mute, the leafless wold
Held drearily the blast.

' But as again John wandered wide,
A fog so dense did fall,
He could not see nor hill nor tree ;
It closed him like a wall.

' That dismal night he roamed lost,
Exhausted, sick, and cold ;
The morn was long ere it was light,
And long the vapour rolled.

' On every side came mighty stones
About a barren moor ;
Nor roof nor pale might be descried,
As spread that waste forlore.

' At length, 'mid wreathing fog-smoke, swam
The sun's blanched disc on high ;
Mantled the ashy mists around ;
Grew wide the rover's eye.

' When, singing blithe as he approached,
A shepherd-boy met John :
" Pray tell to me," the outlaw cried,
" What ground I here am on ?"

' " St. Michael's, gallant yeoman, this,"

The boy made prompt reply ;
" From yonder, Hathersage church-spire
May'st plainly now espy.

' " There hast thou knelled," said Little John,
" The solemn bell for me ;
But Christ thee save, my bonny lad ;
Aye lucky shalt thou be !"

A Sorrowful Ballad. 179

' He had not many steps advanced,

When in the vale appeared
The church, and eke the village sweet,
His foot had vainly feared.

' Descending, welcome straight he finds
The ruddy hearth before ;
Cried young and old, " Among us dwell,
And weary roam no more !"

' Said Little John, " No, never hence

Shall I fare forth again ;

But that abode is yet to found

Wherein I must remain."

' He led them to the churchyard frore,

And digg'd therein a grave :
" Three days," said he, " and, neighbours, this
The little inn I crave.

' " Without a coffin or a shroud

Inter me, I you pray ;
And o'er my corse as now yclad,
The greensward lightly lay."

' The morn ensued, as John foretold,

He never rose to greet ;
His bread upon the board was brought,
Beside it stayed his seat.

' They laid him in the grave which he

With his own hands had made,
And overspread the fragrant sod
As he had wished and said.

' His bow was in the chancel hung ;
His last good bolt they drave
Down to the nocke, its measured length,

Westward fro' the grave.

12-

i8o History of Derbyshire.

1 And root and bud this shaft put forth,
When spring returned anon ;
It grew a tree, and threw a shade,
Where slept staunch Little John.'

Although it sounds somewhat paradoxical, the best
way to reach East Derbyshire is to go into York-
shire ; and the road from Hathersage lies through
some of the prettiest scenery of the Peak.

Leaving the straggling village street, bordered by
curious little shops and old houses, some of which
are roofless, the path gradually ascends. On one
side the high and rugged frontier of Millstone Edge,
with its naked rocks, and dark fissures, and huge
heaps of detached stone, stands out boldly against
the sky-line ; on the other, deep down in the hollow,
far below the turnpike, is a lovely sweep of valley,
through which the Derwent flows beneath arched
bridges, past trees, and woods, and quiet homesteads,
until its silver thread is lost behind the hills in the
distance.

The highway creeping to the summit of the hill
is here shut in for a short distance by the layers of
rock that form part of the edge ; then it winds
through a stretch of moorland patched with green
and grey and brown, and studded with great moss-
tinted stones. On the left, by the wayside, is a huge
rock resembling a reptile's head, and known as the
1 Toad's Mouth.' A few paces further is the Burbage
Brook, bubbling through a picturesque glen, in which
the mountain sheep are nibbling the scant grass.
More in the heart of the rocky wilderness rises the

A Wild Country. 1S1

bold form of Higgan Tor ; and near it, on the lower
ridge, stands the ' Carl's Wark,' an ancient British
fortification, with breastwork of massive stones, and
slanting banks of earth — a fort that must have been
an ugly obstacle to the hardiest and bravest warriors
in earlier times.

The country just around this earthwork is savage
and wild ; but nearer the roadway, within the
shadow of the moss-grown bridge, there are tender
wild-flowers and fragile ferns thriving in sheltered
nooks bordering the little stream. It is a pretty
picture : a tiny garden set in a great stony fastness ;
a modest oasis in the desert of rough ground and
mighty boulders, about which a few bridle-paths
twine with uncertain track, as if they had lost their
way on the moorland.

Through the belt of trees on the right stands the
Duke of Rutland's shooting-box, with its windows
one dazzle of ruby and gold, as the sunset-gleams
flash across the wide expanse of heather-clad land
sacred to grouse and its slayers.

On the left, at the junction of four roads, is Fox
House, an inn that gives a cordial welcome, but
needs rearranging or rebuilding, to more comfort-
ably accommodate the increasing summer traffic to
the Peak.

North of this inn, the way lies by patches of
moorland and some pretty bits of softer landscape,
but the scenery has no striking beauty. Descending
the hill from Dore Moor to Whirlow, the Derbyshire
border is passed, and the pedestrian treads Yorkshire

1 82 History of Derbyshire.

soil ; but the county he has temporarily forsaken still
keeps in sight, as if loth to be forgotten. Across the
broad vale to the right, just within East Derbyshire,
can be seen the ruins of Beauchief Abbey.

Of the monastery, whose buildings once covered
an acre of ground, there is little remaining except
the western tower and a part of the church nave.
But the grey crumbling walls of the ancient religious
house founded by Robert Fitz-Ranulph, lord of
Alfreton, look very picturesque lying within the
shelter of the ' fair, wooded headland ' from which,
it is said by some authorities, the abbey obtained
its name. A long line of abbots grew fat on this
fair domain, with its ' chapell, hall, buttrye,
kyttchyn, bakhous,' park, and fish-ponds ; and
one of their number was not satisfied with feast-
ing, and with ornate worship aided by candlesticks,
crosses, and rich vestments, for in 1458 Abbot Down-
ham, ' together with seven of his monks, was deposed
for divers notorious crimes.' The old error that Fitz-
Ranulph was one of the four knights who murdered
Thomas a Becket, and that he built the abbey in
expiation of his crime, lingers no longer in the minds
of history students ; but there are two traditions
still associated with the building. One is that
' Oliver Cromwell blew off the top of the tower with
cannon planted on Bole Hill ;' and the other relates
' how " Big Tom of Lincoln " originally hung in this
tower, and was stolen by night, being conveyed away
by a team of six horses, with their shoes reversed to
baffle pursuit.'

Banner Cross. 18

3

It is difficult to get rid of Derbyshire association
along this highway, even after the ruined abbey is
hidden by woods and ridges of the intervening
country. Near the ivy-clad church at Ecclesall is
the site of the old chapel in which the monks of
Beauchief said their paternosters ; and a little
beyond, amid the trees, rise the gables of Banner
Cross.

This mansion, which has a stone cross surmount-
ing the roof, marks hallowed ground, if tradition is
truthful. Once upon a time, so the story goes, a
valiant chieftain unfurled his banner on the then
wild slope, and bade defiance to his Saxon foes.
Though hard pressed, he would not yield. Less
and less grew the little band of brave men clustering
round his standard. Undaunted by fierce war-cry
or crash of battle-axe, they scorned to flee, preferring
death to cowardice.

1 And a cross was rear'd on high
To their name in after years,
Where in death the heroes lie :
Banner Cross the name it bears.'

The Derbyshire associations of Banner Cross are
not linked with this warlike period. They belong to
a more peaceful time, in which the Saxon battle-axe
was rusty, and the Norman invaders only lived in the
pages of romance. The old house, superseded by
the present mansion about sixty years ago, was in
the last century the residence of the Brights, one of
whom, John Bright, was mayor of Chesterfield, and
high sheriff of the county. The new house was

184 History of Derbyshire.

long the home of Mr. George Wilson, one of
Sheffield's shrewdest and most enterprising business
men — the late head of Messrs. Cammell & Co.,
armour-plate and steel rail makers, a man who
proved that urbanity was the siren of trade — and
never lost his temper !

Opposite Banner Cross one catches the first
glimpse of Sheffield ; not of the town as seen by
travellers by rail — not of gigantic mills, and dingy
workshops, and demon-eyed puddling furnaces, and
great chimneys pouring forth columns of blue-black
smoke that dim the sunlight, and make the sky look
blacker than the gathering storm ; but a glimpse of
one of Sheffield's prettiest suburbs. Across the
valley the trees in Endcliffe Wood are clothed in
tender green. The well-wooded slope beyond is
dotted with white-stone mansions, the homes of
manufacturers and merchant princes. Here is the
stately residence of Sir John Brown ; a little to the
right, the luxurious house in which Mr. Mark Firth
entertained the Heir-apparent ; higher up is Thorn-
bury, the art-adorned dwelling of Mr. Mappin, M.P.;
and clustering all around are the habitations of
men who with indomitable perseverance have
already made, or are making, their " Fortunes in
Business." But there is no sound of labour in this
west-end of the cutlery hive ; only the evidence, the
result of wealth is here. The manufacturing part of
the borough is concealed by the hilly pastures on
the Sharrow side of the roadway ; and the stranger,
gazing with delight on the picturesque suburb of

A Glimpse of Sheffield. 185

Ranmoor and Broomhill that borders the more
rugged beauty of Rivelin valley, would scarcely
believe that away to the east extends a great centre
of industry, with its miles of thick-populated streets ;
its crowd of work-shops, where the cutler and the
edge-tool maker toil ; its huge works, in which the
white-heated armour-plate is deftly dragged from
the furnace to the rolls, in which the steel rail is
fashioned, and the Bessemer converter spurts out
prodigal showers of brilliant sparks that fall like
golden rain — works that tremble with the thud of
steam-hammer, and resound with the clank of
machinery, and the shouts of the fearless, brawny men
who earn their bread amid the scorching heat and
almost blinding glare inseparable from the manipu-
lation of iron and steel. There is much to arrest the
attention in this densely peopled corner of Hallam-
shire, where plain knife-making was considered an
ancient handicraft even in Elizabeth's reign.* It is a
town in which the spirit of invention never slumbers,
and the skilful hand is seldom idle — a town commer-
cially great, and one that is no longer neglecting
culture, health, and street improvement.

* Fuller says : ' Nor must we forget that though plain knife-
making was very ancient in this country (Yorkshire), yet
Thomas Matthews, on Fleet Bridge, London, was the first
Englishman who quinto Elizabeths (1563), made five knives.'

CHAPTER XVII.

Toil and Smoke— A Thorough People— Sheffield Men and
the Picturesque — A Pretty Glen — The Wyming Brook — A
Moorland Path — Another Look at the Peak.

Sheffield will, no doubt, be justly dealt with by
another pen in ' The County History of Yorkshire ;'
but it would be folly to dismiss the great thriving
town here with a word, for it is practically the
capital of North Derbyshire as well as of South
Yorkshire — it is the town to which the thoughts of
every ambitious youth in the Peak naturally turn — it
is a town in which many Derbyshire men have made
not only a fortune but a name.

Charles Reade in his novel ' Put Yourself in His
Place,' speaks of it as ' this infernal city whose
water is blacking, and whose air is coal ;' and other
writers have gone out of their way to traduce the
place, apparently because it throbs with industrial
life in its incessant tussle with iron and steel ; while
the fastidious of the land, speeding in train past
Brightside, are astonished at the cinder-covered
ground, the great dingy-looking works, the forest of
tall chimneys, the fierce glow of furnaces, the Bedlam
of hard work, and most of all by the thick atmosphere

Toil and Smoke. 1S7

— an atmosphere impregnated with sand, soot, and
steel filings — above which rises in silent but pictur-
esque majesty the biggest, most strangely coloured,
and most gracefully formed smoke-cloud in the world !

But the smoke, the noise, the labour-turmoil cannot
be particularly injurious to health. Even the pale-
faced, but sinewy, grinder who works in the damp
shop, with his clothes looking as if they had been
dipped in yellow ochre, often numbers as many years,
though he cannot boast the complexion, of the
agricultural labourer. The ironworker is a modern
Hercules, with muscles as strong as the metal with
which he toys. He is hardier than the gladiator,
and quite as fearless, though his work is so dangerous
that he scarcely earns a meal except, as it were,
on the brink of death.

Apart from the terrible accidents, however, that
sometimes occur in the steel works and grinding
wheels, the people of Sheffield live perhaps as long as
the people of any other large town. Nor is the secret
far to seek. They do nothing by halves. They are
a thorough people. While they are at work they
think, they endure like martyrs, they put forth all
their dexterity and skill. When they are at play, they
play with the same intensity — laughing to scorn
Shakespeare's croak that ' all delights are vain.' They
are a people who revel in sport and pastime ; and
perhaps as some compensation for the dreary sur-
roundings of their industrial lives, God has not only
implanted in their hearts a love of nature, but given
them the opportunity of satisfying that love.

1 88 History of Derbyshire.

Sheffield, to quote a more kindly expression of
Charles Reade's, ' lies in a basin of delight and
beauty : noble slopes, broad valleys, watered by
rivers and brooks of singular beauty, and fringed by
fair woods in places.' No traveller will believe it,
looking out of railway-carriage window at the blurred
and devastated landscape on the east side of the
town ; but he has only to alight at either railway
station, saunter up High Street, forward to Glossop
Road, tug up the steep to Crookes, and on to Rivelin
— not more than half an hour's walk — to realize how
greatly the Sheffield artisan has been favoured by
Providence ; what lovely pictures, what delightful
landscapes, stretch out almost from the threshold of
his humble home. And the Sheffield men appreciate
the natural beauties by which they are surrounded.
These men — many of them, at all events — are not re-
fined ; they can convert the rough iron into polished
steel with greater ease than they can polish their own
manners ; they are often rude, boisterous, uncouth ;
they speak more emphatically than poetically, in a
strange dialect something after this fashion: 'Ahr
tha goin' dahrn t' Wicker ? Ahr'll meat thi a t' weel,
and if tha's nowt to do we'll go aht wi' t' tackle.'*
But they are proud of their industrial skill ; they are
true as steel for friendship's sake ; they admire what
is beautiful, and they know the hills, the glens, the

e Meaning, ' Are you going down the Wicker (one of the
chief streets) ? I will meet you at the wheel (the wheel or
shed where the knife-grinders work), and if you have nothing
to do we will go out with the tackle ' — go fishing. The Sheffield
working-men are adepts at angling.

Sheffield Men and the Picturesque. 189

woods, the streams on the border of the town as well
almost as Ebenezer Elliott, who gave Black Brook
that falls into Rivelin Valley, the poetic name of
« Ribbledin ' :

' No name hast thou, lone streamlet

That marriest Rivelin ;
Here, if a bard may christen thee,

I'll call thee " Ribbledin."
Here, where first murmuring from thine urn,

Thy voice deep joy expresses,
And down the rocks like music flows

The wildness of thy tresses.'

Black Brook — whirling after every storm in mad-
cap glee into the grand, wide-stretching valley of
Rivelin — cannot, pretty as it is, compare with the
wilder beauty of another stream, the Wyming Brook,
that tumbles recklessly down the fir-capped glen
just beyond, opposite Hollow Meadows. This glen
is one of the favourite haunts of the Sheffield work-
man. Here he is free from the grime of the work-
shop, and the excessive heat of the armour-plate mill
— amid ' the sights and sounds of nature ' he forgets
for the moment his toil for bread, and his smoke-
begrimed dwelling in Attercliffe or Brightside, or in
the dreary region of the Crofts. He gets new breath,
new life, new hope in this little hillside fastness; and
it is such a lovely spot that after dragging you there,
you will admit that however dismal Sheffield may
sometimes be, it is a black diamond set in emeralds
— a sooty Vulcan or Cyclops slaving on the borders
of a paradise.

1 90 History of Derbyshire.

It is into the hollow, heath-bordered vale, just
below the truant school at Hollow Meadows, that
the Wyming Brook flows ; and quitting the Ashopton
turnpike for what is little more than a bridle-path,
we are soon in the glen down which the pretty
rivulet makes its persevering way from the high
lands above. It is a delightful though rugged retreat,
only half a mile long from entrance to exit; but full of
beauty, reminding one of the Devil's Glen in County
Wicklow, or of some of the most picturesque haunts
in Wales. The brook, frothing and fuming over its
rocky, uneven bed, is completely hemmed in by the
high, thickly-wooded ridges that rise abruptly from
its banks. Its course is winding, intricate, fantastic.
One could imagine that Woden, the god of war, and
Thor, the god of storm, had fought in this glen,
hurling great rocks at each other. The huge stones
— gritstone and granite — lie in curious positions, and
are piled in strange confusion, right in the brook's
course. Here and there they nearly baffle the little
stream altogether, and after fretting and foaming in
futile attempts to get free the water falls into some
still pool, from which escape is uncertain. But it is
only now and then the busy brook (which like some
men has more than its share of impetuosity) gets so
unkindly cooped up. It is a restless stream, full of
resource and enterprise, full of ingenuity and daring.
It dashes boldly over lichen-covered rocks in many
a tiny waterfall : it charges into narrow fissures
and emerges spray-crested to tumble bubbling and
gurgling into rough basins ; it creeps laughingly

A Pretty Glen. 191

beneath great boulders, and dives slyly into all sorts
of crevices, making mysterious eddies and ripples in
its struggles to get free. In one place it is like the
stream spoken of by Mary Howitt :

1 Up in a mountain hollow wild,
Fretting like a peevish child ;'

and in another it chatters merrily over its stony way,
hurrying in joyous abandon past jutting crag and
moss-grown block, proving with its never-tired voice
with what appropriateness it has been called the
Wyming Brook.

' A pleasant mountain stream
With a very pleasant name.'

' After sweltering in the town's distempered glow,'
we are charmed with this bit of solitude, that is
broken only by the musical murmur of the brook.
The scenery right away up the glen is exquisite ; and
though our path up the stream is hazardous (chiefly
a case of stepping from rock to rock, and sometimes
slipping ignominiously off the smooth stones into the
water) we manage to see most of the rivulet's way-
side beauties. Every half-dozen steps we take the
glen reveals some new phase of loveliness. By the
brooklet's side delicate ferns shelter in cool recesses ;
the stitchwort, the bluebell, and the violet grow
among the grass ; the heather and the gorse find
scanty roothold, but thrive on the mere sprinkling of
soil the winter's flood has sparely lodged about the
huge pieces of gritstone ; and the hardy bilberry

192 History of Derbyshire.

clings to the grey, weather-beaten, water-dashed
rocks, its wires reaching far in indescribable tangle.
As we try somewhat perilously to balance our-
selves on the sharp-edged or slippery moss-grown
summit of some great lump of granite, we get fleet-
ing glimpses of the green slopes, patched here and
there with the brown of faded bracken. Now and
then we have to bend low beneath the overhanging
branches of the dark pine, or the brighter-hued
beech, or the thorny hawthorn. Indeed, the brook
is completely arched with foliage along the greater
part of its frolicsome skip down the glen ; and we
are often in danger, of being caught and held in the
branches. But we succeed, with some difficulty and
the experience of a few scratches, in avoiding such a
ludicrous mishap, and get to the head of the glen — a
barren land, that looks bare and unattractive in the
sunlight. After a lingering look at the brook that
has prattled by our side so long, we soon reach the
highway, and tramp to The Grouse and Trout, an
inn familiar to sportsmen. Our hunger satisfied, we
stroll down the field in front of the house, and
enjoy the glorious prospect. At our feet are three
huge reservoirs, that look like little seas, for the
waters are rough, wave-tossed by the north-west
wind. Beyond are wide sweeps of moorland that
stretch away dark and sombre to the horizon. There
is no ' sylvan pomp of woods ' here, but a vast ex-
panse of heather-clad, rush-covered country, that it
would be foolhardy to attempt to traverse at night.
Yonder, to the right, rising from a cairn, is Stanedge

Another Look at the Peak. 193

Pole, put up to guide the traveller on his way over
the rough track across the moors.

' Onward we climb and upward pass
By that old causeway track,
Where long-, long went in olden time

The pedlar with his pack,
With carrier horses, laden well,

Their progress cheered by jingling bell.'

AVhat an invigorating tramp it is ! Yorkshire is
noted for the weird beauty of its moorlands and the
brighter picturesqueness of its hills and dales ; but
there are few prettier or more health-giving walks
than this from Stanedge Pole to the rock-bound
edge, from which we again obtain a delightful view
of the fair vale of Hope and the stern hills of the
Peak.

13

CHAPTER XVIII.

Sheffield Years Ago— The Cutlers' Feast— A Crestfallen
Dignitary — The Parish Church — Singular Incidents — Poetry
and Sculpture — Ruskin's Museum — The Mappin Gallery —
' Less Black than Painted.'

Coming back from this tramp over the moorland
by way of Sandigate, it is not long before we are in
Sheffield again. No one would imagine that ' The
Black but Famous Town,' with its new wide streets,
its steep, narrow thoroughfares, and dark alleys and
grinding wheels and manufactories, was once free
from the insatiable Juggernaut of Industry that so
often crushes men, as well as material, in the
modern striving for manufacturing supremacy and
wealth characteristic of every great English city.

In the olden time, however, when Thomas
Furnival was lord of the manor, Sheffield was a
tiny village lying in the heart of an oak forest, and
the cutler worked so leisurely at the thwitel, or rude
knife of which the poet Chaucer speaks, that he
never scrupled to chat with the swineherd or gossip
with the warder. He led a semi-rural life, took an
optimist view of existence, thought it was impossible

Sheffield Years Ago. 195

to further develop his own handicraft, and never
dreamt even of the mottoed knives common in
Shakespeare's time — poetic cutlery, that prompted
the thought in Gratiano's mind :

' For all the world, like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife — " Love me and leave me not.'"

The knifesmith's homely forge, about which the
woodbine and the ivy grew, has now been super-
seded by the great shed, in which, amid the constant
whir and flap of wheel-bands, and the hiss of the
grindstones, the deft grinders fashion the blade.
The clumsy wooden handle of the historic thwitel
is no more. It has given way to handles of ivory,
pearl, and tortoiseshell ; stag, buck, buffalo, and
other kinds of horn. Indeed the modern knife,
with its finely tempered blade, and beautifully
carved, embossed, or inlaid haft, is a triumph of art,
far excelling in durable workmanship and design
even the celebrated Italian cutlery of the seven-
teenth century.

It is only within comparatively recent years,
however, that the town has made marked progress
in this ancient manufacture. Nearly three centuries
ago the Hallamshire cutlers seemed to have cared
quite as much for fishing and deer-catching as
the forge ; and there is a curious record to the effect
that the then Earl of Shrewsbury, who had one
thousand fallow-deer in Sheffield Park, graciously
allowed va holiday once every year to the apron-
men, or smiths of the parish, when a number of
bucks were turned into a meadow near the town,

13—2

196 History of Derbyshire.

and the men were sent into it to kill and carry away
as many as they could with their hands, and would
sometimes slaughter about twenty, on which they
feasted, and had money given to them for wine.'

' Early in September, by leave of their great chief,
These apron-men, the cutlersmiths, for bodily relief,
Were yearly sent to Sheffield Park, amongst the antler'd deer,
And told to slaughter what they could, and feast with wine
and cheer.'

Such was the origin of the ' Cutlers' Feast ;' but
it was not until 1624 that the Cutlers' Company of
Hallamshire was incorporated, by an Act passed
' for the good order and government of the makers
of knives, sickles, shears, scissors, and other cutlery
wares.' The London Company of Cutlers existed
long before that period ; and the Sheffield knife-
makers adopted their motto ' Pour y parvenier a
bonne foi,' which Dr. Pegge translates, ' To succeed
in business, take care to keep up your credit.'

No doubt the cutlers of Sheffield gave a feast of
some sort when the Company was established ; and
they have kept up the practice ever since, making,
by-the-bye, enough progress in the art of dinner-
giving to reach the most exacting idea of what a
great banquet ought to be. The earlier feasts of
the Company were, nevertheless, only humble
gatherings ; and in 1749, when the dinner was
spread in the quaint old hall (since demolished),
the expenses of the feast only amounted to £2 2s. 9d.
The provender supplied consisted of a rump of beef.
3s. 4d. ; six fowls, 2s. 8d. ; ham, 3s. ; pies and

The Cutlers Feast. 197

puddings, 2s. 6d. ; hare, is. 6d. ; loin of veal, is. iod. ;
bread, is. ; butter, 2s. ; roots, 4d. ; ale and punch,
£1 os. yd. The dishes were substantial, old
English fare, and the guests seem to have had
Micawber's weakness for punch.

In 1771 the feast had become more famous ; and
was attended by the Dukes of Norfolk, Devonshire,
and Leeds, as well as by many others of the nobility.
A kind of carnival was held in the town, and the
Courant, an old journal, describing the event, says :
' The Cutlers' Feast was observed as a great holi-
day. The bells were kept constantly ringing during
the three days it lasted ; booths were erected in the
churchyard, High Street, and Church Street for the
sale of fruit and spices, and all business was gene-
rally suspended.' It was for years a banquet without
stiffness, a feast to which old friends went with
delight, and listened time after time to the same old
songs. In his ' Memorials of Chantrey,' Holland
says of Nicholas Jackson, the filemaker : ' Ancient
guests at the Cutlers' Feasts will remember how his
loyal songs formerly divided with those of another
local worthy, Billie Battie, the applause of the
Corporation when sung in the old hall in Church
Street.'

What would the Master Cutler, in all the glory of
his badge of office, and attended by the beadle
liveried in chocolate and canary, think now if any
manufacturer lifted up his voice in song ! That
era of genial conviviality has gone by, like the
manners and customs of Captain Costigan's time.

198 History of Derbyshire.

The only canary tolerated at the feast is that adorn-
ing the beadle's form, and ale and punch have been
banished in favour of Bacchus, who is worshipped in
the wine-cup. The tables show a pleasant picture
of tempting food ; of silver palm-trees, epergnes,
and rustic stands, half hidden by fruit and flowers ;
and the hall, decorated with the arms of the lords of
Hallamshire, and medallions of Vulcan, Minerva,
Apollo, and Mercury, is still further beautified with
banners and drapery. The old songs are forgotten
in the crash of military music or the sweet voices of
trained vocalists; and there are few sights more
brilliant than the banqueting-hall on the Cutlers'
Feast night, when the light from the great chande-
liers falls with softened radiance on the throng ;
when the ladies have entered the gallery ; and the
toastmaster, standing behind the Master Cutler's
chair, says in ringing tones : ' My Lords and Gentle-
men,— Charge your glasses. Pray silence for the
health of her Majesty the Queen.'

Sheffield has resounded with war-cries, been de-
vastated by plague, convulsed by outrage, and greatly
damaged by flood, and it is associated with some
great names. It sheltered Cardinal Wolsey in his
disgrace, the fourth Earl of Shrewsbury entertaining
the crestfallen dignitary with marked courtesy at the
Manor. ' When we came into the park of Sheffield,'
writes Cavendish, the Cardinal's usher, ' my lord of
Shrewsbury and my lady of Shrewsbury, and a train
of gentlewomen, and all other his gentlemen and
servants, stood without the gates to attend my lord's

A Crestfallen Dignitary. 199

coming to receive him. At whose alighting the Earl
received him with much honour, and embraced my
lord, saying these words : " My lord," quoth he,
" your grace is most heartily welcome unto me, and
I am glad to see you here in my poor lodge where
I have long desired to see you, and much more
gladder if ye had come after another sort." "Ah!
my gentle Lord of Shrewsbury," quoth my lord, " I
heartily thank you. And although I have cause to
lament, yet, as a faithful heart may, I do rejoice that
my chance is to come into the custody of so noble a
person, whose approved honour and wisdom hath
always been right well known to all noble estates.
And howsoever my accusers have used their accusa-
tions against me, this I know, and so before your
lordship and all the world I do protest, that my
demeanour and proceedings have always been both
just and loyal towards my Sovereign." ' It was at
Sheffield, too, that Mary Queen of Scots passed
a considerable portion of her imprisonment — occu-
pying at various times both the Castle and the
Manor.

The Castle, which was pretty well battered in the
Civil Wars, has vanished ; but the Manor, in which
Mary Queen of Scots sighed in vain for freedom,
has not been entirely demolished ; and here and
there about the town are other interesting relics that
unmistakably link Sheffield with important events in
England's history.

The parish church — the Church of St. Peter's —
which dates from the fifteenth century, is not with-

200 History of Derbyshire.

out interest, though some years ago it was slightingly
spoken of as 'a great heap of stones called a church.'
Since its recent restoration the edifice, which is in
the Perpendicular style, is in every way worthy to be
the parish church of the town. It contains a noble
chapel, founded in the reign of Henry VIII. by
George, the fourth Earl of Shrewsbury, whose altar
tomb ' is to this day a marvel of beautiful work,
so finished in detail, so full of repose.' Nor has the
church been altogether free from curious incidents.

' A story is told of the time of Vicar Drake, who
held the living from 1695 to 1713, that might pro-
voke both a smile and a shudder. Francis Jessop
the younger, son of Francis Jessop, of Broomhall,
had been ordained for the Church, and enjoyed the
rectory of Treeton; but on one occasion he was wor-
shipping in the parish church at Sheffield, when
Drake, the vicar, was preaching. Whether Jessop
disliked the doctrine, or whether he had a spite
against the parson, we know not ; but all at once
he rose up from his seat in Mr. Jessop's loft — as
the seat of the patron of the living was called — and
levelled a loaded pistol at Vicar Drake, calling out,
" Duck, or Drake, have at thee, mollard!" The mad-
man would actually have fired had he not been re-
strained by his friends. The vicar stooped down in
the pulpit, and continued below for some time in a
state of great trepidation, and we can well imagine
that the congregation would be not a little
alarmed.'

In the days of the Chartists, too, there were some

Poetry and Sculpture. 20 r

lively scenes in the sacred edifice, it being left on
record by one of the churchwardens that on a certain
Sabbath in 1839, during some squabble about the
pews, the church ' was like a bear-pit, with hissing,
hooting, and shouting.'

There are one or two streets in the many-hilled
town not unconnected with art and literature. Not
more than one hundred yards away from the Hay-
market, where furnacemen and cutlers discuss the
probable result of the handicap or the St. Leger, is
the narrow thoroughfare, known as the Hart's head,
in which was the literary den of James Montgomery,
the poet, a little room with a ' most distressing-
outlook upon back premises, and dingy walls and
roofs,' a humble retreat in which he penned some
very beautiful thoughts and did a great deal of
spirited writing that sent him to prison as well as
made him many friends. Almost within a stone's
throw of Montgomery's abode was the simple, ill-
furnished studio, in Hutton's Yard, where the young
sculptor, Chantrey, sketched and modelled in clay,
laying the sure foundation of a widespread fame that
will never die. In Barker's Pool, not far distant,
Ebenezer Elliott lived and strove. ' I had to rock
the cradle and stir the melted butter while I wrote
my poetry. The poetry was spoilt, and the melted
butter was burnt,' he mournfully confessed ; nor was
he much better off in his dingy warehouse, where 'he
had only one chair to offer to visitors, a chair which
had no bottom and three legs, and which he jokingly
likened to the British Constitution.' Notwithstanding.

202 History of Derbyshire.

the depressing and exasperating conditions under
which he wrote, his poetry was not so bad as he
made out. He was an intense lover of Nature, and
did much by his rhymes towards making her beauties
better known.

Sheffield is not only linked with the lives of sculptor
and poet, but with Roebuck's political fame, and Sir
Sterndale Bennett's musical genius. It is a town,
too, that is singularly favoured by art. In contains,
in the unpretentious stone-built habitation on the
high ridge at Walkley, Mr. Ruskin's museum. The
art critic has sent to the town a rich collection
of Venetian and other casts, valuable enough to adorn
any gallery, and his pictorial gifts are equally prized.
The latter include the fine painting of ' St. George,'
after Carpaccio, copied by Mr. Ruskin himself from
the principal figure of the first picture in the Chapel
of St. George of the Sclavonians, as well as a rough
sepia sketch of the whole subject, showing the dragon
the knight so valiantly encountered. There are also
four works illustrative of ' The Victory of Faith over
the Fear of Death,' as depicted in the legend of St.
Ursula. The first, ' The Princess's Bedchamber,'
has been copied by Mr. Ruskin, and the other three
— ' The King's Consent,' ' The Benediction,' and
' The Instant before Martyrdom ' — by Mr. Fairfax
Murray. 'The Lippi Madonna,' copied by the same
artist ; the ' Madonna,' by Verrochio, who ' was also
a master in the art of metal work ;' ' The Wreck,'
by W. Small ; ' The Funeral of St. Jerome,' copied
.by Murray, after Carpaccio ; and ' Ehrenbreitstein,'

Ruskiris Museum. 203

copied by Arthur Severn, after Turner, are all in the
unpretentious room of the old museum ; but perhaps
the most delicate art-work in the little apartment is
Air. Ruskin's ' Panorama of the Alps,' about which
he wrote : ' I place it in the Sheffield Museum for a
perfectly trustworthy witness to the extent of snow
on the Breithorn, Fletschorn, and Montagne de Saas
thirty years ago.'

In the closely packed slides are many beautiful
etchings by Albert Diirer, and clever sketches by
Leech, and wondrous evidences of Mr. Ruskin's own
delicate touch with the brush — notably the bright-
hued tip of a peacock's feather, and the more sombre
tints of seaweed and foliage. And what priceless
books and illuminated manuscripts he has collected !
One of the most curious is Donovan's ' Insect Book,'
the drawings in which were made from insects
the artist was a quarter of a century in gathering.
One of the most historic is the missal album of Diana
de Croy, a member of the powerful family of Lor-
raine, that ruled in France in the sixteenth century.
Many of Diana's friends inscribed their names in
this album, and Mary Queen of Scots wrote the
appended sentiment on one of its vellum pages :

' Since you appoint your friends herein to trace
Names that you love to have in memory,
I beg to give you, too, a little space,
And let no age cancel this gift to thee.

Mary Queen of France and of Scots.'

The lines must have been written between July,
1559, and December, 1560, when the unfortunate

204 History of Derbyshire.

Sovereign was both Oueen of France and of Scots ;
and nearly all the signatures in the album were
written between 1570 and 1590.

Not long ago Mr. Ruskin sent a rare old MS.
on vellum, the supposed date being about 1160.
It once belonged to the Benedictine Monastery
of Ottobenern in Bavaria, and is a Lectionarium,
or Book of Lessons, which was read to the monks
at particular festivals. The MS., which is in ex-
cellent preservation, the gold and silver being sin-
gularly bright considering the age of the work,
was bought by Bernard Quaritch, of London, for
£550, and purchased from him by Mr. Ruskin at
the same price. Among his more recent additions
to the choice library at the museum are four
leaves, in frames, from a beautiful book ' written by
hand,' and illustrated with such exquisite pen-and-
ink drawings by Francesca that Mr. Ruskin has
given £600 for the volume of which these leaves are
such an artistic specimen. And, however much truth
there is in the remark that Mr. Ruskin's own writings
are published at prices beyond the reach of the
artisan, they may be studied freely enough here,
and their contents are not entirely unknown to the
new race of grinders and cutlers springing into man-
hood in Sheffield.

Of the precious stones, in which, perhaps, the
museum is richest, little idea can be given in
words. They crowd upon each other in drawers
and glass cases, and flash, and sparkle, and gleam
with beauty. Here are amethysts, emeralds, crys-

The Mappin Gallery. 205

tals, opals, pearls, rubies, silver and virgin gold ;
and in a letter recently written Mr. Ruskin says : ' I
have sent the museum such a piece of topaz in the
water as Europe may be challenged to match — gave
£100 for it of the Guild's money.' Nor do these
treasures by any means exhaust the catalogue of
Mr. Ruskin's gifts, for he is ever finding some new
gem and sending it to enrich his refined hobby, the
museum.

The Ruskin Museum is not the only home of art
in Sheffield. In Weston Park — a charming little
park that is called ' The Grinder's Garden,' and
' The Cutler's Playground,' and contains the town's
museum of curiosities and local manufactures* — has

* The town's museum — or as it is styled, ' The Sheffield
Public Museum ' — is enriched by the valuable collection of
British antiquities formed by Mr. Thomas Bateman, the author
of 'Vestiges of the Antiquities of Derbyshire,' and ' Ten Years'
Diggings in Celtic and Saxon Gravehills, in the Counties of
Derby, Stafford, and York.' An enthusiastic Derbyshire anti-
quarian and archaeologist was Thomas Bateman, and his collec-
tion includes many interesting relics of the Celtic and other
periods. Here is the bronze helmet of a Roman foot soldier ;
there a necklace of fourteen pendant ornaments of pure gold —
eleven of them set in garnets — found in a barrow near Winster
Moor ; close by the remnants of a Saxon warrior's coat of mail,
discovered in a mound at Benty Grange, Monyash ; near, a little
uninscribed Roman altar of sandstone, taken out of the wall of
an ancient cottage at Middleton ; indeed, the collection is so
rare, so eloquent with stories of the past, that it has attracted
the attention of some of the most noted antiquaries of the time
and certainly proves one thing that cremation is no new-
fangled notion, for it includes a number of urns, containing the
calcined bones of Ancient Britons, who apparently had little
objection to this fiery, but inexpensive, mode of interment.

206 History of Derbyshire.

been erected a beautiful art-gallery. It is in the
Ionic style, and is to be the storehouse of many
pictures — of the collection left to Sheffield by Mr.
Newton Mappin, one of its most influential in-
habitants. The paintings, which are valued at
£80,000, include the works of many noted men.
Among them are John Pettie's ' Drum-Head Court-
Martial,' his ' Hudibras and Ralpho in the Stocks,'

* The Conspirators,' ' The Sally,' and ' The Sword
and Dagger Fight ;' John Phillips is represented by
' The Water Drinkers,' ' The Spanish Wake,' and
' Carnival Time ;' Rosa Bonheur and Landseer by

• The Stray Shot ;' Turner by ' Dunbar Castle ;'
Hillyard Swinstead by the pathetic picture ' When
Trumpets Call then Homes are Broken ;' and there
are also choice examples of the work of John Lin-
nell, Sidney Cooper, T. Creswick, J. Constable,
Copley Fielding, as well as one of Marcus Stone's
best efforts, the Shakespearian study from ' Much
Ado about Nothing,' showing Claudio, when deceived
by Don Juan, accusing Hero. The subject is taken
from the first scene of the fourth act of the comedy,
where Claudio says :

' O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graces had been plac'd
About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart.
But fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! farewell,
Thou pure impiety and impious purity !
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.'

1 Less Black than Painted! 207

The grouping of this picture was arranged by
Charles Dickens, and the painter has cleverly caught
the realistic climax of the scene just as Hero
swoons.

John Newton Mappin was brusque in manner,
and apt to get very angry when asked about his
grouse-shooting exploits ; but he had many good
qualities, possessed true art taste, and proved
himself a great benefactor to the town when he
bequeathed to it, in the words of his will, ' my large
Florentine bronze called " The Keppel Shepherd,"
all my oil paintings, and £15,000 to be applied to
the erection of a suitable art-gallery.'

Sheffield may, like the heroine in James Payn's
novel, truthfully say that she is ' Less Black Than
Painted.' If her industries are smudgy, she has
some counterbalancing brightness — the beauty of
her border land, and the recently acquired facilities
for culture and technical education in her midst.
Instead of being a town to despise, it should be
lauded. It has destroyed trade outrage as effectively
as Ulysses destroyed Polyphemus ; it is outstripping
ignorance with the speed of Atalanta ; it has a robust,
shrewd, industrious, skilful people, and there is un-
doubtedly for Sheffield a great commercial and social
future, though the town is scoffed at by many, and
has been libellously designated ' the ugliest place in
Yorkshire !'

CHAPTER XIX.

In Derbyshire Again — A Region of Iron and Coal—
Chantrey's Birthplace — Unlucky Dronfield — A Strange
Tradition— A Famous Cottage.

Once beyond Sheffield Moor (with its long line of
shops, thronged pavements, and tram-car traffic),
the Yorkshire boundary at Meersbrook is soon
passed, and East Derbyshire reached. The country
is entirely different in its character from that of the
Peak. With the exception of Cresswell Crags, on
the extreme verge of the county, there is little to
remind one of the bluff limestone tors and stalactite
caverns of Matlock and Castleton.

In some parts the landscape is disfigured by great
slag-heaps, and lofty blast-furnaces sending forth
mighty tongues of flame ; by unsightly pit-hillocks
■of black shale, and gigantic head-gearing fixed over
dark yawning shafts, down which the collier goes
with his pick, braving the dangers of explosion, to
get coal out of the shining seams in the far-distant
workings.

East Derbyshire is prolific in mineral wealth.
The people in long-past generations delved for its

A Region of Iron and Coal. 209

coal ; and an old charter, dated 1315, tells how the
monks of Beauchief obtained fuel from the pits at
Norton and Alfreton. Iron ore was obtained in the
county at a very early period ; and until the end of
the last century, there remained at Wingerworth,
two miles south of Chesterfield, one of the old char-
coal furnaces (worked by a waterwheel) that were
formerly used to smelt it.

The supply of minerals has never failed ; neither
the coalfields nor the ironstone mines have yet given
out ; they are far more lasting and exhaustless than
Gilead Beck's marvellous oil-wells described in
1 The Golden Butterfly;' and those who obtain their
livelihood by tearing these treasures out of the
earth's crust, tolerate with great equanimity the ugly
patches they make on nature's face in the process.

It must not be imagined, however, that this part
of the county has its beauty entirely effaced by
ironworks and coalpits ; for it possesses many grand
stretches of hill and dale yet innocent of the furnace-
man's and the miner's footsteps ; and it has a quiet
sylvan loveliness that is, to say the least, a pleasing
variety after the Peak's rugged grandeur.

Up Derbyshire Lane, just outside Sheffield's border,
reposes the old-world village of Norton, a pretty
hamlet of little cottages and country-houses gray
and mellowed with age. Yonder in the valley is
the whir of the grindstone, the throb of the engine,
the roar of the furnace ; here, in the grass and moss-
grown churchyard, in the tree-shaded pathways and
sheltered nooks, all is silent and peaceful — no hurry

14

210 History of Derbyshire.

of business, no grabbing for gold, no struggling for
life's bare subsistence. On the village-green rises a
pillar of granite, bearing the simple inscription,
' Chantrey.' The great sculptor, who was knighted
by William IV., is buried in the churchyard close by.
Norton was his home in youth. He was born in the
village in 1781, and his first occupation was the
humble but useful one of supplying milk to Sheffield
households. But the lad's thoughts were not con-
centrated in his milk-pails ; they flowed into loftier
channels :

' Calmly seated on his panniered ass,
Where travellers hear the steel hiss as they pass,
A milkboy, sheltering from the transient storm,
Chalked on the grinder's wall an infant form.'

o'

Ebenezer Elliott, the poet, has thus indicated the
dawning of art in young Chantrey's mind, and
nothing could stifle his art fervour. When a lad
shows any special aptitude, any particular talent, his
friends generally endeavour to make him a grocer.
Chantrey had to go through this distasteful experi-
ence ; but he could not tolerate the business, and
was eventually bound to a carver and gilder. Step
by step he got into the path most congenial to him.
In his Sheffield studio he sketched and painted, de-
veloping meanwhile great skill as a modeller in clay.
In 1804, when lodging in Norfolk Street in that
town, he sought commissions in painting and sculp-
ture. In 181 1, a bust he sent, with anxious hopes,
to the Royal Academy, secured him the friendship of
Nollekens, and the exquisite sweetness of genuine

Chantrey s Birthplace. 2 1 1

praise. A few years later, Chantrey was famous as
a sculptor, and had himself become not only a
member of the Royal Academy, but the associate of
such men as Canova and Thorwaldsen, who, like the
Norton milkboy, were kings of the chisel, and could
make marble almost speak.

In the church, near which the noted sculptor
rests in his simple grave, covered by a plain granite
slab, are the alabaster effigies of the Blythes, an
illustrious family, which for generations occupied
the quaint old timbered house at Norton Lees, and
sent two bishops to the Church in the fifteenth cen-
tury. Without wishing to disparage these prelates,
it is doubtful whether their preaching was as elo-
quent as Chantrey's — whether even by the aid of
mitre and vestment they created such an impression
as Chantrey does in Lichfield Cathedral still by his
exquisite group, the ' Sleeping Children,' perhaps
the finest fruit of his genius.

Norton is undoubtedly the prettiest village on
Sheffield's border ; and Chantrey's birthplace once
explored, the road to Chesterfield is scarcely worth
traversing by the pedestrian simply in pursuit of
scenery.

The way lies through Dronfield, a somewhat
dingy-looking little town, that is doleful just now
because of the loss of its steel-rail making in-
dustry. Nevertheless, it may be some consolation
to the inhabitants to know that their ancestors were
in a much worse plight ; for in 1643, these unfortu-
nate people, being in sore need of spiritual counsel,

14 — 2

212 History of Derbyshire.

sent a petition to the Bishop of Lichfield and
Coventry, asking for the appointment of a regular
minister, saying that they had not heard a clergy-
man's sermon for fourteen months, nor had the
sacrament administered to them according to the
rites of the Church of England for the space of ten
years !

Dronfield shares with Norton the honour of giving
rise to the Blythes. It was also the seat of the
Fanshawes, the founders of the Free Grammar
School ; and one of the members of this family
was the celebrated Sir Richard Fanshawe, the
ambassador and noted Royalist, writer of ' II Pastor
Fido,' and husband of Lady Fanshawe, whose ' Me-
moirs' are among the choicest of books.

The six miles of country intervening between
Dronfield and Chesterfield is scarred by pit-banks,
colliery-plant, and blast-furnaces, but the turnpike,
passing through Unstone winds very near, both
picturesque and historic ground. Over the moor-
land to the right, near Barlow, stretches the wild
and solitary Lees Fen, where, according to tradition,
a town has been buried more completely than Pom-
peii ; hence the old rhyme :

' When Chesterfield was gorse and broom,
Leasefen was a market-town ;
Now Chesterfield is a market-town,
Leasefen is but gorse and broom.'

The slope on the left of the highway, near Sheep-
bridge, hides the ancient village of Whittington, that
lies on the track of the old coach-road to Sheffield.

A Famous Cottage. 213

By this wayside, on the fringe of the village, is the
famous cottage in which the Earl of Devonshire, the
Earl of Danby, and Mr. D'Arcy met in 1688 to con-
spire for the overthrow of King James — to bring
about the ' Great Revolution.' How successfully
they accomplished their object, and scattered the
Stuart dynasty to the winds, has become a matter of
history. The secret conclave in the little habitation
that then hung out the swinging sign of The Cock
and Pynot,* and was noted for the strength of its
Derbyshire ale, led to the landing of the Prince of
Orange on our shores, and to the flight of the un-
happy sovereign, who, like King Lear, was even for-
saken by his children.

* Pynot is, or rather was, the provincial name for magpie.

<$t

CHAPTER XX.

Taking Life Easily— The Revolution House— England Two
Centuries Ago— The Conspirators at Whittington— The Dash
for Liberty — An Historic Picture— A King's Flight.

Whittington, so well known for its historic
possession, ' The Revolution House,' takes life
easily. Having dabbled in revolution once, it is
possibly under the impression that it has done
enough for the country. There is an air of repose
about the village as if its work was done ; and it
is apparently contented to drag on slowly in the
old-fashioned ways. New Whittington, a mile
away, has put up houses by the score, and ex-
tended here and there until it has far eclipsed in
size the mother-village ; and Whittington Moor,
with its rows of flourishing shops and its many
dwellings, that threaten to block up the racecourse
— one of the oldest in England — has grown quickly ;
but Whittington itself cares little for commercial
development — it prefers to retain its homely looking
forge, its humble shops, and the little houses that
cluster, as if for protection, around the village
church.

The Revolution House. 215

The cottage in which the plotters met is isolated
from the rest of the village. It stands alone, as
if conscious of the important part it played in
English history. The little house has a certain
picturesqueness, but it is woefully dilapidated. It
is untenanted chiefly because it is no longer fit for
habitation. Its weather-stained walls are fast
crumbling to bits : moss and grass grow with
prodigal license on its thatched roof; the diamond-
paned windows are half-hidden by foliage ; the
garden is a tiny wilderness. But tumble-down and
unimposing as it is, there are few dwellings that
have aroused so much interest. ' I calculate we
would gladly give you White House at Washington
for this doll's cottage,' said an American once, as
he peered about the ' Revolution House.' It has,
and does still, excite more curiosity than many a
stately home, than many a mansion, and has been
seen by men from almost every land ; in fact,
many an Australian settler, Hindoo student, and
Yankee sight-seer knows his way to ' The Revolu-
tion House.' From far-away Chili, too, people
have come to see the famous cottage ; but there
is nothing particularly surprising in this, for Chili
is nearly always in a state of revolution.

Resting with arms akimbo against the old wall
that encircles the historic house, and smoking a
cigar as an aid to thought, it is not difficult to
imagine the scene here on the eventful day, nearly
two hundred years ago, when England's fate was
decided, as it has turned out, so happily. There

2 1 6 History of Derbyshire.

had been much heart-burning for a long time among
the people; much indignation at the arbitrary policy
of King James II. His greatest admirers could not
say he was a wise monarch. Indeed, little wisdom
could be expected from a weak-minded, vacillating
King, who was in the power of the existing priest-
hood. The age in which we live is a tolerant one.
Every sect is allowed to go along its own road to
heaven. But in the reign of King James, the
Catholics, in fierce zeal, wished to push the tenets
of their faith down unwilling throats. They wished
their religion to be supreme, and were not averse to
persecution in their endeavour to gain that supre-
macy. In the King they had just the tool for their
purpose. He was King in name only. He was the
Pope's slave. The seat of government was not at
Westminster but at the Vatican. In every Pro-
testant home there was dislike, or disgust, or hatred
of the sovereign, who mocked at justice, and knew
not the meaning of toleration.

Thackeray has, in his story, ' Henry Esmond,'
given a faithful description of the bubbling ferment
of the time — the time in which Lord Castlewood
lived his careless, jovial life. ' Great public events,'
he writes, ' were happening all this while, of which
the simple young page took little count. But one
day riding into the neighbouring town on the step
of my lady's coach, his lordship, and she, and Father
Holt being inside, a great mob of people came hoot-
ing and jeering round the coach, bawling out " The
Bishops for ever !" " Down with the Pope !" " No

The Revolution House. 217

popery, no popery!" "Jezebel, Jezebel!" so that
my lord began to laugh, and my lady's eyes to roll
with anger, for she was as bold as a lioness, and
feared nobody. It was a market-day, and the
country people were all assembled with their baskets
of poultry, eggs, and such things ; the postilion had
no sooner lashed the man who would have taken
hold of his horse, but a great cabbage came whirling
like a bombshell into the carriage, at which my lord
laughed more, for it knocked my lady's fan out of
her hand, and plumped into Father Holt's stomach.'

A staunch Catholic was Lord Castlewood ; and
at last he grew angry at the violence and jeering of
the crowd, threatening to send his rapier ' through
a sneaking pig-skin cobbler.'

1 God save the King !' says my lord at the highest
pitch of his voice. ' Who dares abuse the King's

religion ? You, you psalm-singing cobbler, as

sure as I'm a magistrate of the county I'll commit
you !'

Such a scene may possibly have occurred at
Chesterfield, the well-known market-town, only two
miles from 'The Revolution House.' One could easily
believe, indeed, that my Lord Castlewood lived his
good-humoured reckless life at Wingerworth Hall ;
that he had driven into Chesterfield, and confronted
the crowd of angry excited people — including 'the
great big saddler's apprentice' — say at the door of the
Falcon Inn, on Low Pavement, or in the archway
leading to the Old Angel in Packer's Row. Anyhow,
the country was in a tumult. The Protestants had

2i8 History of Derbyshire.

been oppressed, insulted, slighted beyond passive
endurance. They recollected how the officers who
professed their faith had been turned out of the
Irish army ; that judges, mayors, and aldermen had
been appointed, and elected, not because of suita-
bility, but because they were Catholics and Irish-
men ; and that no less than fifteen hundred Pro-
testant families had fled from Ireland in dismay and
terror. The trial of the seven bishops fanned the dis-
affection ; their constancy to the Church of England
and their acquittal aroused Protestant enthusiasm to
fighting-height. The birth of the Prince of Wales,
and the prospect of another Catholic King, did the
rest. The country was on the verge of revolution !

There is a doubt, in certain minds, as to the month
in which the conspirators, who invited the Prince
of Orange over, met at Whittington. Some writers
assert that it was in June ; others that it was in
November. At all events they did meet in 1688.
Tradition favours November, and as sane sportsmen
do not often go hunting in June, tradition for once
may, one would think, be relied upon.

What were the thoughts of William, fourth Earl
of Devonshire, as he rode away from the old house
at Chatsworth on the eventful morning ? He was a
self-reliant nobleman, an aristocrat of skill and
daring, who could use both tongue and sword.
Danger was powerless to create fear in him. He
had led a stirring life — a life in which he had
crowded much hardy enjoyment, and some exciting
incident. But he was starting on a very perilous

The Dash for Liberty. 219

enterprise now. As he made his way on his strong
steed, across the moorland, probably by Robin
Hood, and Lees Fen, towards Whittington, he had
ample time to fully realize the desperate nature of
his venture. It was to dethrone a King: if he
succeeded, the country's acclamation would be his
recompense ; if he failed, he had perhaps to look
forward to an ignominious death. But he did not
waver. ' A Cavendish for Liberty' would be his
resolve as he settled himself in the saddle, touched
his horse with his spur, and dashed after the
harriers ; for it was a hunting morning — so it was,
in more senses than one ; he was hunting a King.
Nor was he alone in the hunt. He was followed
by the Whigs, and the Earl of Danby by the
Tories, and the pace, so far as the chase after King
James was concerned, was getting break-neck. For
once the family motto, 'Cavendo Tutus' — secure by
caution — was not acted upon : the Earl and his
friends risked all on a single hazard for liberty.

Yet when they broke off from the hunt on Whit-
tington Moor and made towards the village inn to
begin the real hunt after his Majesty, no one, judging
from the demeanour of the conspirators, would have
had any idea of their important design. The plotters
rode from the moor to the inn-door, seeking refuge,
it is said, from the storm that had swept down from
the Peak.

The only authentic reference to the secret confer-
ence is made by the Earl of Danby in his letters,
where he reveals beyond all doubt that the meeting

220 History of Derbyshire.

at the Revolution House was no myth. He says,
' The Duke of Devonshire also, when we were
partners in the secret trust about the Revolution,
and who did meet me and Mr. John D'Arcy for that
purpose at a town called Whittington in Derbyshire,
did in the presence of Mr. D'Arcy make a voluntary
acknowledgment of the great mistakes he had been led
into about me.' This statement refers to the unjust
accusations that had been brought against Danby
to the effect that he was an emissary of France ; but
there is no actual record of the conversation in the
plotting parlour about the Revolution.

Although the words uttered at the secret confer-
ence must remain a secret, it is not difficult to
surmise the nature of the deliberation. You can
picture the scene for yourself. The tankards would
be refilled ; the landlord bowed out ; the door closed,
D'Arcy perhaps with his back to the keyhole to
guard against anybody's prying. The Earl of Devon-
shire, sitting upright and stately in the historic chair
still preserved at Hardwick Hall, would say how he
was prepared to imperil his head for the sake of his
country's freedom, that he was willing and anxious
to lead the true-hearted Derbyshire men against a
recreant King. Danby, probably stretched on a
rude bench by the wall-side, would thrill at the
Earl's words, and say he was ready to give the
signal for the rising in the north, and fight to the
death if need be for liberty. What a vivid picture
would this meeting of conspirators make — an his-
toric picture, that if once painted, would, no doubt,

Aii Historic Picture. 221

have the place of honour in the Chatsworth gallery.
It is a splendid subject. The unpretentious room
of the inn, with a glimpse through the lead-framed
window of the obscure village ; the vigorous mud-
bespattered forms, and grave faces of the con-
spirators, who spoke low and cautiously, for they
were risking rank, wealth, honour — life itself. Per-
haps Millais, who has given us ' The Huguenot/ and
1 Joan of Arc,' and ' The Princess Elizabeth,' and
wondrously painted faces like those of Salisbury,
Gladstone, and Tennyson, will one day paint the
real portraits of ' The Conspirators at Whittington.'

These plotters did not say much, but it was enough
to change England's destiny. The plan they devised
for the freedom of the people from the thraldom of
King James and his policy of prejudice succeeded.
* A free Parliament and the Protestant religion :
became the cry. The sovereign, who had posed as
a despot, began to tremble for his personal safety.
In the cottage, the nailmaker's shop, the black-
smith's forge, as well as behind the counter, and in
the ancestral hall, there was the flutter of expecta-
tion— the anticipation of a crisis that might lead to
another civil war.

By-and-bye the news flashed through the land that
William of Orange had landed at Torbay, and that
volunteers of all ranks were flocking to his standard.
Then the King, dismayed, knew that his reign was
over. Danby, proving true ' to his secret trust about
the Revolution,' was prepared for defiant action in
the north ; and the Earl of Devonshire marched to

222 History of Derbyshire.

Derby with a retinue numbering five hundred men.
There, prompted by hospitality that no peril could
check, ' he invited several gentlemen to dinner,' and
then in the market-place read to the Mayor the
declaration of the Prince of Orange, and also the
following manifesto :

' We, the nobility and gentry of the northern parts of Eng-
land, being deeply sensible of the calamities that threaten these
kingdoms, do think it our duty, as Christians and good subjects,
to endeavour what in us lies the healing of our present distrac-
tions, and preventing greater. And as with grief we apprehend
the sad consequences that may arise from the landing of an
army in this kingdom from foreign parts, so we cannot but de-
plore the occasion given for it by so many invasions made of
late years on our religion and laws. And whereas we cannot
think of any other expedient to compose our differences, and
prevent effusion of blood than that which produced a settlement
in these kingdoms, after the late civil wars, the meeting and
sitting of a parliament freely and duly chosen, we think our-
selves obliged (as far as in us lies) to promote it ; and the
rather, as the Prince of Orange — as appears by his declaration
— is willing to submit his own pretensions and all other matters
to their determination ; we heartily wish and humbly pray, that
his Majesty would consent to this expedient, in order to a future
settlement ; and hope that such a temperament may be thought
of, as that the army now on foot may not give any interruption to
the proceeding of a Parliament. But if to the great misfortune
and ruin of these kingdoms, it should prove otherwise, we frther
declare, that we will to our utmost defend the Protestant religion
the laws of the kingdom, and the rights and liberties of the people.'

The Earl's manifesto, as stated in the chapter on
' Derby,' aroused little euthusiasm ; but he and his
band of faithful friends, by no means daunted, went
on to Nottingham, and were joined by the Earl of
Danby, who had faithfully ridden into York a few
days before, and given the signal for the rising.

A Kings Flight. 223

It was on November 5th, 1688, that the Prince of
Orange anchored in Torbay, and entered Exeter
with his plucky army of only 13,000 men. As
Richard Green states in his history that reads like
a romance, ' Everywhere the plot was triumphant.
The garrison of Hull declared for a free Parliament.
The Duke of Norfolk appeared at the head of three
hundred gentlemen in the market-place at Norwich.
Townsmen and gownsmen greeted Lord Lovelace
at Oxford with uproarious welcome. Bristol threw
open its gates to the Prince of Orange, who ad-
vanced steadily on Salisbury, where James had
mustered his forces. But the royal army fell back
in disorder. Its very leaders were secretly pledged
to William, and the desertion of Lord Churchill was
followed by that of so many other officers, that
James abandoned the struggle in despair. He fled
to London, to hear that his daughter Anne had left
St. James's to join Danby at Nottingham. " God
help me !" cried the wretched King, " for my own
children have forsaken me !" '

He was hard pressed now, this monarch who had
goaded so many to misery. He tried to escape from
the country, but some fishermen, believing him to
be a Jesuit, prevented his flight, and he was taken
to London by a troop of Guards ; but it was thought
politic after all to let him go, and, like Don Caesar
de Bazan, he was permitted to leave his country for
his country's good — to depart without molestation
to France.

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CHAPTER XXL

The Benefits of the Revolution— A Memorable Cen-
tenary—Festivities a Hundred Years Ago— The Coming
Bi-Centenary — A Rollicking Song.

The anxiety, the peril, the determined stand made
for Protestantism by the fourth Earl of Devonshire
and his friends, brought many benefits to this country.
As Mr. Pebody says in his interesting little book on
' English Journalism ': ' We owe many things to the
Revolution. It substituted an Act of Parliament for
the theory of Divine right. It placed the rights of
the people on a level with those of their rulers. It
secured the Protestant religion, gave us a system of
indirect taxation, brought the revenue and expense
of the State under the control of the House of Com-
mons, and, perhaps without intending it, conferred
upon us a privilege which has in the long-run pro-
duced greater changes in the English constitution
than all the principles of the Revolution put to-
gether— it established the freedom of the press.'

What wonder, then, that the memory of the Derby-
shire patriot who was one of the leading spirits in
bringing that Revolution about should be revered, or

A Memorable Centenary. 225

that on November 5th, 1788, the centenary of that
important event should have been celebrated at
Whittington and Chesterfield with such great re-
joicing.

' The Northern Star,' a curious old ' monthly and
permanent register of the statistics, literature,
biography, art, commerce, and manufactures of
Yorkshire, and the adjoining counties, for the year
1818,' publishes the following quaint account of the
festivities :

' The commemoration of the day commenced with
divine service in the church at Whittington. The
Rev. S. Pegge — afterwards Dr. Pegge — who was
then rector of the parish, and had that morning
entered into the eighty-fifth year of his age, delivered
a sermon upon the occasion from Psalm cxviii. 24,
" This is the day which the Lord hath made ; we
will rejoice and be glad in it." This discourse was
afterwards printed, at the request of the Committee,
and dedicated to his Grace the Duke of Devonshire
and other noblemen and gentlemen who were present
at the time of its delivery. After service the com-
pany went in procession to view the the room called
the Revolution parlour and the old armchair, and
then partook of an elegant cold collation, which was
prepared in the new rooms annexed to the cottage.
The procession then began to form, and moved in
regular order to Chesterfield, where the remainder
of the day was spent with the utmost cordiality and
rejoicing. A number of constables with long staves
headed the procession, for the purpose of forcing

15

220 History of Derbyshire.

a way through the crowd. Then followed the
clubs with their wands and favours, many of them
with uniforms, and all with gay flags and music.
The flag of Mr. Deakin's club was blue with orange
fringe, and the emblem a figure of Liberty bearing
this motto, " The Protestant religion and the
liberties of England we will defend." The flag of
Mr. Bluet's club was blue, fringed with orange, the
motto being " Libcrtas qua sera tamen respexit in-
ertem ;" underneath was a figure of Liberty resting
on the Cavendish arms, holding in one hand a cap,
and with the other dropping a laurel wreath upon
the head of Britannia, who was represented sitting
on a lion, with the horn of plenty at her side, and in
her hand a scroll bearing the inscription, " The Pro-
testant religion and the liberties of England we will
defend." The flag of Mr. Ostleffe's club was broad
blue and orange stripe with fringe. In the middle
were the Cavendish arms, with this motto, " The
Protestant religion and the liberties of England we
will maintain." The flags of many other clubs bore
such mottoes as "The glorious Revolution, 1688,"
" Revolted from Tyranny at Whittington, 1688,"
and " The glorious assertors of British Freedom."
The number of individuals composing these clubs
was estimated at two thousand. Then followed the
band of music belonging to the Derbyshire Militia,
and the Mayor and Corporation of Chesterfield in
their usual order, with their attendants. Next came
the carriages, all in proper order, to the number of
sixty or seventy, with servants attending them.

A Memorable Centenary. 227

The Duke of Devonshire's coach, with six horses
handsomely dressed in orange, headed this part of
the procession. Then followed the attendants on
horseback, with four led horses ; the Right Hon.
the Earl of Stamford's carriage and attendants ; the
carriages of Lord George and Lord John Cavendish,
with their attendants ; the Right Hon. the Earl of
Danby and Lord Francis Osborne's carriage and
attendants ; the coach and six of Sir Henry Hun-
loke, Bart., and his attendants ; the other coaches
and six in proper order, with their respective attend-
ants ; the coaches of four, with their attendants ;
the chaises of four in like manner ; hack post-
chaises ; gentlemen on horseback, three and three,
to the number of five hundred, among whom were
many persons of distinction ; and lastly, servants on
horseback, three and three. The procession ex-
tended above a mile in length, reaching from Whit-
tington Bridge to the Stonegravels, near Chesterfield,
and the company assembled is said to have exceeded
forty thousand. The principal inns were all crowded
at dinner, the Duke of Devonshire attending and
dining at one house, Lord George Cavendish at
another, and Lord John Cavendish at the third.
Everything was conducted with great harmony, joy,
and good-humour, owing to the judicious manage-
ment of the Committee, which consisted of gentle-
men residing in Chesterfield and neighbourhood.
The principal toasts were " The Revolution," "The
King," and " The Memory of those Patriots to
whom Revolution was owing, particularly the families

15—2

228 History of Derbyshire.

of Cavendish, Osborne, and Grey, whose ancestors
met at Whittington to concert measures for bring-
ing about that glorious event." In the evening
splendid fireworks were exhibited, and among them
appeared a transparent painting of King William III.
surrounded with glory. The festivity closed with a
ball, at which were present above three hundred
ladies and gentlemen, among whom were the Duke
and Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Elizabeth Foster,
the Earl of Stamford, Lord George and Lord John
Cavendish, the Earl of Danby, and his brother, Lord
Francis Osborne, Sir Henry Hunloke and his lady,
and many other persons of rank and distinction.'

The unknown writer to whom we are indebted
for the description of the centenary festivity speaks
as follows of the Revolution House as he saw it
nearly seventy years ago : ' The cottage thus dis-
tinguished as the birthplace of the Revolution stands
where the road from Chesterfield branches off for
Sheffield and Rotherham, and has been called the
Revolution House ever since the memorable event
from which it takes its name. The second window
from the door on the right hand belongs to the room
which was occupied by this illustrious triumvirate,
and which is to this day known by the appellation
of " the plotting parlour." In this room an old
armchair is still preserved, in which the Earl of
Devonshire is reported to have sat during the con-
ference, and which, from the marks of antiquity that
it bears, may claim an origin of far earlier date than
the period of the Revolution. The parlour, as it is

'The Plot tins; Parlour! 229

called, has no communication with the other parts
of the building, the entrance being from a kind of
back-door, which looks towards Sheffield Road.
When last visited by the writer of this sketch, it
was in the occupation of one William Mitchell, a
facetious and intelligent old cobbler. The floor and
walls were going fast into a state of decay, and the
principal furniture, with the exception of the venerable
inhabitant himself and his arm-chair, comprised a
cobbler's stool, a few culinary articles in a side-
cupboard, a Dutch oven, a broken pipkin, a clasp
Bible, a copy of Wesley's hymns, and a few odd
numbers of some religious publication.'

Five years ago — in December, 1880 — the cottage,
which for years had been the property of the Duke
of Devonshire, passed out of his hands ; but he has
still a keen interest in its historic associations, for in
the sale of the habitation by private contract to Mr.
Mansfeldt F. Mills, [of Tapton Grove, Chesterfield,
his Grace reserved to himself the right, in the event
of the building being pulled down, 'to erect and
maintain a stone to commemorate the site of the
Revolution House.'

The cottage has, unfortunately, been robbed of its
original dimensions; but the people of Derbyshire
may be congratulated on the fact that the Revolution
House, having gone out of the possession of the
Cavendish family, has such a thoughtful owner —
such a lover of the past — as Mr. Mills, who, writing
three years ago, in contradiction of a statement
about the probable pulling down of the cottage,

230

History of Derbyshire.

says : ' On the contrary, it is my wish to keep the
tottering old fabric together so long as may be
practicable, and certainly, I hope, till after the
bi-centenary in 1888, when no doubt a great gather-
ing of Liberals will again be held on the spot to
celebrate the Revolution of 1688. It is devoutly to
be hoped that if among the then assemblage revo-
lutionists there be, they will carefully revise their
own tenets on the subject, and compare them with
the motives of those who met in the now styled
Revolution House, not for the purpose of demolition,
but for the consolidation of the Church, the Crown,
and the State.'*

a The story of the Revolution, as here given, is amended
from a special article, ' The Conspirators at Whittington,'
written by the author for the Derbyshire Times, the oldest bi-
weekly and the first penny newspaper in the county, a paper
that has done much towards making the history and antiquities
of Derbyshire better known. As the bi-centenary of the Revo-
lution will be celebrated in 1888, and there is certain to be con-
siderable festivity again at Whittington and Chesterfield, the
appended song, composed soon after the centenary, may be read
with curiosity. It was a favourite ditty at local village feasts
for many years, and is very emphatic, though not particularly
poetic :

' Let every honest heart rejoice
Within this British station ;
Give thanks to God with soul and
voice,
For His blessings to this nation.
Let each true Protestant agree
To celebrate this jubilee,
The downfall of the popery
And glorious Revolution.

' Tis full one hundred years, I say,
The fifth day of November,
King William landed at Torbay —
Great cause for to remember —
When he had crossed the raging main,
In spite of Ireland, France, and Spain,
Our ancient rights for to maintain
By the glorious Revolution.

' When James the Second bore the sway,

He ruled arbitrary,
And on his standard did display

The flag of bloody Mary.
He plainly showed his full intent ;
Seven bishops to the Tower he sent ;
But God his purpose did prevent,

By the glorious Revolution.

'At Whittington, near Chesterfield,

That was the very place, sir,
Where the first plot was laid,_I'm told,

To pull this tyrant down, sir ;
By Devonshire and Delamere,

Friends to our constitution,
Brave Danby, he was likewise there,

To form the Revolution.

A Rollicking Song.

231

' When Devonshire to Derby went,

And when that he came there, sir,
He boldly told them his intent,

Both scorning dread and fear, sir.
Derby agreed with heart and voice

To back his resolution,
This made his noble soul rejoice,

That formed the Revolution.

'Then, Devonshire to Nottingham went,

He went to speak his mind, sir ;
Some people looked at him quite shy,

And others used him kind, sir.
They seemed to like his business there,

But made a long evasion,
And offered him five hundred men

When there was no occasion.

' When James he found he could not hold

His tyranny much longer,
Neither by promises nor gold,

But found his foes grew stronger ;
And when he dare not show his face,
He England left in full disgrace;
King William then enjoyed his place

In the glorious Revolution.

' No popish, nor no tyrant king,

Again shall ever rule us ;
Since now the scales they are quite
turned,
They never more shall fool us.
Therefore let every loyal soul,
Whose heart is free without control,
Pledge him in a flowing bowl,
That loves the Revolution.

' Now, Devonshire in All Saints' lies ;

Although his bones are rotten,
His glorious fame will ever rise,

And never be forgotten.
I hope his soul to Heaven is gone,
While here on earth so brightly shone,
Not only him, but every one

Who formed the Revolution.

' Now to conclude and make an end
Of this most faithful story,
No honest man it can offend,

And that is all my glory.
May God protect our gracious King,
While rogues and thieves in halters

swing ;
And with a flowing bowl we'll sing
To the glorious Revolution.'

■ ■ ■■ i iiimiii mi mi iiim.iii'HiiH'!<iii«iiHiiMiimi>lluiiimmiimi« f iiij^iniiitiiiniiiiiiii inn

miiHiiium Jiiimi mi nil mi I urn n in in mi muni mi mi i i »m .111 1111 1111 mi mum nil 1111 jili-HUJInnnr

CHAPTER XXII.

Chesterfield in the Past — Some obsolete Customs — About
the Streets — The Memorial to George Stephenson — The
Grammar School and its Noted Scholars — The Old Church
— A Crusader's Prowess — The Crooked Steeple and its
Traditions.

Chesterfield — twelve miles south of Sheffield and
twenty-four miles north of Derby — is an ancient
borough. Camden, writing as far back as 1610,
said it 'was of good antiquity.' It is also exceed-
ingly rich in history ; and there have been some
strange sights in its fine market-place and worn
streets since the first invasion of this country.

The Romans, whose main road to the north skirted
its borders, were familiar with Chesterfield, which
even at that time was an important mart for lead
and wool ; and in odd places about the town have
been found several rare coins of the empire — one
bearing Constantine's inscription with a representa-
tion of Victory ; another the head of Trajan, with
the figure of Hope on the reverse side ; and a
third of the reign of Caesar Maximian, inscribed
with the words ' Genio, populi, Romani ' — ' To the
genius of the Roman people.' There is little doubt

Chesterfield in the Past. 2^

00

that the adventurous warriors governed by the
Caesars had an encampment at Tapton Hill, on the
north-east of the town ; but to the Saxons belongs
the credit of building the castle that once occupied
the slope, and gave Chesterfield its name — ' the
hamlet in the field of the fortress.'

Of Danish occupation there is also some proof,
for to this day a tract of land on the southern
border of the borough is known as ' the Dane's
Field,' and the large mound that still forms its
most striking feature is supposed to be the burial-
place of the invaders who fell in battle.

The manor, shortly after the Conquest, was owned
by William Peveril, who seemed anxious, judging
from his numerous possessions, to get the whole
county within his grasp. It did not remain long in
his family, however, for Peveril's son, having aided
the Countess of Chester to poison her husband, had
to forfeit his estates and fly from the land in which
his selfish iniquity had wrought his ruin.

Then Chesterfield became the property of the
Crown, and was held almost uninterruptedly by
England's sovereigns until 1204, when it was given
by King John to his ' great and opulent favourite '
William Briwere. At the same time the town re-
ceived its charter, the monarch also granting to the
thriving place an eight days' fair on the festival of
the exaltation of the Holy Cross, as well as a market
which continues to be the most important weekly
event in the borough's existence.

The town's progress was somewhat checked in

234 History of Derbyshire.

1266 by a fierce battle, in which Prince Henry,
the nephew of Henry III., conquered the Earl
of Ferrers — a nobleman, who, after his defeat,
hid himself among the bags of wool in the church
cloisters, and was betrayed, like Samson, by a
woman.

Notwithstanding the destruction of some of its
buildings by fire, and the slaughter of its more
valiant citizens, Chesterfield speedily recovered from
war's relentless havoc, for in 1294 it boasted a guild
of merchants, and was noted for its commerce and
industry. In 1594 (eight years after the plague had
brought death and sorrow to many a Chesterfield
home) Ralph Clarke was made the first mayor of
the town, and the Corporation consisted of six alder-
men, six brethren, twelve capital burgesses, a town
clerk, a master butcher, a master brazier, and other
officials. The tendency of the time was towards
feasting; and that the body corporate, in the earlier
part of its career, did not hold aloof from the
pleasant custom is evident from the fact that it
owned ' a silver cup, a silver-gilt bowl, a plain silver
bowl and a little new wine bowl ' — vessels that tell in
their titles of sumptuous banquets, and of bumpers
drunk to his worship.

Although the members of this ancient council
looked after their stomachs, they also looked after
the town; and the curious bye-laws, dating as far
back as 1630, show how rigid was their local govern-
ment. ' No manner of person, or persons,' said
these bye-laws, ' being a foreigner or victualler,

Some Obsolete Customs. 235

shall set up any stand or standing upon any markctt-
day, to forestall any shop or shops within the afore-
said towne of Chesterfield, in paine to forfeit for
every such offence to the Corporation the sume of
3s. 4d. That no inhabitant within this towne shall
suffer any person or persons dwelling forth of the
towne, to sell any manner of graineupon any markett-
day, in any house or chamber within the said towne,
to the hindrance of the markett, before such time
as proclamation be made for such purpose, or in the
markett before the markett bell be rung, in paine to
forfeit to the Corporation for every such offence, 2s.
No inn-holder or ale-house keeper within this town
shall keep or lodge any stranger above the space of
one day and one night together without notice
thereof first given to the mayor, in paine to forfeit for
every time so offending, to the Corporation, 40s.'
And even in the last century when Chesterfield, like
Ashbourne, indulged in bull-baiting, prompted more
by love of a cruel sport than by a desire to get their
meat tender and wholesome, a bye-law existed by
which every butcher killing a bull in the shambles
was compelled to bait the animal previously in the
market-place, or pay a fine of 3s. 4<1.

Cromwell's soldiers, under Sir Thomas Fairfax,
marched into the town in 1643, and their sancti-
monious influence must have been very lasting, for
twenty-eight years afterwards the Corporation,
retaining only the loving-cup, bartered their punch
bowls and other drinking vessels for a silver-gilt
mace, which has ever since been the chief emblem

236 History of Derbyshire.

of the borough's dignity. Chesterfield, unlike the
county town, cannot make a brave show of robed
functionaries in processions municipal ; but this
mace, massive, rich and beautiful, exquisitely worked
with national devices, demi-figures and foliage, and
surmounted by an elaborately decorated, open-arched
crown, attracts a crowd whenever it sees daylight.
In company with the mayor's chain and badge, and
recently presented robes, it goes to church once
a year at the head of the Corporation ; and there is
no prouder man in England on that memorable
Sabbath than the Chesterfield town-crier, clad in
new livery, with the gorgeous mace, fifty-four inches
long, gracefully resting on his shoulder.

Chesterfield, although it was one of the first towns
in the provinces to adopt the electric light (which it
has now abandoned), is an old-fashioned place. In
spite of increasing population, new industries, and
many improvements, it retains an old-fashioned look,
and reminds one of the coaching-days, and of the
many-caped watchmen who were in the habit of
stumbling fearfully through its dark thoroughfares,
hesitating at the shadows cast by their own lanterns
as they cried the hour, or shouted with grim satis-
faction that it was a wet, dreary morn. New streets
have taken the place of many of the orchards and
gardens forming such a pretty border to the borough
half a century ago ; the ducking-stool, that formerly
reared its ungainly head a perpetual menace to scold-
ing wives, has been removed from the silkmill dam ;
the ladies' bridle, with its framework of iron and

About the Streets. 237

sharp cutting knife to silence prating women, was
taken from the old poorhouse some decades back ;
and the bull-ring — a source of torture to so many
animals as they rushed furiously at the tantalizing
dogs amid the laughter of the thoughtless — no longer
disgraces the square.

But most of the streets keep much of their old
character. They are for the most part edged with
dusky brick buildings, roofed in some cases with heavy
stone tiles ; while here and there are little-windowed,
yellow-washed habitations, some of which are
thatched and moss-grown, and have walls slightly
bowed outward as if they were bending under the
weight of years. Around the fine market-place,
thronged with brisk traders and robust country people
on market-day, are many venerable business places,
in which shop-keepers, more particularly in the early
part of this century, lived frugally and made fortunes.
The majority of the buildings, it is true, have thrown
a somewhat modern mantle over their ancient
shoulders, and, like some vain old ladies, ape a
remarkable juvenility; but, despite plate-glass
windows and other adornments, they cannot deceive
the keen observer, who sees at once that they
are really old friends with new attractive faces that
unmistakably indicate a steady growth in Chester-
field's trade. Side by side with these rejuvenated
shops are homely inns, hoisting old-fashioned signs,
and keeping to old-fashioned ways ; and on the
north, east, and south of the market-place are still
larger buildings not ashamed of their age — buildings

23S History of Derbyshire.

with curious gables, and massive piazzas under
which French prisoners lounged, when the big-
raftered house that reaches on its thick stone pillars
over the east end of Low Pavement bore the name
of ' The Falcon,' and gave a warm welcome to
travellers by stage-coach.

The most curious part of the town (with the
exception of the crooked steeple) is the Shambles, a
cluster of quaint-looking buildings, intersected with
narrow passages, at the east end of the market-
place. In ' Old and New Chesterfield,' we have
described this ' extraordinary jumble of peculiar
property,' saying : ' It is a museum of dark-roomed
taverns with swinging signs ; and of curious butchers'
shops, with gigantic meat-boards, and thick sloping
shutters, and heavy awnings that almost shut out
the daylight from the pavement they overshadow
as they try to shake hands with each other. It
is a collection of many-storied houses, of antique
cottages which have been thrust ignominiously into
whimsical corners ; of stone steps that lead into the
oddest places ; and of interesting oak carvings that
carry the mind back to the time when the Knight
Templars marched along its darkened ways, in their
white habits, adorned with the red cross.'

The ancient town is not overcrowded with fine
public buildings. Its market-hall is hybrid in archi-
tecture, and has a somewhat gloomy, desolate look,
as if dissatisfied with its own shape and character.
The municipal hall, which serves the dual purpose of
council chamber and police court, is properly hidden

The Grammar School. 239

in a corner, for its discreet modesty is about its only
becoming feature. Who would imagine that this
square, grim, flat-roofed building of dingy stone,
innocent of exterior decoration, was an edifice sacred
to the eloquence of the local senate, and to the cause
of justice?

The only structure with any pretension to grace
and elegance is the Memorial Hall, standing
near the parish church, at the northern end of
St. Mary's Gate. It was built in 1879, as a tribute
to George Stephenson, the founder of the railway
system, who passed the last years of his life at
Chesterfield, and died in 1848 at Tapton House, the
red-brick mansion peeping above the trees on the
slope to the north-east across the valley, and easily
discernible from the hall erected in his honour. The
memorial building, which cost about £14,000, is
Gothic in style, and whilst pleasing in an architectural
sense, is also attractive because of the usefulness of its
object, for it is not merely an ornamental memento of
the great engineer's worth, but a commodious home
for nearly all the educational institutions in the town.

Perhaps no building in Chesterfield has more
interesting associations than the Grammar School.
It was founded in Elizabeth's reign, and endowed in
1594 by Godfrey Foljambe, who left the annual sum
of £13 6s. 8d. towards the support of a schoolmaster.
Among its benefactors also were James Lingard, of
Brazenose College, Oxford, who, in 1612, left a
sum of money ' towards the maintenance of a free
school for thebetter education of poor men's children ;'

240 History of Derbyshire.

and Cornelius Clarke, of Norton, who, in 1690, gave
for ever the rents and profits of certain houses and
lands to the purposes of education, one of his stipu-
lations being that £15 yearly should be paid to the
chief master of the Grammar School ' for his better
maintenance and encouragement in teaching, in-
structing, and educating of the children there in
piety, virtue, and good literature.' The School,
which was rebuilt in 1710, and again in 1846, has
been the intellectual nursery of many eminent men.
Here was educated Dr. Darwin, the eccentric but
accomplished poet-botanist, whose work, descriptive
of * The Loves of the Plants,' obtained great popu-
larity, although it was ridiculed in a clever burlesque
styled ' The Loves of the Triangles.' The pupils
included Dr. Pegge, the noted antiquary, whose
wanderings amid the mansions, and castles, and
antiquities of Derbyshire localities afforded him
material for much learned writing, some of which is
preserved in the pages of the Archaologia. A diligent
searcher into the past was this celebrated native of
Chesterfield, and he is still remembered for his
' History of Beauchief Abbey,' his ' Dissertation on
the Arbelows,' and various treatises on ancient coins,
in one of which he says : ' From the reign of Queen
Elizabeth to that of Charles II. the tradesmen and
victuallers in general— that is, all that pleased — coined
small money or tokens for the benefit and convenience
of trade. And for this there was a perfect necessity,
since at that time there were but few brass half-
pennies coined by authority, and no great quantity

The Old Church. 241

of farthings.' Another boy educated at this School
was Samuel Hallifax, a Chesterfield apothecary's son,
at one time Professor of Arabic at Cambridge Uni-
versity, and afterwards Bishop of St. Asaph ; but
the most distinguished scholar whose name is linked
with the old schoolhouse was Thomas Seeker, the
Nottinghamshire lad who rose to be Archbishop of
Canterbury, yet never forgot the old town in which
a part of his boyhood was spent ; for writing from
London, he says : ' All the variety and novelty of
this great city would not equal the pleasure of an
entertainment with an honest, learned, good-natured
friend or two at such a place as Chesterfield.'

Strangers sometimes turn aside to see George
Stephenson's grave in Trinity Church; but the edifice,
apart from its interest as the resting-place of ' the
father of railway-travelling,' is comparatively un-
attractive. The parish church — the church of the
crooked steeple — is really the pride and glory of the
town. It was built about the year 1350 on the site
of an earlier fabric, and its crumbling stones, patched
with new masonry, its worn porches, and belfry
steps, uneven with the tread of generations of feet,
tell a silent but eloquent story of the church's age.
Even if it were not surmounted by the grotesque
steeple, rising erratically 230 feet above the high,
square tower, the edifice would still deserve to rank
among the noted ecclesiastical buildings of the
country. It is almost cathedral-like in its propor-
tions, and only iconoclasts fail to admire its long
nave, Gothic arches, pretty columns, and spacious

16

242 History of Derbyshire.

chancel, in which, beneath marble slab and alabaster
effigy, knights and ladies rest. The monuments in
this part of the church are chiefly in memory of
the Foljambes, an ancient family which flourished
at Walton in the sixteenth century, and indeed
long before that period. Sir James Foljambe,
who was High Sheriff of the county in the reign of
Philip and Mary, was perhaps the most illustrious
of his race, for his epitaph says he was 'a man highly
adorned by piety, by the integrity of his manners, by
the heraldic bearings of his ancestors, and by his own
virtues.' And one of his descendants, Godfrey Fol-
jambe, anxious, no doubt, to preserve the family's
character for piety and uprightness, left a yearly sum
of forty pounds for ever ' to a lecturer to preach and
declare the Word of God openly in the Church of
Chesterfield four times at least every month of the
year, upon the Sabbath or some other festival.' Nor
would he have acted unwisely if he had left a small
sum of money to preserve the memorials of his ances-
tors, for some of the tombs have their sculptured
figures broken, and their alabaster effigies mutilated,
and bear no indication of whose bones they shelter ;
in fact, they have become nameless graves.

In the chancel, which is bordered by richly carved
wood-screens, hang the old-fashioned brass chande-
liers, of Renaissance design, given to the church
in 1760 by Godfrey Heathcote, one of the prominent
inhabitants of the town ; but the most extraordinary
relic in the edifice is a gigantic bone, said to be one
of the ribs of the Dun Cow slain by Guy, the Earl of

A Crusader s Prowess. 243

Warwick. This warrior's prowess has afforded theme
for many a ballad. Shakespeare also refers to his
might, and in Henry VIII. makes the porter's man
say, ' I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
to mow them down before me.' Colbrand, mentioned in
the old romance, ' The Squyr of Lowe Degree,' was a
Danish Giant, who spread terror throughout England
in Ethelstan's reign. Sir Guy, returning from the Holy
Land in a pilgrim's guise, determined to check the
braggart's vanity, and killed the giant, after a valiant
fight, at Winchester. With his sword weighing many
pounds, the Earl of Warwick then went in quest
of the terrible cow that had gone mad under some
malignant witch's influence, and was wildly ranging
Dunmoor Heath. Sir Guy had killed a green dragon
and a ferocious boar, and had gone through numerous
perils in Palestine ; but he was almost appalled by
the Dun Cow, which, according to an old black-
letter book of the sixteenth century, ' was a perfect
monster, being six yards in length and four yards in
height, with large, sharp horns and fiery eyes.'
Nevertheless, the brave knight had not much difficulty
in screwing his courage up to the sticking-point, and
he wielded his sword with such skill and impetuosity
that the mighty animal soon lay lifeless on the moor
that had been shunned by all on account of the beast's
fury. The cow's bones were distributed throughout
the land as proofs of Sir Guy's achievement, and the
famous rib on one of the Foljambe tombs in Chester-
field Church has done much towards extending the
Earl of Warwick's fame. Local faith in this legend

16 — 2

244 History of Derbyshire.

is strong ; and although the bone bears less resem-
blance to a cow's rib than to a whale's jaw-bone, it
would be idle to attempt to persuade some Chester-
field people that the curious relic is not part of the
Dun Cow's remains.

The church is built in the form of a cross, and
above the fluted pillars and fine arch, intersecting
the two arms of the structure, rises the tower, bear-
ing the crooked spire. The steeple, with its flecked
ridges and fantastic twist and decided inclination
towards the south, has been likened to a corkscrew,
to the leaning Tower of Pisa, and to the uplifted
tail of the Dragon of Wantley. It has for years been
an object of curiosity, and people never weary of
asking how it got askew. Tradition has done its
utmost to denote the cause of the steeple's strange
shape. It is said that the spire wrenched itself in
bowing to a lovely, virtuous woman as she entered
the church to be married ; that Satan, having been
shod by a blacksmith at Barlow, was in such agony
on his way home, that he kicked out violently on
passing the church, and twisted the spire with his
hoof : and there is another version to the effect that
Lucifer, resting one day on the pinnacle of the steeple,
had his nose tickled by the incense, and sneezed so
inordinately that he shook the fabric into the gro-
tesque form that has made it famous throughout the
world.

On the other hand, it is contended that the steeple
was always crooked, and this idea has been put into
rhyme :

The Crooked Steeple. 245

1 Whichever way you turn your eye,
It always seems to be awry ;
Pray can you tell the reason why ?
The only reason known of weight
Is that the thing was never straight ;
Nor know the people where to go
To find the man to make it so ;
Since none can furnish such a plan,
Except a perfect upright man :
So that the spire, 'tis very plain,
For ages crooked must remain ;
And while it stands must ever be
An emblem of deformity.'

These traditions, although they do not touch the
real cause of the steeple's grotesque form, serve one
good purpose. They show what great fertility of
imagination is possessed by Derbyshire people, and
do something towards removing the aspersion :

' Derbyshire born, and Derbyshire bred,
Strong in the arm, but weak in the head.'*

The explanation of the spire's crookedness is

simple. It was caused by neither an act of

* In the Reliquary for October, 1864, Mr. Walter Kirkland
showed the falsity of this proverb, emphatically maintaining —
in the Derbyshire dialect— that the rest of England has by no
means a monopoly of brains :

1 1' Darbyshire who're born and bred,
Are strong i' th' arm, bu' weak i' head ;

So the lying proverb says.
Strength i' th' arm, who doubts shall feel ;
Strength o' th' head, its power can seal

The lips that scoff always.

' The rich vein'd mine, the mountain hoar,
We sink, an' blast, an' pierce, an' bore
By the might o' Darby brawn ;

246 History of Derbyshire.

gallantry nor a Satanic kick. The steeple is con-
structed of wooden rafters, covered with lead ; and
it has, like some of the giants of the forest, been
warped and twisted by the sun's heat and the
tempest's power.

An' Darby brain con think an' plon
As well as that o' ony mon,
An' clearly as the morn.

' Strong i' th' arm, an' strong i' th' head,
The fou, fause proverb should ha' said,

If th' truth she meant to tell ;
Bu' th' union, so wise an' rare,
O' brawn an' brain, she didna care

To see or speak of well.

' The jealous jade, nor Darby born,
Where praise wor due, pour'd forth bu' scorn,

An' lying words let fau.
Bu' far above the proverb stands
The truth, that God's Almighty hands
Ha' welded strength an' mind i' one ;
An' pour'd it down in plenty on

Born Darbyshire men au.'

mmmmnHHi

CHAPTER XXII.

BOLSOVER — A Tranquil Village — The Norman Fortress — Ivy-
clad Ruins— Feasting a King — Sir Charles Cavendish —
Another Railway.

The country east of Chesterfield possesses none of
the wild grandeur of the Peak, but it has a quiet,
modest prettiness of dark woodland, verdant slope,
flower-studded valley, and shadowed country lane ;
and it boasts at least two historic houses famous as
any in the land.

Bolsover Castle rears its grim turrets only six miles
away from the town of the crooked steeple, and a
health-promoting ramble over the steep hills, past
the homesteads of Calow and Duckmanton, soon
brings one within sight of the tall grey fortress.
The village over which the stronghold stands guard
is one of the quaintest left untouched by modern
progress. Neither commercial activity nor political
strife seems to have any footing here. There are few
people in the streets ; what few there are, saunter
along in happy ignorance apparently of the anxiety
and struggling inseparable from most conditions of
men. The antiquated square, bordered by serene-

248 History of Derbyshire.

looking houses, is almost deserted ; and scarcely a
sound is heard save the murmur of voices wafted
through the latticed window of the Swan, a comfort-
able inn, which, like ' the Maypole,' known to Bar-
naby Rudge, has ' ceilings blackened by the hand of
time, and heavy with beams.' How secluded and
tranquil is the village ! It seems almost incredible
that Bolsover ever led any other life. Yet it has
echoed with the noise of battle ; and five centuries
ago it was a bustling market-town, celebrated for its
manufacture of spurs, and of buckles so adroitly
made of malleable iron that though the wheels of
a loaded cart might pass over them they retained
their shape and elasticity.

The ancient village was a place of importance years
before ' William of Coningsby came out of Brittany,
with his wife Tiffany, and his maid Manpus, and his
dog Hardigras.' It was strongly fortified in the time of
the Britons ; and the extensive earthworks and ruined
watch-towers now surrounding the hamlet occupy
the site of older defences put up by the Romans, who
had a camp at Markland Gripps, in the adjacent
parish. Nearly every inch of ground in Bolsover
is historic — from the little Norman church, with its
alabaster and marble tombs of long-dead celebrities,
to the lofty castle rising, foliage-fringed, high above
the precipitous rock.

Of the Norman fortress, built by William
Peveril, there is no trace ; but it is mentioned
in the Pipe Roll, where there is an interest-
ing entry showing that in 1172 Reginald de

The Norman Foi'tress. 249

Lucy, the sheriff, accounted for 40s. expended in
works, and for 53s. 4d. spent in victualling the garri-
son with 40 quarters of corn, 20 hogs, and 60
cheeses. Food was cheap in those days ! The
castle, strengthened in 1216 to defy the rebellious
barons, entered upon a very stormy life. Its career
during the tumultuous reign of Henry III., and
indeed for years afterwards, was a chequered one.
Like some men, who have a fatal capacity for tread-
ing in the footsteps of misfortune, it never prospered.
When Sir Charles Cavendish, ' reputed to be the
first master of the age in the arts of horsemanship
and weapons,' purchased the manor of Bolsover from
Gilbert Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, the castle was
in ruins. But this illustrious knight did not let the
fortress remain long in decay. He cleared away the
loose cement and tottering stones, and began to lay
the foundation of ' the newe house at Bolsover,
adhering to the familiar Norman character in the
massive pillars and arched roofs of the lower stories.
The figure of Hercules, supporting the balcony over
the principal doorway, is an appropriate symbol of
the castle's strength. The square castellated struc-
ture is firmly bedded on the rock ; no tempest has
been able to shake its thick walls, and storms have
swept against its corner-turrets and high tower in
vain ; and what is more, the fortress is habitable,
and makes a very unconventional and picturesque
residence, with its pillar-parlour ornamented with
old-fashioned devices ; its noble Star Chamber lined
with sombre portraits of the twelve Caesars, and

250 History of Derbyshire.

ceilinged with blue and gold to represent the firma-
ment at night ; and its quaint bedchambers, two of
which are covered with pictures indicative of Heaven
and Hades, of happiness and misery — pictures of
angels with harps, of angels reclining on clouds, or
wandering in delightful glades ; and of angels of
darkness, hideous of feature and writhing in tor-
ment. Some of the figures have been blurred with
whitewash, and the tradition is that a former occu-
pant of the castle, cursed with an uneasy conscience,
was rendered so uncomfortable by the contempla-
tion of these very differently situated seraphs that he
took a limebrush, and ruthlessly wiped out both
sinners and saints.

The splendid mansion on the grand terrace to the
south of the plainer and more lasting stronghold, is
far more picturesque, rivalling some parts of Haddon
Hall in its beauty, but it is not habitable. The fine
building, Elizabethan rather than Norman in its style,
was partially built by Sir Charles Cavendish, and
completed by his son, the Marquis of Newcastle.
It had a short life and a merry one, and the mansion
which has sheltered one of England's kings, and
been the scene of at least one brilliant pageant, is a
mere skeleton now. Owls and bats haunt its state
apartments, trees grow in its galleries, carpets of
grass cover its floors, and ' ivy creeps along its walls.'

But in 1633 its halls were wainscoted, and filled
with works of art and beautiful tapestry. King
Charles I. was then the Marquis of Newcastle's
guest, and he was so magnificently entertained that

Feasting a King. 251

he determined to pay another visit to ' the most loyal
nobleman in England.' In her ' Life of the Duke,'
the Duchess of Newcastle says : ' The King liked
the entertainment so well, that a year after he was
pleased to send my lord word that her Majesty the
Queen was resolved to make a progress into the
northern parts, desiring him to prepare the like
entertainment for her Majesty, which my lord did,
and endeavoured for it with all possible care and
industry, sparing nothing which might add to the
splendour of the feast, which both their majesties
were pleased to honour with their presence.' The
Marquis ' sent for all the gentry of the country ' to
wait upon the King and Queen ; the state apart-
ments were filled with cavaliers, and gallants, and
court beauties, and the Earl, at a cost of £"14,000,
provided rich banquets, and music, and play-acting.
1 Love's Welcome,' a masque, written by Ben Jonson,
was played, the introductory part being given by
three grotesquely dressed vocalists, whilst their
majesties sat at the banquet. ' The object of the
play was to introduce a kind of anti-masque, a course
of quintain, performed by gentlemen of the county,
neighbours to this great Earl, in the guise of rustics,
in which much awkwardness was affected, and much
real dexterity shown.' The actors were clad in rich
costumes, and the performance, which was ludic-
rously diverting, included tilting with spears,
dialogues, and dances by mechanics, and fantastical
rhymes uttered by Eros and Anteros, two winged
attendants, wearing garlands of roses and lilies, and

252 History of Derbyshire.

armed with bows and quivers — ethereal servitors,
supposed to have brought the royal banquet from
the clouds.

In this masque — the Earl of Newcastle being at
that time Lord-Lieutenant of Derbyshire and Not-
tinghamshire— it was for ' Rare Ben Jonson ' to
typify the union by way of a metaphorical mar-
riage ; the lady, typifying Derbyshire, being ' Pem,
daughter of Father Fitz-Ale, herald of Derby ;' and
the gentleman, to represent Nottinghamshire, being
1 Bold Stub, of Sherwood.' The idea was thus
sought to be expressed :

' We come with our peers
And crave your ears,
To present a wedding,
Intended a bedding,
Of both the shires.
Father Fitz-Ale
Hath a daughter stale
In Derby town
Known up and down

For a great antiquity :
And Pem she hight,
A solemn wight
As you should meet
In any street

In that ubiquity.
Her he hath brought
As having sought
By many a draught
Of ale and craft
With skill to graft
In some old stock
Of the yeoman block
And forest blood
Of old Sherwood.

Sir Charles Cavendish. 253

' And he hath found
Within the ground,
At last, no shrimp
Whereon to imp
His jolly club,
But a bold Stub
O' the right wood,
A champion good ;

Who here in place
Presents himself
Like doughty elf

Of Greenwood chase.'

Bolsover Castle was garrisoned afterwards for the
King ; there does not seem to have been much blood-
shed, however, for an old chronicle, after describing
the advance of the Puritans from Sheffield to the
' strong house of Marquesse Newcastle's in Derby-
shire, which was well manned with soldiers, and
strengthened with great guns,' says, ' yet this castle,
upon summons, was soon rendered up to my lord's
forces, upon fair and moderate articles granted to
them. It pleased God to give us in this Castle of
Bolsover, an hundred and twenty muskets, besides
pikes and halberts ; also one iron drake, some
leaden bullets, some other drakes, nine barrels of
powder, with a proportion of match, some victuals
for our soldiers, and some plunder.'

In the church are several noteworthy monuments
of members of the Cavendish family, among which
is that to Sir Charles Cavendish, 1617, which bears
the following remarkable inscription :

254 History of Derbyshire.

' Charles Cavendish to his Sons.
' Sonnes, seek not me among these polish'd stones,
These only hide part of my flesh and bones ;
Which did they nere so neat and proudly dwell,
Will all be dust, and may not make me swell.

' Let such as have outliv'd all praise,
Trust in the tombes their careful friends do raise ;
I made my life my monument, and yours,
To which there's no material that endures ;

' Nor yet inscription like it. Write but that
And teache your nephews it to emulate ;
It will be matter loude enough to tell
Not when I died, but how I liv'd — Farewell !

' His Posteritie of Him to Strangers.

' Charles Cavendish was a man whom
Knowledge, zeal, sincerity, made religious ;
Experience, discretion, courage made valiant ;
Reading, conference, judgment, made learned ;
Religion, valour, learning, made wise ;
Birth, merit, favour, made noble ;
Respect, meanes, charitie, made bountiful ;
Equitie, conscience, cffice, made just ;
Nobilitie, bountie, justice, made honourable ;
Counsell, ayde, secrecie, made a trustie friende ;
Love, truth, constancie, made a kind husband ;
Affection, advice, care, made a loving father ;
Friends, wife, sonnes, made content ;
Wisdom, honour, content, made happy.

' From which happiness he was translated to the better on the
4U1 April, 1617, yet not without the sad and weeping remem-
brance of his sorrowful Lady, Katherine, second daughter to
Cuthbert, Lord Ogle, and sister to Jane, present Countess of
Shrewsbury. She, of her piety, with her two surviving sons,
have dedicated this humble monument to his memory, and do
all desire, in their time, to be gathered to his dust, expecting
the happy hour of resurrection, when these garments here
putting off shall be put on glorified.'

Another Railway. 255

Since the period when the castle-yard was filled
with men-at-arms, and the thick baily wall was
crowded with soldiers, Bolsover's life has been placid
and uneventful ; but the Doe Lea Railway recently
constructed at the base of the hill, and forming a
connecting link between Bolsover and Chesterfield
and the main line of the Midland Railway Company,
will no doubt bring it not merely many tourists,
but increased commercial prosperity.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Hardwick Hall— The Old House — An Illustrious 'Shrew' —
The Elizabethan Mansion— Its Relics of the Past — Some Old
Pictures, and the Stories they Tell.

From the high, lead-protected roof of Bolsover
Castle, looking to the south, beyond the ruins and
the quiet village, may be seen the towers of the
stately Elizabethan mansion, Hardwick Hall, in a
setting of fresh green park celebrated, like Welbeck,
for its ancient oaks. A short stroll along country
highways brings one to the Marquis of Hartington's
Derbyshire home — the grey, many-windowed fabric
raised by the famous Bess of Hardwick, an historic
building which time has touched gently, though its
worn colonnades and faded tapestries tell of an exist-
ence to be counted by centuries. The hall, to quote
Lord Byron's words, is ' a most beautiful and vener-
able object of curiosity.' The ivy is creeping up its
hoary walls and lofty towers, on whose summits
appear the builder's initials in open carved work —
' E. S.' (Elizabeth Shrewsbury.) The house, which
has a facade two hundred and eighty feet long, fronts
a quadrangular court enclosing an old-world garden.

An Illustrious 'Shrew' 257

The broad stretch of turf opposite the gateway dips
deeply into ' a darkly shadowed glade ;' and beyond
spreads the park and wooded vale of Scarsdale,
backed by the hills of the Peak, that look like banks
of cloud on the horizon.

A little to the south-west of the mansion is the
ancient seat of the Hardwicks, a roofless, moss-
grown, shattered building now, yet retaining some
traces of its former grandeur in ' the Giant's
Chamber,' so called because of the colossal figures
in Roman armour that stood sentinel against its
walls.

The manor of Hardwick was in 1205 granted by
King John to Andrew de Beauchamp ; but in 1288
it was held of John le Savage by William de Steynsby,
by the annual render of three pounds of cinnamon
and one pound of pepper.

In the fourteenth century, after the estates had
been in the possession of the Steynsbys for some
years, they passed into the hands of the Hardwicks,
who kept them for several generations, and by whom
doubtless was erected the old Hall, which is noted
as the birthplace of the Countess of Shrewsbury,
more familiarly known as ' Bess of Hardwick.' The
most remarkable woman of the age in which she
lived, she was filled with ambition and stern resolve,
and ' she pursued a single object during a life which
attained to extreme longevity — that of establishing
her children in opulence as splendid and brilliant as
it was uncommon.' More fortunate than some ladies,
she was led to the altar four times, and every one of

17

258 History of Derbyshire.

these marriages brought her greater wealth. Fuller
speaks of her as ' a woman of undaunted spirit ;' but
he is scarcely correct in the assertion that she was
* happy in her several marriages to great persons.'

To her first husband, Robert Barley, to whom she
was married while yet in early girlhood, and who
left her a widow only a few months after marriage,
and to her second husband, Sir William Cavendish,
she was unquestionably and devotedly attached, as
possibly to a less degree she was to her third, Sir
William St. Loe ; but her relations with her fourth
husband, George Talbot, the sixth Earl of Shrews-
bury, were somewhat strained. Flattered by Queen
Elizabeth, who said, ' There ys no Lady yn thys
land that I better love and like,' Bess of Hardwick
became so arrogant that his lordship found her
society almost unendurable ; and when she added
the torment of jealousy to the temper of a virago,
and charged him with making love to his fair
prisoner, Mary Queen of Scots, the Earl's patience
was exhausted, and he not only separated from his
termagant spouse, but complained to the Queen of
the slanders uttered by his ' wyked and malysious
wife."

The Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry sought to re-
concile the pair, and in a humorous yet kindly letter to
the irritated husband he says : ' Some will say in your
behalf that the Countess is a sharp and bitter shrew,
and therefore like enough to shorten your life if she
should keep you company — indeed, my good lord, I
have heard some say so. But if shrewness or sharp-

An Illustrious 'Shrew.1 259

ness may be a just cause of separation between a
man and his wife, I think few men in England would
keep their wives long ; for it is a common jest, yet
true in some sense, that there is but one shrew in all
the world, and every man hath her ; and so every
man might be rid of his wife that would be rid of a
shrew.' Such reasoning as this, although prompted
by the best motives, did little to calm the domestic
storm, and the bickerings and revilings continued
until 1590, when 'the Earl was withdrawn by death
from these complicated plagues.'

Lodge, in his ' Illustrations of British History,' forms
rather a different estimate of her character to that left
on record by Fuller. ' She was,' he tersely remarks,
'a woman of masculine understanding and conduct,
proud, furious, selfish, and unfeeling. She was a
builder, a buyer and seller of estates, a money-lender,
a farmer, a merchant of lead, coals, and timber.
When disengaged from these employments, she in-
trigued alternately with Elizabeth and Mary, always
to the prejudice and terror of her husband. She
lived to a great old age, continually flattered, but
seldom deceived, and died immensely rich, without
a friend !'

Whatever her faults, she did not include in them
that of laziness. Her life was an industrious
one. She was always scheming and working — never
idle. Her ceaseless activity and almost feverish
desire to stud the northern portion of the county
with mansions originated, says Horace Walpole, in
a superstitious weakness. Told by a fortune-teller

17—2

260 History of Derbyshire.

that her death could not happen so long as she
continued building, Bess of Hardwick, implicitly
believing the gipsy's story, worked and slaved,
righting with stone, and cement, and trowel against
the grim warrior who ultimately conquers every
human foe. The crow's-feet gathered about her
eyes ; the wrinkles deepened on her resolute face ;
feebler and feebler she grew ; but buoyed up by the
Zingari's prediction, she persisted in her building
mania. Three mansions rose at her behest — Chats-
worth (the more ancient house), Oldcotes, and
Hardwick. The Countess began to erect the latter
hall in 1576, but she did not live to thoroughly com-
plete it. Winter's icy breath checked the work ; the
labourers had to rest from their labours. Then Bess
of Hardwick, outwitted and broken-spirited, gave up
the unequal conflict, and died ; and thus was the
gipsy's prophecy fulfilled. In an old parchment roll
of Derbyshire events is this curious record : ' 1607.
The old Countess of Shrewsbury died about Candle-
mas— a great frost this year.'

The present mansion, which passed to the de-
scendants of her second husband, Sir William
Cavendish, is a fine example of the style of archi-
tecture which prevailed in the latter part of
Elizabeth's reign, when the thick-walled strongholds
of a more barbarous age were giving place to houses
composed of vast stately apartments, into which the
light streamed through great windows, as if pleased
that it had no longer to struggle through the old
pierced loopholes, and fight with dark shadows in

The Elizabethan Mansion. 261

gloomy chambers. Rhodes says the mansion ' seems
to have been designed to ascertain how little of
stone and how much of glass might possibly be
combined together in the formation of a splendid
edifice.' Its picture-gallery alone, which extends
along nearly the whole length of the front of the
house, is lighted by eighteen windows, each of which
contains one thousand five hundred panes of glass ;
so there is some justification for the local distich :

' Hardwick Hall,
More glass than wall.'

One seems very near the dead past when wandering
through this mansion, which is linked with many
historic memories, and contains some curious relics
of bygone times. In the entrance hall — which has
a quaint gallery with balustrade of oak — is the old-
fashioned chair in which the fourth Earl of Devon-
shire sat in the little cottage at Whittington, when
planning the Revolution. Much of the needlework
scattered about the house bears the initials of Mary
Stuart, and tells of a queen's captivity. Bess of
Hardwick's monogram, too, appears frequently
on embroidered fire-screens, and elaborately-worked
velvets, and silken draperies, showing that she had
nimble fingers as well as a scheming, intriguing
brain. And what a treasure-house of tapestry is this
old Hall ! the walls of chamber, chapel, and gallery
are covered with it. There is richly coloured modern
tapestry, indicative of the florid art of Rubens ; and
there is rarer and more time-dimmed tapestry that
illustrates the story of Esther and Ahasuerus, depicts

262 History of Derbyshire.

the principal incidents in St. Paul's fearless life, and
gives a vivid impression of the dangers encountered
by Ulysses, the restless hero of Homer's ' Odyssey.'
Then no mansion in England has a richer store of
ancient furniture, of Tudor chairs, old cabinets, and
carved chests — one of which, judging from the
lettering upon it, belonged to George Talbot, the
sixth Earl of Shrewsbury. Even older still is the
presence-chamber door, furnished with an ancient
lock, supposed to be the work of some Nuremberg
smith ; but undoubtedly the most attractive relic
of a period long past is the table, inlaid with
representations of musical instruments, playing-
cards, chess and backgammon boards, and music
with the notes familiar to those who are acquainted
with the old style of writing it.

Not far from each other in the fine picture-gallery
are the portraits of the rival queens — Elizabeth,
with proud, imperious face, and figure hampered
with fashion's absurdities ; Mary Queen of Scots,
in dark habit and white cap, looking grave and
sad after ten years' captivity. Bess of Hardwick
looks out of the sombre ' canvas with searching
defiant gaze. And the furrowed brow and careworn
features of her fourth husband are eloquent of the
life he led. Here is a child's sweet face — Arabella
Stuart's. ' No one,' says a sympathetic pen, ' can
look on this picture and not glance forward through
succeeding years, and see the pretty, playful infant
transformed into the impassioned woman, writing to
her husband, ' In sickness and despair, wheresoever

Some Old Picttires. 263

thou art, or howsoever I be, it sufficeth me that thou
art always mine.' It was at Hardwick that she spent
her girlhood. The old hall has echoed with her
joyous laughter, and been a silent witness of her
transient tears. No dark shadow was allowed to
steal over her life so long as she remained in this
secluded home. But what a miserable future
awaited the infant who, doll in hand, peeps out of
this faded picture-frame with such a bright look of
innocence and trust ! ' King James,' says D'Israeli,
in his ' Curiosities of Literature,' ' had decided from
some political motive that the. Lady Arabella should
lead a single life ; but such wise purposes frequently
meet with cross ones ; and it happened that no
woman was ever more solicited to the conjugal state,
or seems to have been so little averse to it.' Yet
after crossing the threshold of womanhood she never
enjoyed the sanctity of home, or the sweets of
domestic happiness. Indeed, there is no more heart-
breaking story in English history than the one of
which she is the persecuted heroine — a story of love,
of secret marriage to William Seymour, of wild,
desperate flight, and of weary imprisonment in the
Tower, from which she was only released by
death.

Who is this haughty woman, with determined
lips and fearless eyes ? Mary Cavendish, Bess of
Hardwick's daughter, whose fierce temper never
brooked a slight. Quarrelling once with Sir Thomas
Stanhope, she sent a herald to the knight with this
emphatic message : ' My lady hath commanded me to

264 History of Derbyshire.

say thus much to you : that though you be more
wretched, vile, and miserable than any creature
living, and for your wickedness become more ugly
in shape than the vilest toad in the world ; and one
to whom none of any reputation would vouchsafe
to send any message ; yet she hath thought good to
send thus much to you, that she be contented you
should live (and doth noways wish your death)
but to this end : that all the plagues and miseries
that may befall any man, may light on such a caitiff
as you are.'

Probably the most treasured painting is that
of the illustrious patriot, William, the first Duke
of Devonshire, though he 'is so embroidered and
bewigged, so plumed, booted and spurred that he
is scarcely to be discerned through his accoutre-
ments ; ' and perhaps the most striking portrait is
that of Thomas Hobbes, the great but eccentric
scholar, who, during his tutorship of the Cavendish
family, repeatedly made Hardwick Hall his home,
and died there in 1679, when he was nearly a century
in age. An extraordinary man was this philosopher,
who smoked prodigiously, talked erratically, described
the wonders of the Peak in Latin, and wrote the
' Leviathan,' a great work in which he insisted on the
political equality of mankind. Just on the verge
of the Park, by-the-bye, is the church of Ault Huck-
nall, where the ' Philosopher ' lies buried, and it is
well to make a pilgrimage to this quiet little church
to see his sepulchre and those of the members of the
Cavendish family. ' Leviathan Hobbes ' lies under

A Curious Rhyme. 265

a slab in the floor of the chancel, and on it are the
words :

'CONDITA HIC SUNT OSSA

THOM/E HOBBES,

MALMESBURIENSIS,

QUI PER MVLTOS ANNOS SERVIVIT

DVOBVS DEVONI/E COMITIBVS.

PATRI ET FILIO

VIR PROBVS, ET KAMA ERVDITIONIS

DOMI FORIS QVE BENE COGNITVS

OBIIT AN° DOMINI, 1679,

MENSIS DECEMBRIS DIE 4°,

JETATIS SU^E 91.'

The entry in the parish register is as follows :

» -o ■ \ t wi ■ f James Hardwick,

Anno Regni Law Waine, ! Jrhomas Whltehe^d)

Caroh becund f Vicar. j Churchwardens.

Hardwick | Thomas Hobbs Magnus Philosophus, Sepul. fuit,
et affidavit in Lana Sepoliendo exhibit, Decern. 6'
[or 8].

Nearly every canvas in the Hardwick gallery bears
some prominent figure in England's history ; and
the hall itself, with its dark oak wainscots, and
curiously carved doors, and chimney-pieces decorated
with texts and devices, is a link (though it may be
a rusty one) in the nation's progress.*

* That Bolsover Castle, Hardwick Hall, Welbeck Abbey,
and Worksop Manor, were greatly admired years ago is evident
from the following curious rhyme contained in an old MS. :

Hardwicke for hugeness, Worsope for height,
Welbecke for use, and Bolser for sighte ;
Worsope for walks, Hardwicke for hall,
Welbecke for brewhouse, Bolser for all ;
Welbecke a parish, Hardwicke a court,
Worsope a pallas, Bolser a fort ;

266 History of Derbyshire.

Bolser to feast in, Welbecke to ride in,

Hardwicke to thrive in, and Worsope to bide in.

Hardwicke good house, Welbecke good keepinge,

Worsope good walks, Bolser good sleepinge ;

Bolser new built, Welbecke well mended,

Hardwicke concealed, and Worsope extended.

Bolser is morn, and Welbecke day bright,

Hardwicke high noone, Worsope good night ;

Hardwicke is nowe, and Welbecke will last,

Bolser will be, and Worsope is past.

Welbecke a wife, Bolser a maide,

Hardwicke a matron, Worsope decaide ;

Worsope is wise, Welbecke is wittie,

Hardwicke is hard, Bolser is prettie.

Hardwicke is riche, Welbecke is fine,

Worsope is stately, Bolser divine ;

Hardwicke a chest, Welbecke a saddle,

Worsope a throne, Bolser a cradle.

Hardwicke resembles Hampton Court much,

And Worsope, Welbecke, Bolser none such ;

Worsope a duke, Hardwicke an earl,

Welbecke a viscount, Bolser a pearl.
The rest are jewels of the sheere,
Bolser pendant of the eare,
Yet an old abbey hard by the way —
Rufford — gives more alms than all they

CHAPTER XXIV.

WlNGERWORTH Hall — A Valiant Race — Curious License to
Travel — The Roundheads at Ashover — A Frank Letter —
Wingfield Manor — A Queen's Prison — Babington's Pitiful
Prayer — The Civil War — Back to Derby.

On quitting Hardwick Park by the lower gate past
the inn, the Elm Tree at Heath is reached, along a
pretty shadowed lane ; and thence the pedestrian,
walking through the village of Hasland, soon de-
scends the hill to Chesterfield. The crooked steeple
is still leaning over the town, somewhat in the
attitude of a reckless wine-bibber. It bows to you
more comically in this southern direction than in
any other, and seems to say, ' Come and share my
hilarious life.' If the crooked spire is unable to
tempt you to re-enter the town, keep to the left
after passing beneath the railway-bridge at the
Horns, and go along the Derby road to Winger-
worth, two miles away.

The square white stone mansion, the seat of the
Hunlokes, has rather a deserted look, although it
stands on the crest of a broad green slope, and is
backed by a thick shrubbery, brightened here and
there with double pink may. The Hall's silent

268 History of Derbyshire.

chambers are seldom occupied now, except by the
portraits of the knights and ladies who once lived
their butterfly life here. Its corridors, dark with oak-
wainscot, and adorned with trophies of the chase,
seldom echo with anybody's footsteps. But there
are evidences in nearly every apartment of the past
greatness of this family, which for three centuries
made Wingerworth its home. The Hunlokes, who
have for their arms three tigers' heads, are not only
an ancient race, but have considerable claim both to
loyalty and valour.

In 1623 Henry Hunloke, then Sheriff of the
county, though tottering with feebleness of age,
journeyed to Ilkeston* to meet King James I., and
was so overcome with fatigue that he fell dead in
his Majesty's presence, ' acquiring as much renown
by dying in his duty to the sovereign, as if he had
lived to receive the honour of knighthood which the
King designed to confer upon him.' His son Henry
was equally loyal, for he lightened his purse in the
cause of Charles I., and fought so bravely for the
monarch at Edgehill, in 1642, that the King knighted
the valiant young cavalier on the battle-field, and
afterwards made him a baronet. Such devotion as
he showed to the luckless sovereign did not escape
the keen observation of Cromwell's forces ; and a
year afterwards the Hunlokes were temporarily
driven from the Hall, which was converted into a
garrison for the soldiers of Parliament. Nor was

0 A town on the south-eastern border of Derbyshire that is
rapidly springing into industrial and commercial importance.

A Curious License to Travel. 269

this the only annoyance and inconvenience the family
have had to bear for conscience' sake. Half a cen-
tury later, the then owner of the estate, also a Sir
Henry Hunloke, was obliged, in consequence of his
religious convictions, to procure a license from the
justices of the peace to enable him to travel un-
molested. One of these curious documents has been
preserved. It is addressed ' To all Constables,
Thirdboroughs, and all other their Majesties Officers
whom these may concern,' and sets forth that,
' Whereas Sir Henry Hunloke, of Wingerworth, in
ye county of Derby, Bt., being a reputed Papist, is
by severall statutes (and by their ma'ties late pro-
clamation to require the due observation of the
same), prohibited to travell from the place of his
abode above the space of five miles, without License
so to do, according to the said Statute. Wee,
therefore, their ma'ties Justices of the Peace, and
one of us being a Deputy Lieutenant for the said
county, doe hereby grant our License to the said
Sr Henry Hunloke (he havg. taken before one of
us his Corporall Oath that he has truly acquainted
us with his businesse, and that he desires the said
License for no other end and purpose) that he
may freely and peaceably travell from his said house
at Wingerworth to his Councell att Derby and
Long Whatton in Leicestershire, and to his Estate
att Chillwell in Nottinghamshire, and from thence
to meet his Lady att Northampton, on her returne
from London. In regard of which businesse we
have thought fitt to allow him the space of Ten dayes

270 History of Derbyshire.

to go and returne in. Given under our hands and
seales this .... day of August, in the Third year
of their Ma'ties Reigne, King William and Queen
Mary, over England, etc., Annoq. Dni. 1691.
(Signed) Mat Smith, J. Spateman. Jurat cor me,
J. Spateman.'

The Roundheads were unremitting in their atten-
tions to East Derbyshire. They left the marks of
their cannon-balls on the walls of Bolsover Castle ;
they showed their long serious faces in Chesterfield's
streets ; they made themselves at home in Winger-
worth Hall, and they paid a memorable visit to
Ashover, the quiet old village some four miles to the
south of the seat of the Hunlokes — a village hiding
in the lovely vale through which the Amber flows,
past nook and dell and flower-studded pastures.
The psalm-singing soldiers caused a great deal of
commotion in the hamlet. They came to destroy
Eastwood Hall, the ancient seat of the Wil-
loughbys and Reresbys. How they achieved their
object is described with unconscious humour by
Emmanuel Bourn, who was rector of Ashover in
1646. He says in a quaintly worded letter to one of
his relatives :

' Deare Couzen, — As I have written divers
letters to you since this wicked war began, and as
yet received no answere, I begin to feare that
some mischief has either befallen you, or that the
waye has been soe interrupted that my letters and
messengers have failed to reach you ; and that the

A Frank Letter. 271

letters you have sent to me may have also mis-
carried.

1 But this comes by the hand of a trustie friend
who will try to find you out, and will also wait for
an answer, which I praye God may be much better
than the news I send you ; which news I will make
as brief as may bee, but I have a long tale to tell of
my losses and misfortunes.

1 In the beginning of the yeare of grace 1642,
when I saw bothe sydes bent on war and "destruc-
tion, I made up my mynde to take part with neither,
but to attend to my two parishes and leave them to
fighte it out.

' Now in attending to my poor peopul I have had
to forgoe many of my tythes and charges, and to
feed the hungry and to clothe the naked, but in
doing this I have been nobly helped by some of the
good friends you know and have met at my table ;
namely, the Gregories, the Broughs, and the Hop-
kinsons and others, not forgetting the bearer of this
letter ; who, notwithstanding their own losses, have
done all they could to help the poor and needy;
for which I have thanked them and God. And
indeed I have found that although this wicked war
has brought out almost everything that was evil, it
has also brought out much that was good, even
kindness and Christian charity ; and men who have
suffered much have done all they could to help those
who had suffered more.

' In beginning the war I think both sydes were to
blame ; the Parliament went too far, and the King

272 History of Derbyshire.

could not be justified ; for indeed he had done harm
in favoring the Papists and in exacting taxes not
sanctioned by Parliament ; such as the coate and
conduct money, and worse than all, the tonage and
poundage ; the shipp money and worse than all the
benevolences, which were collected as an highway-
man collects his plunder — namely, " Your monie or
your lyfe."

' You will remember Sir John Gell, of Hopton,
who was once on the King's syde, and he when
Sheriffe did grievously oppress the pepul in collect-
ing the taxes, and I never could bear the sighte of
him since he starved Sir John Stanhope's cattel to
death in the pound for shipp money ; but now on
the syde of Parliament he was trying to enlist the
myners, a troupe of souldiers, in their favour, and
he had also become a great braggart, and did pay
the diurnals well for sounding his praises ; but when
the King came to Darbie, Sir John thought him too
near a neighbour, and did move to Chesterfield, and
thence to Hull, to aske assistance of Sir John
Hotham ; and when he was awaye the King did
send Sir Francis Wortley to Wirksworth, with a
company of dragooners, to laye waste Sir John's
estate, and to collect benevolences, which they did
with great goodwill, and left Sir John little to come
to. And they did also committ great riott and excess
in the country round ; but, thinking that either Sir
John or Col. Hutchinson would some day or night
be coming on them by surprise, Sir Francis did send
some fifty men to Asher [Ashover] to watch the

A Frank Letter. 273

Chesterfield road and keepe a look out towards
Nottinghamshire, and also, as usual, to collect
benevolences.

'These men, on coming here, did take up their
quarters at Eddlestone, but as Sir John Pershall was
awaye at his other house in Staffordshire, they ob-
tained no benevolences from him, but they lived at
free quarters, and there was great slaughter of pigs
and sheep and fowles ; they also did drink all the
wine and ale in his cellars. They then, drunken and
madd, did come down to the towne, and did do
the same at the alehouses, but Job Wall withstood
them in the doorway, and told them they should
have no drink in his house, they having had too
muche already : but they forsoothed him and did
turn him oute and sett a watch at the doors till all
the ale was drunk or wasted. They then came to
me, and to Dakin, and to Hodgkinson, and demanded
ten pounds from each for the Kyng's use, and also
smaller sums from the farmers and myners ; and
when we did beg them to be content with less they
swore we were Roundheads, and enemies to the king,
and if we did not paye, they would burn our houses
about our ears, which I believe they would have done,
and we were glad to paye. Soon after this, however,
Sir J. Gell did return to Chesterfield with a large
companie of souldiers, borrowed of Sir J. Hotham,
and by beat of drum he did raise many more in the
neighbourhood ; upon which Sir Francis thought it
best to retire, and so he withdrew his men from
Eddlestone. And they, not liking to goe awaye

18

274 History of Derbyshire.

empty, did take all the cattel they could find on the
hills awaye with them. Sir John soon tooke his
place at Wirksworth.

' Now there is one Charles White, a native of
Milltown, a man of mean birth and education, but
glib of tongue, and making a great show of piety,
did sett himself up to be somebody ; and he going
into Nottinghamshire by some means did get him-
self chosen Captain of a troope of dragoons, and
being sent to Wirksworth to assist Sir John, he did
raise near a hundred more in that neighbourhood ;
but having been sent for to help Col. Hutchinson, he
did come by the waye of Asher, on purpose to spite
his betters, and he demanded twenty pound eache
from me and Hodgkinson, and said if we could
afforde ten pounds for the Kyng, he would make us
give twenty for the cause of God and the Parliament.
Now, I did not feel inclined to paye soo much money
to such a mean fellow, and I told him I would write
to Col. Hutchinson, or some of his betters ; but he
replied with an impudent face that he had noe
betters, and that if I did not pay the money he would
take all my cattel, in part payment, and do the same
with all the others ; so at last we payed him, and
were right glad to get rid of such a knave.

' Not long after this the Earle of Newcastle, with
part of his armee, did come to Chesterfield, which
soon made Sir J. Gell feel uneasy in his shoes, and
he thought he had better be going with a whole skin,
so he went to Derbie, and thence into Leicestershire.
This left most of the county in the hands of the

A Frank Letter. 275

Kyng's troopes, who like demons destroyed all they
came neare, and left the poore to starve ; but this
wilful waste and destruction made the Kyng many
enemies, and hundreds now joined Sir John either
for revenge or to keep from starving, and in all these
misfortunes we had a full share, and if it had not
been for the lead myners, all would have been de-
serted and gone to ruin.

' I now honestly confess that I began to syde with
the Parliament, and on the death of Laud I com-
plied with all their ordinances, and laid aside both
the surplice and the prayer book ; and I even gave
over praying for the Kyng in publique (for which
God forgive me). I also left all the marriages to
Justice Spateman, and when the Kyng's cause be-
came hopeless I did accept appointment of Com-
missioner of Sequestration ; thinking thereby to
soften some of the hard measures dealt out to the
Kyng's friends. This, however, caused me many
enemies, and Sir John Gell and others say I am a
malignant in disguise.

' After the battle of Naseby the Kyng retreated
northwards with the remnant of his armie, about
3,000 horse, and met with and defeated Sir J. Gell
at Sudbury and Ashbourne. He then tooke shelter
in the high peake, and carried off a great part of the
cattle remaining, and left us to starve. This I did
hope would be the end of our trouble, and that we
should now have peace ; but in the spring of this
yeare all the souldiers were wanted for Ireland, and
Parliament agreed to demolish most of the castles to

18—2

276 History of Derby shire.

prevent them again falling into the hands of the
malignants, while the troopes were awaie ; and on
June 23rd (1646), an ordinance was passed for the
destruction of Wingfield Manor — which for its
strength was not easy tooke, and had at last to be
blown up with gunpowder. When the work of
destruction was nearly done, one of the souldiers,
who had once been in my employment, sent me word
that I was to. get out of Eastwood Hall, as it would
be the next to come down, he having overheard
order given to that effect. Soe I borrowed the
myner's and farmer's cartes, and did make all haste
to get my goods to the old rectory ; but by being
in such haste great destruction was made of the
beautiful carved furniture I bought with the hall.

' The next daye a companie of dragoones, under
the charge of a Muster Master named Smedley,
came to the hall and demanded possession in the
name of the High Court of Parliament, which I at
once did give, but I told them that I had done
nothing against the Parliament, and that I was also
holding office under their highnesses at the tyme,
and that I should bring their conduct before either
Fairfax or Col. Hutchinson ; but they replied with
all civility that they had orders from their command-
ing officer to destroy the hall, and that he had also
said he would not leave a nest in the countrie where
a malignant could hyde his head. They, however,
offered to assist in removing anything I set store bye.

' I now found that they had brought three
small pieces of ordnance, which they drew to

A Frank Letter. 277

the top of Ferbrick, and discharged them at the
hall ; but the cannons being small (only two drakes
and one suker) they did no harm beyond breaking
the windows and knocking off the corners of the
walls, and they soon tyred and sett the pioneers ;
but the walls being thick and the mortar good, they
made little progress, till at last, growing impatient,
they did put a barrel of powder in the tower, and at
once destroyed more than halfe the hall and left the
other in ruins, so that it cannot be repaired. They
then sung a psalm, marched to the church, and for
fear they should injure the house of God, I did soon
follow after, and to my great surprise did find the
scout-master Smedley in the pulpit, when he did
preach a sermon two hours long about Popery,
Priestcraft, and Kingcraft ; but Lord ! what stuff and
nonsense he did talke, and if he could have murdered
the Kyng as easily as he did the Kyng's English, the
war would long since have been over : then singing a
psalm they prepared to go, but some of the pyoneers
seeing the stayned windows once belonging to the
Reresbys, on which was paynted the crucifixion, they
said it was rank popery and must be destroyed :
so they brought their mattocks and bars, and not
only destroyed the glass but the stonework also.
They then found out the prayer-booke, and surplice,
and the old parish-registere, which had been hid in
the vestrie, but the registere being old and partly in
Latin, they could not read it, so they said it was full
of popery and treason, and tooke the whole to the
market-place, and making a fyre, did burn them to

278 • History of Derbyshire.

ashes. They then mounted their horses and sang

another psalm and rode awaye, and have not since

been seen, and I believe they have gone to Chester

to embark for Ireland.

' Wheatcroft, my clerk, who you know makes

rhymes about almost everything, is still on the

Kyng's side, and he brought me the following

doggerell, I suppose for consolation :

' " The Roundheads came down upon Eastwood old hall,
And they tried it with mattock and tried it with ball,
And they tore up the leadwork and splintered the wood,
But as firmly as ever the battlements stood,
Till a barrell of powder at last did the thing !
And then they sung psalms for the fall of the kyng."

1 The destruction of my house, however, has almost

broken my heart, and I trust you will joyn me in

praying for better times, and for grace and patience

to bear my misfortunes with resignation. Pray

come if you can to comfort me, and may God bless

you.

' From your loving cousin,

' Emanuel Bourn.

1 Ashover, August 28th, 1646.

Cromwell's soldiers, as this letter shows, had
already acted similarly at Wingfield Manor, which
they were in such a hurry to demolish that they did
not even wait to sing a psalm before commencing the
attack. The picturesque ruin — then a strong place
of defence — stands not far from Lea Hurst, long the
Derbyshire home of the Crimean heroine, Florence
Nightingale. Across the valley, looking east, is the

Wing field Manor. 279

market-town of Alfreton, that dates from King
Alfred's time, and bears the name of that good-
governing King. A winding road to the west of the
main line of the Midland Railway Company leads
through the village of South Wingfield to the Manor,
which lifts its shattered walls above the trees on the
summit of the hill. The building is roofless. Its
towers, shaken long ago by rough engines of war,
are now crumbling with age, and tufts of grass
struggle for life in the deserted quadrangles where,
to use a poetic phrase, ' antiquity enjoys a deep and
mossy sleep.' The so-called ' crypt,' however, with
its short massive columns and heavy, stone-groined
roof, has undergone little change since knights and
retainers gathered there.

The mansion has had some strange vicissitudes.
It was built, but not quite completed, in the reign
of Henry VI. by Ralph, Lord Cromwell, the Lord
Treasurer, who was so doubtful about his future
welfare that he ordered three thousand masses
to be said for his soul. The Manor House was sold
to John Talbot, second Earl of Shrewsbury, son
of he Capitaine Anglais, John, first Earl of Shrews-
bury, the ' scourge of France,' whose titles are thus
set forth by Shakspeare in his ' Henry VI.,' and
whose prowess and doings form so conspicuous a
feature in that drama, where Sir William Lucy
demands :

1 Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury ?
Created, for his rare success in arms,

280 History of Derbyshire.

Great Earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ;

Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,

Lord Strange of Blackmere, Lord Verdun of Alton,

Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, Lord Furnival of Sheffield,

The thrice victorious Lord of Falconbridge ;

Knight of the noble Order of Saint George,

Worthy Saint Michael, and the Golden Fleece ;

Great Mareshal to Henry the Sixth

Of all his wars within the realm of France.'

The second Earl, like his father, was a brave
soldier, and fell in the Lancastrian cause at the
battle of Wolverhampton.

The fourth Earl, though he did not shrink from
warfare, led rather a more peaceful life, and died in
one of the bedchambers at Wingfield Manor. That
he was a diplomatist as well as a courtier and a
soldier was evident from his delicate treatment of
Cardinal Wolsey ; and he was thought much of by-
Henry VIII., who made him Lord Steward of the
Household, and took him as attendant to the joust
with Francis I. on the Field of the Cloth of
Gold*

Wingfield Manor has been a Queen's prison !
Twice was Mary Queen of Scots a captive
there. What a wretched life of bondage, of wild
schemes, high hopes, and agonizing fears, was
hers. Conveyed from stronghold to stronghold — to
Tutbury, Coventry, Chatsworth, and Sheffield,
where, in the castle of the Shrewsburys, her

* The fourth Earl of Shrewsbury died at Wingfield Manor in
July, 1538, and his remains were removed to the Shrewsbury
Chapel, in Sheffield Parish Church, in March, 1539.

A Queens Prison. 281

Majesty was so zealously guarded that ' unless
she could transform herself into a flea or a mouse
it was impossible that she should escape.' And
equally strict was the surveillance in 1584, when
she was brought again to the old Manor. How idle
were her dreams of liberty may be gleaned from the
letters of Sir Ralph Sadler, her gaoler, who says the
Manor had two guarded entrances, with ' the gentle-
man porter ever at the one, with four or five of his
company, and divers soldiers at the other.' And the
night watch was even more rigorous, for it consisted
of eight soldiers, ' whereof four at the least are
always under the outward windows of her lodgings,
and the rest walk about, which are visited nightly at
ten and two, and furnished with shot and halberds,
besides two that watch and ward day and night at
the door going to her lodgings.'

In a very interesting historical sketch of Wingfield
Manor by Mr. Wilfrid Edmunds, a talented Derby-
shire journalist, the following reference is made to the
Queen's imprisonment : ' Perhaps it may be well in
speaking of Mary's captivity to point out that her
retinue was considerable, and it required a large build-
ing to accommodate the Queen's attendants and the
necessary guard. A curious State paper written by
Sir Ralph Sadler, who succeeded Shrewsbury as
Mary's custodian, says that in November, 1584, there
were in all 210 gentlemen, yeomen, officers, and
soldiers employed in the custody of the Queen in
Winfield. Sir Ralph also says that it would require
150 men to guard the Queen at Tutbury, as 15 or 16

282 History of Derbyshire.

must watch nightly. The domestic establishment of
the Queen at Winfield is said to have consisted of
"5 gentilmen, 14 servitours, 3 cooks, 4 boyes, 3
gentilmen's men, 6 gentilwomen, 2 wyves, 10
wenches, and children." The Queen had four good
coach-horses, and her gentlemen six, and about forty
horses were kept altogether. The same document
states that the Queen had no " napery, hangings,
bed linen," of her own, but had to be provided by
Lord Shrewsbury, that which had been sent by
Elizabeth's order being declared to be " nothing of
it serviceable, but worn and spent." In the same
paper figures are given as to the price of provisions
at Winfield at this time, and we learn that wheat
was 20s. a quarter; malt, 16s. a quarter; a good ox,
£4 ; mutton a score, £7 ; veal and other meats, reason-
able good charge about 8s.; hay, 13s. 4d. a load ;
oats, 8s. a quarter ; peas, about 12s. the quarter.
The Queen and her suite drank ten tuns of wine
a year — this would probably be claret or burgundy,
which was much drunk in England in those and
earlier days ; perhaps owing to the fact that for
about two centuries we possessed a great part of
France.'

Mary fared much better than some Royal prisoners,
for on fish and flesh days she could, if she willed,
partake of sixteen dishes at both courses ; yet she
would, no doubt, have been contented with more
frugal repasts could she only have had her freedom.
Friends certainly were always scheming to effect her
escape, but with the discovery of the Babington

Anthony Babington. 283

plot hope died out of her heart for ever. It is a sad
story, this sacrifice of a noble young life for a Queen's
sake. Anthony Babington, who had ' a most proude
and aspiringe mynde,' resided at Dethick, about four
miles from Wingfield ; and whilst Mary was a
prisoner at the Manor he not only corresponded with
her in cypher, but conspired to set her free. The
plot failed, and Anthony, captured despite his
disguises, was sentenced to death. Then he sent
to Elizabeth the following eloquent petition, pray-
ing that his life might be spared : ' Most gratious
Souvarigne, yf either bitter teares, a pensisve,
contrite harte, ore any dutyfull sighte of the
wretched synner might work any pitty in your
royall brest, I would wringe out of my strayned eyes
as much blood as in bemoaninge my drery tragedye
shold lamentably bewayll my faulte, and somewhat
(no dought) move you to compassion ; but since
there is no proportione betwixte the quality of my
crimes and any human commiseration, showe, sweet
Queene, some mirakle on a wretch that lyethe
prostrate in y prison, most grivously bewaylinge
his offence, and imploringe such comfort at your
anoynted hande as my poore wives misfortunes doth
begge, my childe innocence doth crave, my gyltless
family doth wishe, and my heynous trecherye doth
leaste deserve, so shall y1' divine mersy make
your glorye shyne as far above all princes, as my
most horrible practices are most detestable amongst
your beste subjects, whom lovingle and happielye
you governe.' But his petition made no impression

284 History of Derbyshire.

on Elizabeth's mind, and he was executed, with
thirteen other conspirators, in September, 1586.

The captive Queen had even less chance of flight
than Prometheus when chained to the rock by-
Jupiter's angry command. He was liberated by
Hercules from the eagle's talons ; but every attempt
at the imprisoned Queen's release failed, until in
1587 the headsman set her free, amid the pitiful
shouts of the sympathetic crowd, above which rose
the hoarse cry — ' So perish all Queen Elizabeth's
enemies!'

It was half a century after Mary Queen of Scots
hfd ridden from Wingfield on her way to the
scaffold, that the fierce storm of civil war beat about
the Manor. In 1643 the Royalists obtained
possession of it after a desperate assault ; but Sir
John Gell at once determined to wrest the ancient
place from the Cavaliers. His officer, Major Sandars,
advancing towards the Manor with his dragoons,
had the good fortune to surprise Colonel Eyre's regi-
ment, in Boylstone Church, capturing all their arms
and colours ; then he marched to the stronghold
garrisoned by the Royalists, but found the foe so
stubborn that the help of Major-General Crawford
and his four great pieces had to be obtained. The
cannon, placed on Pentridge Common, soon made
an impression not only upon the walls of the
Manor, but upon the minds of its defenders, as will
be seen from Sir John Gell's own account of the
bombardment, for he says : ' Major-General
Crawford, desirous to do the State and country

Back to Derby. 285

good service, came presently with his horse and foot
thither, and so we planted ours and their ordnance
together, and after three hours' battery they yielded
themselves, being about two hundred and twenty;
and so upon composition everyone marched to his
own home.'

In the south-eastern portion of Derbyshire there
are several places attractive to the archaeologist and
the student of history, notably Dale Abbey, now a
picturesque ruin, and founded as far back as 1204 ;
the legend being that the King granted to Prior St.
Robert for a site as much land as he could circum-
ference with a plough drawn by two deer, between
sunrise and sunset. But Wingfield Manor, dis-
mantled by the Roundheads in 1646, is the last spot
of note in our pilgrimage. The steel track of the rail-
way gleams in the valley ; we leave the Manor, about
which Mr. J. D. Leader has written so learnedly in his
book, ' Mary Queen of Scots in Captivity ;' we stroll
down to the unpretentious station at South Wing-
field, enter a carriage, and the train speeds on its
way. On the hill yonder is Crich stand, lifting its
solitary tower high above the huge masses of lime-
stone and millstone grit ; we pass through Ambergate,
with its graceful sweep of valley, along which the
Derwent winds ; then skirt Belper, the beautifully
situated little town where the nail-maker still clings
to his humble industry, and the cotton-mills, founded
by Jedediah Strutt, give employment to many hands.
By hamlet, homestead, and pasture, 'the engine puffs
and tears'; by Milford, with its gigantic cotton-mills

286 History of Derbyshire.

— by the pretty village of Duffield, once one of the
strongholds of the Ferrars — by 'sweet Duffield vale,'
and the wooded slopes of Darley ; and now catching
sight of the lofty tower of All Saints, and the mass
of buildings crowding about it, we cross the river,
and are whirled into Derby, thus completing
our somewhat erratic, though interesting circuit of
a county that has aroused the enthusiasm of painter,
poet, novelist, and antiquary, and is one of the love-
liest in the land.

INDEX.

Angler, a well-known, 67
Arkwright, Sir Richard, 51
Ashbourne, 29

Grammar School, 32

Town Hall, 32
Ashford and its customs, 107
Ashopton and Woodlands, 173, 174
Ashover, 269

the Roundheads and their freaks,
269-77

Bakewell, 93
church, 95

its historic tombs, 96
witches of, 95

Ballads, Derbyshire, 22

Banner Cross, heroes at, 183

Baslow, no

Beauchief Abbey and its traditions,
182

• Bede, Seth,' 43

' Bells, evening, Those,' 33

Bequest, curious, 32

Bess of Hardwick, 13, 70, 255, 256-59,
262

Bolsover Castle, 246

a splendid mansion, 249

Ben Jonson's Masque, 251, 252

Cavendish monuments, 253

Doe Lea Railway, 254

feasting a king, 250, 251

the Norman fortress, 248, 249

William of Coningsby, 247

Books, fictitious, 80

Bradshaws, the, 167

Brown, Phoebe, 58

Buxton, 147

bath charges, olden time, 150

Crescent, the, 154

Earl, a thirsty, 151

Lord Macaulay's irony, 153

Buxton — continued

modern progress of, 154
queen, a rheumatic, 151, 152
saint, a clever, 148
superstition, driving away, 149
the Romans at, 148
waters, popularity of, 152

Byron, Lord, 1, 52, 142

Canning, statesman, 33
Castleton, 137

a tournament, 139

Blue John Mine, 144

Devil's Cave, 141

Eldon Hole and a startling ad-
venture, 143

enthusiastic geologist, 141

quaint description of, 138

railway to, 146

Speedwell Mine, 142

the church, garland-bearing, a
' Breeches Bible, ' 140

the Winnats, Mam Tor, Cave
Dale, 145

William Peveril, 138
Chantrey, 31
Chapel-en-le-Frith, 164
Charles Cavendish, 13
Chats worth, 70

a faithful servant, 83

ancient hall, 71

Arabella Stuart, 71

Cavendish motto, 71

Edensor and its historic graves,
82

dread scene, 82

gardens, 81

painting, sculpture, and litera-
ture, 73-80

pulling an officers' nose, 72

St. Evremond's opinion of, 81

288

Index.

Chatsworth — continued

' The Good Duke,' 82
Chesterfield, 232

about the streets, 237, '238

a crusader's prowess, 243

a lying proverb, 245

early history, 233-35

Memorial Hall and Grammar
School, 239

obsolete cusioms, 236, 237

the crooked steeple, 244, 245

the old church, 241
Civil War, 5, 71, 252, 269, 283
Cliff, Shining, 49
Cloth-dyeing, 9
Cokayne family, 30
Congreve's ' Mournftig Bride,' 34
Conscience, elastic, 15
Cotton, Charles, 36
Country, a wild, 181
Cromford, 50
Custom, a pathetic, 58

1 Daykin Stryke,' i5o
Dale Abbey, 284
Darby ale, 2
Darley Dale, 59

church, 60

yew and its story, 61
Danes, the, 2
Death, hunted to, 167
Denman, Lord Chief Justice, 114
Derby and its name, i, 2

All Saints' Church, 13

almshouses, 11

ass, a flying, 14

Assize Courts, 12

Bonnie Prince Charlie, 10

brave princess, 2

castle, 7

Corporation, 26

eccentric men of, 20

Exeter House and the Pre-
tender, 9

Free School, 8

gaol, 7

literary characters, 19

new buildings, 27

newspapers, 20, 21

people of quality, 26

plague, the, 4

Ram, 23

St. Mary's Bridge and martyred
priests, 9

St. Peter's Church, 8

St. Alkmund's, 16

Stockingers' rising, 6

' the most honest man in,' 21

D e rby — con tin ued

the town's progress, 28

trade and ladies, 11

Wright, of, 18
Derbyshire border, 181

East, 208
Devonshire, first Duke of, 75

beautiful Duchess of, 76
Dinner, astronomical description of,

17
Dovedale and its beauties, 34

description of, 35

lines, on, 37
Dronfield, 212

' Eliot, George,' 43
Epitaphs, amusing, 97
Events, foretelling, 17
Eyam and the pestilence, 117

a heroine's grave, 122

a mock marriage, 121

church, 121

Cross, 122

strange people, 124

Face, machines to take the, i3
Fairfield, 159
Flamstead, John, 16
Football, 7
Foster, Edward, 17
Furniture, rare, 47

Girl, a fasting, 99
Glossop, 171

a dull town, 172

over the moors, 173

rush-bearing, 171

wedding, a ludicrous, 172
Grange, Wigwell, 49

Haddon Hall, 84

altar (Roman). 83
and Dorothy Vernon, 91
ballroom, 90
chapel, 87
dining-room, 89

Hall, Ham, 34

Hand, cutting off a man's, 95

Hardwick Hall, 255

a bishop's letter, 257

an old MS., 264

' illustrious shrew,' 256

local distich, 260

noted pictures, 261-64

tapestry and furniture, 260

Hassop, 109

Index.

289

Hathersage, 175

Pretender, the, 5, 30

' Little John,' a sorrowful ballad,

Prince, Widow, 36

177-80

Prisoners, French, 30

pins and needles, 175

Robert Eyre, 176

Quilldriver, an eminent, 41

Hayfield, 168

Highlander, a tough, 30

' Ramble, the Taylor's,' 105

Hobbes, Philosopher, 80

Repton, 1, 39

House, fishing, 36

Revolution of 1688, the, 5, 72,
214-31, 260

213,

Incident, an exciting, 72

Rhyme, old, 212

Iron and coal, region of, 209

Richardson, Samuel, 19
Rosary, a wonderful, 75

Jews, expelled, 3

Rousseau, Jean, 33
Rowsley, the Peacock at, 67

Kiss, a butcher's, 76

Royalists, 29

Kinderscout, around, 159

Scene, a dread, 82

' Ladies' Nine,' 69

Scotch prisoners of war, 164

Lead, Derbyshire, 38

a pitiful story, 165

getting, peril of, 50

Scots, Mary Queen of, 4, 71, 151

IS2.

miners' standard dish, 40

199, 203

mining customs, 39

Sculptors, famous, 79

Leap, Lover's (Middleton Dale), 116

Sermons, cheap, 109

Library, a splendid, 77

Servant, a faithful, 83
Sheffield, a glimpse of, 185

Masterpiece, Grinling Gibbons', 73

a pretty glen, 191-93

Match, first county, 42

Black Brook, 189

Matlock Bath, 52

Cardinal Wolsey, 198, 199

Bridge and Bank, 57

Cutlers' Feast, 196-98

caverns, 56

deer-catching, 195

church, 57

in olden time, 194

Heights of Abraham, 55

literature and poetry, 201, 202

High Tor, 55

Ruskin Museum, 202-205

warm springs at, 53

strange dialect, 188

Merchant, a distinguished, 169, 170

toil and smoke, 186

Middleton, Stony, 114

the cutler and ironworker,

187

Miller's Dale, 156

parish church and singular

inci-

Mine, a famous, 49

dents, 199

Mint established, 3

' Less Black than Painted,'

207

Monsal Dale, 155

Weston Museum and the Mappin

Moore, Thomas, 33

Gallery, 205-7

' Morris, Dinah,' 43

Wyming Brock, 190
Skit, humorous, 33

Norton, 209

Skull, wonderful, 161-4

Chantrey and his work, 210, 211

Snake Inn, 173

the Blythes, 211

Snow, under the, 165
Spectacle, singular, 14

Orrery, the, 19

Statham, Sir John, 49

Parish register ; singular entries, 42

Tapestry, choice, 75

Peak, the Apostle of the, 166

Tideswell, 125

King of the, 87

and its curious tenure, 126

Penelope, 31

and Bishop Pursglove, 127

Persecution, religious, 4

church, 126

Plague, the, 4, 16, 118

drunken butcher of, 129

Poole's Hole, 156

in an uproar, 133

Prayers, strange, 9

sweet singers of, 128

19

290

Index.

Tooth, a giant's, 48

Whittington — continued

' Torr, the Parson's,' 100

memorable centenary, 225-28

Tradition, two brothers, 60

secret conference, 220

Tyler, Wat, 71

the plotting parlour, 229

the revolution house, 215-18

Valley, a pretty, 113

Wingfield Manor, 277

a Queen's prison, 279-83

Walk, a grand, 172

Lord Cromwell, 278

Walton, Izaak, 36

the Shrewsburys, 278, 279

Wedding, extraordinary, 99

Wingerworth Hall, 266

Wendesley, Sir Thomas, 95

license to travel, 268

Wesley, John, 29

loyal Hunlokes, 267

Whipper, dog, in

Wirksworth, 38

Whittington, 214

church, 40

a manifesto, 222

families, 42

a rollicking song, 230, 231

Wortley, Lady Mary, 54

an historic picture, 221

a dash for liberty, 219

Yew trees, noted, 62

Derbyshire Times, 230

Young men and maidens, 13

King James's flight, 223

Elliot Stock, Paternoster Rmu, London.

PA

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