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Ah ! who can look on Natore^t Itee 

And feel unhoW passions more ? 
Her fiurms of Bfajefty and Grace 

I cannot chuse but love. — 

MoNTaoMBRT*« Peak Mountains, 







London : 

Frinted by A. $c R. %iottiswoode, 






Influenced by my feelings, my predilec^ 
tions, and my wishes, I solicited permission to dedi* 
cate the following Sketches of the Peak Scenery of 
Derbyshire to your Grace. It is apparent that in 
so doing I had it less in contemplation to compliment 
you than to do honour to myself: for the permission 
however, and th^ handsome manner in which it was 
communicated, allow me thus publicly to return you 
my thankst 

In the future progress of this work, your Grace's 
name can hardly fail to produce advantages probably 
far beyond what I at present anticipate, and open 
channels of information which may essentially facili* 
tate its improvement, and extend its utility* Ab* 
stracted from this consideration, to what other indi« 
vidual could the following pages be inscribed with 

A 9 



equal propriety ? You possess a mansion that may 
be denominated the Palace of the Peak ; and the 
munificence of that noble family, whose wealth and 
honours now centre in your Grace, has converted 
some of the wildest scenery of Derbyshire into a ter- 
restrial paradise : the Banks of the Derwent and the 
Wye have been adorned and enriched by their bounty. 

That your Grace may live to accomplish the plans 
you have suggested for the still farther improvement 
of this very interesting district ; that you may long 
enjoy the esteem of good men, and the gratifying 
consciousness that the splendid honours of the House 
of Cavendish have been confirmed and enlarged by 
their present possessor, is the earnest wish of. 

My Lord Duke, 
Your Grace's most obliged and 
Humble Servant, 


Sheffieli), March SI, 1818. 



Introduction ^ xi 

Road Sketches xt 

Preliminary Chapter ^,.. 1 


Section I. — General Remarks. — Character of Derbyshire 
Scenery. — Picturesque Beauty. — Sea Coast Views. — 
Fogs, Mists and Clouds ,\ 7 

Section II. — Abbey Dale. — Autumnal Morning. — Beau- 
chief Abbey. — £ast Moor. — View into Hope Dale.— - 
FroggattEdge 11 

Section III. — \^ew from near Stoke. — Stoney Middleton. 

— Stoke Hall Middleton Church. — St. Martin's Bath. 

— Middleton Dale. — Loyers' Leap. — Roman Coins 20 

Section. IV. — Eyam yisited by the Plaeuein 1666. — Riley 

Graye Stones. — Mr. Mompesson. — Cucklet Church......... SI 

Section V. — Eyam Church- Yard — Ancient Stone Cross. 

— The Rey. P. Cunningham. — Miss Seward M 

Section VI. — M^Uiam Peveril. — Eyam Mineral Charter. — 

Hammer of Thor. — Druidical Circle and Ancient Barrow. 

— Effects of an Earthquake in a Mine on Eyam Edge 60 

Section VII. — Mineral District. — Haycliff Mine. — Slick- 

ensides. — Accident in a Mine near Hucklow. — Wardlow 
Mears. — *• Wheston Cross. — Tideswell Top. — Marble 
Rocks in Tideswell Dale. •— Singular Stratum there. — 

— Cotton Factories. — Tideswell. — The Church.— -Bishop 
Pursegloye. — Sampson Meurills. — Ancient Chapel. -^ 
Tideswell Church Yard. — Conclusion i •«• 67 


Section I.— New Road from Tideswell to Buxton.— 
Mbhk's-dale. — Thunder Storm. — Wbrmhill. — Chee Tor. 81 

A 3 



SlECJTiON tl. — Observations on the River Wye. — Blackwell 
Mill. — Topley Pike. —Stage Coach. — Wye-Dale. — Ro- 
mantic Dell and Cascade near Lover*8 Leap. — Arrival at 
Buxton ..i 4..i4» «<....4 4 87 

Section III. — Fairfield. — Lime Hills» — Poole's Hole. — 
Buxton Diamonds. — Ax-£dge. — Stranger at Buxton. — 
Source of the Wye. — Evening «•••...< 92 

Si^TioN IV. — Staden-Low. — South Entrance into Buxton* 

— The Crescent. - Mr. C. Sylvester's Hot-Baths. — St. 
Anne's Well.— Buxton Bath Charity. — Amusements.-* 
Antiquity of the Warm-Baths. — Demolition of the Shrine 
findlm^e of St. Anne 98 

Section V. — Leave Buxton. — Water Swallows. — Tun- 
stead. — James Brindley. — Wormhill Dale. — View from 
Diamond Hill. — Miller's Dale. — Haven Tor. — Litton. — 
Mill Dale. — Cresbrook Dale. — Wm. Newton. -— Difficult 
Passage from Litton Mill to Cressbrook. — Scenery there.. 107 

Section VI. — Cressbrook Dale* — Bright Pool. — Waterfall. 

— Monsal Dale. — Summer Evening's Scene. — Moonlight 
View of Monsal Dale 118 

Section VII^ — Recollections of a former Excursion. — Edge 
Stone House. — Unfortunate Female. — Morning View 
from Great Finn. — Hob's House. — Cascade in Monsal 
Dale, r— Lass of Taddington Dale. — Ashford. — Black 

Marble. — Rotten Stone *. 123 

Section VIIL— Bakewell.-^New Bath. — Bakewell Church- 
yard. — Ancient Stone Cross. — Epitaphs. — Chantry at 
Bakewell. — Antiquit3r of Bakewell. • — Castle Hill. — In- 
terview with a poor Hindoo.* «...* • 130 

Section IX.— Haddon Valley. — Haddon Hall Tlie Ver- 

non Family. — Chapel at Haddon. — Roman Altar. — An- 
cient T^estry. — Gallery at Haddon. — Reflections on 
Haddon. — Lime Trees. — Farewell to the River Wye...*.. 140 
Section X. — Edensor^ t- Monument to the Earl of Devon- 
shire in the Church. — Inscription to the Memory of John 
BetoD. — Chatswoi*th Park and House. — Cascade in the 
Garden.— Fountain in the Court. — Figure of Arion.......^ 14?9 

Section XI. — Interior of Chatsworth. — Paintings. — Verrio 
and Lttguerre. — Gallery of Drawings. — Chapel. — Li- 
brary. - Tapestry Sculpture. — Portraits. — Closter- 

man. — Sir James Thornhill. — Carving in Wood. -— Gib- 
bons. — Samuel Watson. -* Cibber 155 

Section Xll. — Reflections on leaving Chatsworth. — Pro- 
je cted improvement of Chatsworth House. — Mary Queen 
of Scots imprisoned there. — Marshal Tallard. — Hobbes. 
— St. Evremond to Waller. — Recollections of a former 
visit to Chatsworth 165 



Section I. — Excursion commenced. — Banner Cross. — 
Curious Effect of Clouds.— Enter Derl^shire. — Burbage 
Brook. — View from Milstone Edge.— Winter of 18) 3. — * 
Hathersage. — Little John's Grave. -^ Hathersage Church. 

— Camp Green , ^ 175 

Section II. — Hope Dade. — Recollections of a former Ex- 

curnon Approach to Castleton. — Fine Autumnal Even- 
ing. — Castleton Church.— Peak's Hole 182 

Section IIL — Cave Dale* — \^ew from the Hills above — 
Juvenile Beggars at Castleton. — Fluor Mines. — Odin 
Mine. — Mam Tor. — Winnats. — Speedwell Mine. — Fau- 
jas de St. Fond. — Mawe and Whitehurst ' 189 

Section rV. — Mid-day View of Castleton Vale. — Ebbing 
and Flowing Well. — Approach to Chapel-en-le-Frith. — 
Chinley. — The Apostle of the Peak. — Kinderscout. — . 
Evening at Glossop. — Catholic Chapel at Glossop Hall. — 
Glossop Church. — Rush-Bearing. — Monument to the 
Memory of Joseph Hague, Esq. — Brief Memoir of him... 198 

Section V. 7^ The river Etherow. — Broad Bottom Bridge. 

— Compstall Bridge. — View from CampstaU House. — 
Cotton Printing. — Junction of the Etherow and th^ Goy t. 

— Marple Bridge. — Mellor Mill. — S. Oldknciw, Esq. — 
Scenery of the Goyt 205 

Section VI. — Return from Glossop. — Peak Forest. — El- 
don Hole. — Bf^shaw Cavern. — Small Dale. — Lime-kiln 
Fires. — Night Scene. — Morning in Hope Dale. — Hope 
Brough — The River Derwent 212 

Section VII. — High-low. — Learn. — Padley. — Approach 
to Calver. — Calver Lime. — Morning Scene. — Hassop 
Hall. — Longstone. — Godfrey Rowland — his imprison- 
ment in ^he Castle of the Peak ^ «... 219^ 

Section VIII. — Money- Ash. — Marble Quarries. — Source 
of the Lathkil. - Scene near Conksbury Bridge. — Youl- 

g-ave. *- Arber-Low. — Bradford River. — Alport. — Tufa 
ocks... :., 226 

Section IX. — Stanton. — Visit there in the Month of No- 
vember. — Andle Stone. — Plantations on Stanton Moor. 

— View from the Hill near Cat Stone. — Stanton Lees. — 
Stanton House: fine Work there by Gibbons 232 

Section X. — Druidical Circle on Hartle Moor. — Snake 
Stones. — Mock Beggar Hall. — Cratcliff Tor. — Winster. 

— Birchover. — Rowter Rocks. — View from the Road 
near Birchover 239 

Section XI. — Approach to Matlock. — Visit to Lums-Dale. 

— Lime- Tree Lancr — Entrance into Matlock Dale. — • 

A 4 


Approach to Matlock Bath. — General Character of the 
Scenery of the Dale. — Walk to Stonnis — View from 
thence. — Evening Scene from Masson. — Morning in Mat- 
lock Dale. — Heights of Abraham. — Museum. — Ions and 

Lodging Houses ...«.«#• • • 246 

Section XII. — Wiltersley House. — The late Sir Richard 
Arkwright. — Mouse Hole Mine. — Side Mine. — Riber 
Top. — Moonlisht in Matlock Dale. — Winter Excursion 
to Matlock. — Canova's Statue of the Mother of Bona- 
parte**- his Bust of Laura. — Snow Scenery at Matlock... 257 


Section I. — Last Excursion into Derbyshire. — Reflections 
on the word, Last. — Meersbrook House. — Samuel Shore, 
Esq. — Old House at Norton Lees. — Walk from Heeley 
to Norton. — Norton Hall and Park. — Norton House and 
the Oakes. — Manor of Norton • 267 

Section II. — Memoir of Chantrey the Sculptor • 276 

SECTION HI. — Whittington Revolution House. — Centenary 
Commemoration of the Revolution of 1688**- The Pro- 
cession Ball and Concert. — Walk from Whittington to Ches- 
terfield. — Smelting Furnaces. — Local History of Chester- 
field. — The Church Spire. — Walk to Ashover. — Scene 
from Stone Edge. — Approach to Ashover. — Ashover 
Church. — Eastwood Hall, &c „.... 289 

Section IV. — Overton Hall. — Sir Joseph Banks. — South 
Winfield.--* The Manor House. — Description of the Ruins. 

— Reflections on their present Appearance. — Siege of 
the Manor House. — Crich. — Friendly Societies. — Whit- 
Monday in Derbyshire. — Walk from Crich to Cromford. 

— Lea Wood. — Dethick. — Historical Notice of Babing- 

ton .......c 299 

Section V. — Morning at Matlock.— Via Gellia. — Hopton. 

— Sir Johh Gell. — Carsington. — Rocks in the Vicinity 
of Brassington. — Derbyshire Trossacks. — Tissington. — 
Ancient Custom of Dressing Wells with Flowers. — Night 
Walk to Ashbourne ^..^ 311 

Section VI. — Ashbourne Church. — Monument by Banks. 

— Walk to Dove Dale. — View of the Dale from the De- 
scent near Thorpe Cloud. — Character of the River Dove. 
Dove Dale Church Reynard's Cave. -— Fatal' Occur- 
rence there. — View from this part of the Dale. — The 
Narrow Pass. — Retrospect of the Character of the whole 
Dale.-— Rockr Portals, and the Meadows beyond. — Rous- 
seau, and his visit to the Vicinity of Dove Dale 3 9 

Section VII. — Visit to Ham. — Vale of Bam. — Ham Hall 
—interesting Apartment there. — Village Church. — Chan- 


trey's Monument for^the New, Chapel. -— Observations on 
Monumental Sculpture. — Ancient Stone Cross in Ham. — 
View in Ham Vale after a Rain-atorm. — Congreve*s Grotto. 

— Morning Scene. — The Rivers Hamps and Mangold. 

— Contemplated Improvements at Ham. — Second Visit to 
Ham. — The New Hall. — Intended Conservatory and Pic- 
ture Gallery, &c , S29 

Section Vllf. — Wirksworth. — Moot Hall. — Mineral Laws. 

— Miraculous Escape of a Miner. — New Road from Mat- 
lock to Derby. — Unexpected Rencontre. — General Cha- 
racter of the Scenery. — Beautiful Effect of Light during a 
Shower of Rain. — Walk to Helper S39 

Section IX. — Recurrence to a former Visit to Helper. — 
Bridge Hill. — View of Belper from the Road to Heage. — 
Pentrich. — Revolutionists of 1817. — Roman Station on 
Pentrich Common. — Alfreton. — Hardwick Park. — Hard- 
wick Hall and Picture Gallery 346 

Section X. — Walk from Hardwick to Bolsover. — Bobover. 

— The Buckle Manufacture formerly there. — Bobover 
Church. — The Dead Robin. — Bolsover Castle. — Ancient 
Fountain. — Historical Notice of Bolsover Castle. — The 
Terrace, Rampart and Watch Towers. — King Charles' 
Visit to Bolsover. — Renishaw Hall. — Return to Sheffield. 
Retrospection. — Conclusion • ••• S53 

Peak Archery • 362 




Th£ Peak of Derbyshire has been oflen visited by the Blitish 
tourist, and the pencil and the pen have occasionally been 
employed to illustrate its most frequented scenery ; hithertoj 
however, it has not been regarded as a place of primary con^* 
sideration, Gilpin, whose mind was sensibly alive to all that . 
is grand and picturesque in landscape, and who may de« 
servedly be held in the highest estimation as an intelligent . 
and entertaining traveller, has treated Derbyshire with ap- 
parent indifierence. After passing hastily through several of . 
its valleys, and ispetiding an hour or two on the tdps of some 
of its mountains, he has devoted a few pages only, in one of 
his works, to a brief detail of its beauties. His accurate and 
elegant descriptions of Dove-dale and Matlock, leave his 
readers to regret that he travelled over so small a portion of 
this remote part of the kingdom, and gave so little of his time 
and talents to the investigation of those romantic dells with 
which it abounds. The wild scenery on the banks of this 
Wye, which every where presents a rich variety of pictur- 
esque beauty, occasionally marked with great grandeur, is 
sc^cely noticed by him. Even the magnificent mansion of 
Haddon,'that venerable record of the hospitable manners and 


customs of our old English baronage, occupies only a few 
short sentences. This veteran tourist passed through the 
Peak of Derbyshire immediately on his return from a journey 
to the Lakes, at a time when probably nothing less stupendous 
than the objects which he had left behind, could have at- 
tracted his attention. 

Derbyshire, however, notwithstanding the n^lect it has 
experienced, is richly stored with the most valuable materials 
for picturesque purposes. The wildness of its mountains, the 
beauty of its dales, and the various objects with which they 
are adorned, entitle it to a distinction it has never yet attained, 
and constitute a powerful claim to individual consideration. 
In works principally devoted to other objects, it has occa- 
sionally been permitted to appear ; yet even then it has oc- 
cupied but a subordinate sanation ; expelled the foreground 
of the composition, it has only served to fill up the distance 
ci*the picture. Such are the considerations that have induced 
the author of these excursions to appropriate nearly the whole 
of Ws canvass to the scenery of Derbyshire, and to give it a 
station more honourable to its character, and more worthy of 
its pretensions. This highly interesting county abounds with 
objects of a more important character than rocks and rivers, 
dales and mountains ; objects that may animate the industry, 
and reward the research of the mineralc^st ; supply the an- 
tiqu^y with materials that may excite him to penetrate into 
the secrets of days gone by, and enable him to unfold the 
records of former times ; gratify the lover of local history, 
and furnish to the geological student, and the man enamoured 
of philosophic speculation, an ample field for the display of 
their faculties, and the free indulgence of. unrestrained con- 
jecture. These, though not intimately connected with the 
immediate pursuits of the Picturesque Traveller, will fre- 
quently present themselves to his observation, and sometimes 


require particutar Attention. The author of the following 
pages therefore hopes, that he shall not be closely confined 
within the narrow limits apparently prescribed by his original 
design, and the title under which he Has chosen to appear ; 
but that, occasionally, he may be permitted to trespass be- 
yond so circumscribed a boundary, whenever the history of 
the place he visits, or the stores which it may contain, pro- 
mise to reward his wanderings. 

From the preceding remarks it will appear that no regular 
topographical account of any part of Derbyshire is intended 
in the following pages ; therefore, the author trusts he shall 
not be censured for not accomplishing what was never in his 
contemplation. He has selected his own plan, and he has 
chosen that which not only leaves him free and unshackled 
in his operations, but gives him an uncontrolled dominion, 
over every object that may be presented to his observation. 
The topographer is circumscribed in his proceedings, and 
restrained in all his movements. He must necessarily travel 
over all the ground his design iembraces, however dull and 
uninteresting it may prove ; the tourbt has higher privileges 
and a happier avocation ; like a bird upon the wing, he ex-* 
plores a wide horizon, flits over all that is uninviting, and 
rests only on pleasant places. 

Farther to develope the plan of this work is unnecessary, 
yet it may not be wholly useless to say that it has originated 
in a series of Rambles undertaken for the purposes only of 
pleasure and amusement. The observations suggested, and 
the memorandums made on these occasions, gradually accu- 
mulated in bulk and interest, until they had assumed a form 
which induced the writer to prepare them for the press. 
Elegant printing and finely-executed engravings were not 
then in his contemplation, but, thrown amongst Artists of no 
inferior estimation, he has gladly availed himself of their as- 


sLstance, and now rests bis hopes of success more on their 
labours than his own. Such is the history of these Excursions. 
The author is fully aware of the magnitude of his undertaking, 
and he knows that it can only be accomplished at consider* 
able expense.* The tedious and unavoidable procrastination 
that often attends productions which have their sole depend-* 
ance on one or two artists only, and those men eminently 
great in their profession, may render the best concerted ar- 
rangements ineffectual. Should delay, or want of success, 
or any other event terminate these Excursions with the pub- 
lication of the first or second part, the writer can console 
himself with the reflection, that he has not only intended well, 
but that be has left behind him a magnificent outline, which 
he hopes may yet be filled up by some more fortunate and 
able tourist 

Hie author cannot close these introductory observations 
without acknowledging his obligations to Mr. Chantrey, the 
artist, whose Sketches of the Peak Scenery of Derbyshire, so 
essentially contribute to illustrate and embellish the following 
pages. Remote as this interesting part of the kingdom is 
from his present residence, he has repeatedly visited it, unin- 
fluenced by considerations of expense, for the purpose of 
making a series of drawings for this production, which have 
been gratuitously presented to the writer, as a token of his 
friendship, and a mark of bis attachment to his native county. 
To say more on this subject might b^ useless ; to say less 
would be ungrateful. 

* The reader is requested t6 recollect that this refers to the Quarto 
Edition only. ^ 



STON. — 17 Miles. 

Derby from Lon- 

♦ The George Inn. 

♦ The Bell. 



Objects worthy notice. 

Derby. Porcelain manufactory. 
Brown and Co/s manufactory of 
ornaments, made of the marbles 




STON.— 17 Miles. 

* The King*s Head. 

* The New Inn 

To Quamdon . 

— Kedleston Hall 

New Inn. 

To Weston Un-1 
derwood • • -f 

— Cross Hands 1 
Inn J 

— Bateman Bridge 

— Wirksworth . 

Red Lion Inn. 
To Cromford . . 
Greyhound Inn. 
To Matlock Bath 

* Old Bath Inn. 

* Saxton's Hotel. 
Museum Hotel. 

Lodging Houses, 
The Temple. 
Walker's, &c. &c. 

' MU^s 




and fluors of Derbyshire. The 
infirmary. All Saints church. 

At Quamdon there is a strong cha- 
lybeate spring, which is much 
^equ^nted during the summer 

Kedleston Hall. A ntiagnificent mo- 
dem mansion, the residence of 
Lord Scarsdale. Contains a 
splendid collection of pictures, 
May be seen from eleven o'clock 
to two every day, Sundays ex- 

Cromford. Near i» Willersley Cas 
tie, the residence of Richard 
Arkwright, Esq. The grounds 
and gardens about this mansion 
are eminently beautiful. 

Matlock Bath. Rutland and Cum< 
berland caverns. Petrifying wells. 
Botanic garden. The Museum. 
The Badis. Mr. Arkwright's 
grounds. The Romantic Rocks, 
fenced from general observation 
by a paling about two yards high, 
and permitted to be seen for six- 
pence each person ! ! ! 

N.B. The hill called « The 
Heights of Abraham," may be 
climbed any hot day in summer 
for the same reasonable sum, 
each time. 




N.B. The Inns marked * are Posting Houses. 



MaOock Baih'!> 




17 Miles. 

To Duffield . . . 

— Millford . . . 
— ^ Belper . '. • . 

— Cromford . . 

— Matlock Bath 




Worthy notice, 

Millford, Extenflive cotton fac- 

Bdper. Laree cotton woHeb, and 
at Bridge Hill, the seat of G.^B. 
Strutt, Esq. 








Matlock Bath 
firom LondoiL 
To Cromford . 

— ViaGellia . 

— Hopton • . 

— Tissington • 

— Spen Lane . 


\ oi 



Worthy notice. 
Via GetliOf a picturesque roiid 
made through the dides from 
Bonsai Mill to Hopton, the resi- 
dence of Philip Gell, Esq. MJP. 
From Hopton to Tissington le^ye 
Brassmgton to the' right. On 




MATLOCK BATH to DOVE p ALE.— 13 Miles. 

To Thorp . . . 
— Bam Hall . 
- Ashbourne • 


Brassington Moor are several cu- 
rious clusters of rocks. 

Tissington. The residence of Sir 
Henry Fitzherbert Near Tis- 
sington, cross the road from Bux- 
ton to Ashbourn ; turn down Spen 
Lane to the Dog and Partridge ; 
leave the house on the left hand, 
and proceed to Thorp. 

Thorp Cloudy a high mountain, 
which guards the entrance into 
Dove Dale : entering the village 
of Thorp, leave the Dam road by 
a sharp turn into an open mea- 
dow on the right, then keeping 
Thorp Cloud on the left, pass be 
tween the hills into Dove Dale. 
Within a mile of Dove Dale is 
Ilam Hali., the residence of 
Watts Russel, Esq. M.P. This 
beautiful mansion is situated in 
one of the most romantic vales in 
the kingdom, on the Staffordshire 
side of the river DoVe : it should 
be seen by all who visit Dove Dale. 
The road to Ilam Hall is between 
Thorp and Thorp Cloud. Tra- 
vellers with carriages may eo to 
Ilam first, return oyer the fields 
to Bunster Dale, and ford the 
river, which may be done very 
conveniently at the foot of Thorp 
Cloud, where Dove Dale com- 
mences; or they may take the 
contrary route, ford the river at 
the same place, and after passing 
along Bunster^ Dale, cross the 
fields to Sam. 





a 2 




yf*r, ^'^\ /> 

.^'^M W 1 

1 tTaddon //. 1 

^^^:^^^^^"^ 1 




y^ \\ 


// ^^rbMaffif^ 



To Matlock Bridge 


Worthy notice. 


— MootHallMine 


Matlock Bath. Pass the Hi^h Tor 
through the dale to Aiatlock 


— Darley Church 

— Rowsley .... 





— HaddonHall . 


Moot HaU Mine. In this mine 


— Bakewell .... 


beautiful specimens of pyrites, 

* The Rutland 

lead ore, and rose-coloured sul- 


phate of barytes are found. 

Haddon HaUy belonging to the 


Duke of Rutland: a very fine 
specimen of the old baronial man- 

sion of former times. 

BaketveU. The church, the bath, 


and Mr. White Watson's mineral 





collection. The river Wye is 
here a beautiful stream, and well 

stocked with trout and grayling. 

In summer it is much resorted to 

Near the bridge 

for angling. 


Edensor. Near the inn is Chats- 

at Rowsley, 3^ 

worth House, the seat of the 

miles from Bake- 

Duke of Devonshire, and the 

well, there is a road 

« Palace of the Peak." The park, 
the house, the gardens, and the 

to Chatsworth by 



water-works, are objects of mat 
interest to Derbyshire travellers. 
From Chatsworth pass through 
Edensor to Bakewell. 



* Edensor Inn. 

151 1 

To BakeweU . . ; . 



a 3 



^^ou> DaU 

BAKEWELL to BUXTON.— 12 Miles. 

Bakewell from 1 
London . . . . j 
To Ashford . . . . 

— Taddington . , 

— Topley Pike . . 
- Pig Tor . . . . 




Objects 'Oiorthy notice. 

At Ashford. Marble mills and the 
blacK niarble mines. One mile 
from Ashford leave Monsal Dale 
on the right, and pass through 
Taddington Dale. 






BAKEWELL to BUXTON.— 12 Miles. 

To Lovers' Leap 
— Buxton .... 

* Centre Hotel. 

* Crescent Hotel. 

* Great Hotel. 

* The Hall. 

* The George. 

* The Grove. 

* The Eagle. 

* The Shdcspeare. 

* The Angel. 

Lodging Houses. 

&c. &c. &c. 


Tofdey Pike. A very high hill, on 
the side of which the road is car- 
ried along a fearfiil eminence into 
,. the dale below. Chee Tor lies 
about a mile lower down the river 
than Topley Pike. 

Pig Tor. A high barren rock on 
me right of the river Wye. 

Lovers* Leap. A jutting rock, 
situated in a picturesque ravine, 
amongst scenery extremely wild 
and romantic. 

Buxton. The baths, the spar shops, 
Poole's Hall, Diamond Hill, the 
assembly rooms, and the theatre. 


Hall Bank. 

Market Place. 







19^ Miles. 

Buxton by Ash-l 
bourn from > 
London . • . •) 

To Fairfield . . . . 








19^ Miles. 

To Dove Hole . . . 


Worihy notice. 


— Ebbing and \ 
Flowing WeU. J 


Ebbing and Flowing WeU, one of the 


reputed wonders of Derbyshire^ 
lies in a field by the road side, 

— Perry Foot . . 


— Winnats .... 


about a mile from Perry Foot. 
Winnats. A narrow rocky chasm. 

— Castleton .... 



* Castle Inn. 

through which the road winds 

— Wardlow Miers 


into Castleton Dale. 

— Bull's Head) 

Castleton. Mam Tor, Speedwell 


near Long- V 


Mine, Odin Mine, the fluor ca- 

stone 3 

verns, and the spar shops. 

— Ashford . • • . 


BulCs Head. From the hill near 


— BakeweU . . . . 


this public house there is a fine 
view into Monsal Dale. 



DALE. — IS Miles. 

To Wardlow . . . . 


Worthy notice. 


— Middleton Dale 


Wdrdloto. Near the public house 


— Stony MidO 
dleton J 


by the toll bar, leave the road to 

BakeweU on the right, and pro- 
ceed to Middleton Dalcy a ravine 

* Moon Lm. 


— Calver 


of naked rock. 

. — Hassop 


Cahevy famous for ito lime kilns. 


— BakeweU . . . . 


Hassofy a pleasant village. The 
hall is the residence of Lord 


Kinnaird, the eldest son of Earl 





20 Miles. 

To Newhaven . 

— New Iqn . . 

— Tissington . 

— Dove Dale . 






' Objects 'worthy notice. 

Netohaven^ originally an inn only, 
but now a little village. At this 
place there is an annual fair for 




20 Miles. 

Tissington to \ 
Ashbourn. • .J 

* The Green Man. 

* The Moor's Head. 



cattle, which is generally nume- 
roushr attended. 

Neto Inn. Notwithstanding the 
name of this place, it is only a 

Timnf^wi. See No. III. 

JDooe I>a/f . Ditto. 

Ashboum. The church is a fine 
structure, and contains a monu 
ment, by Banks, to the memory 
of the only daughter of Sir 
Brooke Boothby, which is ex- 
quisitely beautiud, and worthy a 
visit from all Derbyshire tourists. 





Derby, — All-Saint^ Church. — Porcelain and Derbyshire Spar 
Manufactory. — the Infirmary. — Kedleston Park, — Kedlestan 
HaUy Pictures^ and Statues. — Description of the Road from 
Kedleston to Wirksworth. ' 

VViTH some trifling alterations and unimportant omissions, 
the following pages are the reprint of a more costly work, 
published under the title of " Peak Sc(»nery/* and illustrated 
"with a series of engravings from drawings by the celebrated 
sculptor CuANTREY. It now appears in a less assuming, 
but, perhaps, a more useful form. The Excursions con- 
tained in this volume commence at Shefiield, a place situated 
within one mile only of the northern extremity of Derby- 
shire ; but as a great majority of those who may make it a 
travelling companion, may probably approach the more ro- 

Siantic divisions of the county in a contrary direction^ a pre- 
minary chapter, beginning with Derby, may neither be an 
unacceptable nor an useless Introduction to the subsequent 
pages. I shall therefore suppose them snugly seated at an' 
inn, in tKe principal town of the county, ready to accoiApany 
me to the Peak Scenery of Derbyshire. 

This very interesting portion of the kingdom is distin- 
guished by a great variety of form, soil, and structure. In 
the more southern districts, where the red marl chiefly pre- 
vails, it is flat; and although best adapted to agricultural 
purposes, it has but few charms for the picturesque tourist, 
who is most delighted where hills, and dales, and mountain 
streams make up the prospect. This part of Derbyshire is, 
therefore, travelled over with comparatively but little interest; 
but its other divisions, its lands of " red heather," and 
**mist and mountain," excite more pleasing and more power- 
fill emotions : they are adorned witli some of the most beau- 
tiful and romantic scenery in the kingdom; and in the con- 



templadon of those who visit Derbyshire for pleasure, and 
not for profit, they constitute the county itself. Hence it is 
that this descriptive tour, passing over thousands of well- 
cultivated acres and fertile meadows, commences in the im- 
mediate vicinity of Derby. Descending the hill from Burton, 
or approaching the town from Nottingham, it is a good 
feature in the landscape ; and the lofty tower of All-Saints' 
Church, rising like a magnificent land-mark fiir above every 
surrounding object, beautifully intimates the consequence of 
the place which it dignifies and adorns. This noble tower, 
which is one hundred and eighty feet high, is ornamented 
with the richest tracery, and surmounted with light crocketed 
pinnacles, and embattled parapets of the most exquisite 

Derby is situated on the banks of the Derwent, in a lux- 
uriant and well-cultivated vale. The town is surrounded with 
beautiful scenery ; and the walks in the meadows near the 
river, and on the elevated grdunds, are peculiarly delightful. 
Several important manufactures are carried on in this ancient 
town, and a visit to the Porcelain Works will gratify the tra- 
veller. They were established about seventy-five years ago 
by a gentleman of the name of Dewsbury ; and the wares 
they now produce are unrivalled in richness and elegance. 
There is a classical taste and beauty in the forms of their 
urns, vases, and ewers; and some excellent artists are em- 
ployed to adorn them with landscapes, portraits, groups, 
and figures. Mineral colours only are used in painting por- 
celain, and it is finished with a rich enamel. The gold with 
which it is splendidly ornamented is reduced to a liquid pre- 
viously to being laid upon the different articles to which it is 
applied ; they are then committed to the fire, when tlie gold 
reassumes a solid form, and is afterwards brilliantly polished. 

The manufacturing of jewellery has likewise been esta- 
blished at Derby, and pursued with considerable success. 
The articles made here are much esteemed for their superior 
neatness and accuracy ; no part of the kingdom, the metro- 
polis alone excepted, produces more beautiful jewellery than 
the town of Derby. 

The next place deserving particular notice is the Spar and 
Marble Manufactory of Messrs. Brown and Co. There is not 
in the whole mineral world a more beautiful material than the 
amethistme fluors of Derbyshire ; and they are here worked 
into a variety of elegant ornaments, chiefly ,from Greek and 


Roman models, but partly from designs of a more modem 
date. At this manufactory, the petroleum, or black marble of 
Ashford, is made into vases, columns, urns, chimney*pieoe% 
and a variety of other articles of very superior workmanship ; 
and its polish is nearly equal to the surfece of a mirror. 

Amongst the pubHc building at Derby, the Infirmary 
holds a distinguished rank, whether the architecture, the 
interior accommodations, or the utiUty of the structure are 
considered r its exterior is imposing, and the arrangements 
within are admirably adapted for comfort and convenience. 
The fine mechanical talent of Wm. Strutt, Esq. has essen- 
tially contributed to the improvement of this benevolent 
institution. Nearly the whole of its excellent arrangements 
are attributable to the skill and contrivance of this gendeman. 
Mr. Charles Sylvester was the practical agent, Mr. Strutt the 
moving spirits the ingenious suggestions; qf the one were 
confided to the masterly execution of the other, and their 
combined efforts have produced a system of management and 
domestic economy in the Derby Infirmary unequalled in any 
other institution of the kind in the kingdom. 

Mr. Charles Sylvester, in his very beautiful and scientific 
publication on this Infirmary, has added a wreath to his own 
brow by bis liberal acknowledgments of the services rendered 
him by Mr. Strutt. The praise to which these gentlemen are 
entitled, may be fairly divided between them: let them, 
therefore, go down to posterity together as the joint contri- 
butors to a noble work. 

About half a mile from Derby, closely situated on the 
banks of the river, is Little Chester, the D^^ventio, or rather 
one of the Derventios of the Romans. Oft the banks of the 
Yorkshire Derwent, a few miles north-east of York, near 
Aldby, they had another town or city of the same name ; so 
denominated, no doubt, firom the river near which it stood. 
Little Chester is now not distinguished by the remains of any 
ancient works to denote its tonner consequence, but Dr. 
Stukely is said to have traced the walls that nearly circum- 
scribed the area where Derventio stood : he likewise dis- 
covered the foundations of many houses ; and near the fields 
now called Castle Fields, he distinguished the lines of some 
of the streets. A great variety of Koman coins, both silver 
and copper, have at different times been found here; some 
dated as early as the year 14, and others as late as 318; but, 
as Pilkington observes, " We cannot infer from hence that 

B 2 


th9 RcMiiao^ were siatH»ned here for the spute q{ three bun- 
dred j€wr$." 

The eafiiesi and b; far the pleasai>lest road from IXerby to 
Miitlock bsrth i^ by DuiBeld wd Helper, through a continuity of 
dales by tbjS mde of the Derwent, amidM: seenery as beaatiful 
aod a» piefure^ue ad any in the county. Another road, and one 
that is freqweotty travelled, is by Kedleston, the celebrated 
seat of Loird Scarsdale, which is a powerfiil magnet of attrac- 
tion to all who delight to v^sit the magnificent mansions of 
English nobility^ arnl who hare a soill to feel and relish the 
excellence of works of art. lliis splendid building is situated 
about three and a half miles from Derby, and near the en- 
trance into the park there is a good inn for the accommoda- 
ti<W( of travellers^ Kedleston Pai^k includes an airea of the 
circumference of upwards of five miles, and the trees with 
which it is adorned are the growth of many centuries : Time 
has passed silently over them^ but the marks of his footsteps 
be has left behind; their branches are bung with tufts of moss, 
and they look like the relics of a period that has passed away 
and been swallowed up by the commoa despoiler of all things. 
They are the patriarchs of the forest, and venerable even in 
decay: a mass of foliage overshadows their mighty trunks, and 
above, their boughs, stripped of their leafy honours, display 
their naked ramifications, — the evidences of the many storms 
they have encountered, and the records of the devastatio^i that 
tioie has made amongst their branches. Such are the oaks 
of Kedlestone Park. The house is a modern structure, built 
about sixty years ago, by R. Adam, Esq. Its exterior is 
grand and imposing ; chaste in design, rich and cla'ssical in 
ornament, and one of the most beautiful specimens of the 
union of grandeur and utility that can anywhere be found; 
all its parts are fine, and the combinations intelligible and 
effective. Kedleston is not only a memori^ of the talents of 
the architect) but it ia the depository of a i^lendid coUec^n 
of the best works of art. The Hall and the Salocm ai% tiio 
noble apartments. The first is sixty-seven feet by fortyM:wo. 
The saloon is circular, and it is lighted by a magnificent dona© 
from above. Hamilton has here some estcellent paintings of 
ruin»; and the chiaro-scuro from subjects of English history, 
by Rebecca, are amongst the beautiful adornments of this 
noble apartment. The flower-pieces are by Babtie&t. 

Rembrant, Cuyp, Vandyke, Teropesta, Zuccarelli, Guide, 
Anibal Caracchi,^ and many others^ both of tbe Venetian atid 


Flemish schools, contribute to adorn the rooms at Kedleston 
with some of the most successful efforts of their pencils. In 
this noble mansion the ancients and the moderns vie with 
each other for mastery in works of art. In the hall there is 
a beautiful statue of the Belvidere Apollo^ and a Meleager by 
Paulo Pichini. But the saloon contains the finest works in 
this department of art; it is enriched with some exquisite 
statuary, amongst which are the Dancing Faun, Antinous, 
Santa Susanna, a Priestess of Isis, Venus de Medicis, the 
Muse Urania, a Ganymede, a Flora, and a Mercury, &c. &c. 
Kedleston is altogether one of the most interesting houses 
in any part of the kingdom. Travellers are permitted to see 
it, from eleven o'clock to two, every day in the week, with ihe 
exception of Sundays. 

From Kedleston to Wirksworth is about ten miles and a 
half, of very indifferent and uneven road. The first time I 
travelled irom Derby to Matlock, which is now more than 
twenty years ago, I stopped at the New Inn to enquire my 
way : a number of loungers, the usual hangers-on about an 
inn-door, were collected together, and they appeared highly 
amused with the quizzical replies of their companion. " How 
many miles to Kedleston ?" I asked. " It's no' more than 
four, belike." — " How many from thence to Matlock?" 
"Thirteen or fourteen, may hap; an' they're no' very broad 
ones, I warrant; but no matter for that, — if they ha' no' it in 
breadth, they ha'n it i' length." The man, I found, was a wit, 
and fond of talking, and I was in the humour to listen to him. 
" What sort of road is it for a gig, my good man ?" " Marry, 
Sir, rough enough, a'U conscience ; i' some places it will be a' 
you can do to keep your seat in that thin^ o' yours. Some- 
times it 'ill toss you o' one side, sometimes o* tother,: — but it's 
no' like to rock you asleep for a' that. That cock'ling thing 
yo' ride in is no' fit for these roads ; and I should no' wonder 
if yo' were to have a fa' before you get to Wirksworth : an' if 
ye have ye 'ill no find it very soft, for the road is a* covered 
wi' stones, ancl they're no some on 'em very little ones either ; 
but may be ye do no' mind a fa' or two." 

This quondam post-chaise driver, who had grown old upon 
the road, and was therefore, as he imagined, privileged tp say 
any thing, would gladly have continued the same strain of 
observations, but I put an end to his loquacity by thanking 
him for his information and proceeding on my journey, which 
I found much less perilous than he hfd represented. 

B S 


General Remarks. — Character of Derbyshire Scenery. — AV- 
turesqtie Beauty. — Sea^oast Views, — Fogs^ Mists, and 

1 H£R£ ai'e but few individuals in this country, possessing thd 
means and the opportunities of travel, who have not, either 
from curiosity or some other motive, visited the Peak of Der- 
byshire. It has therefore become generally, though not inti- 
mately known, a circumstance which of consequence obviates 
the necessity of many observations on the prevailing charactei' 
of the scenery it contains. 

A more marked and obvious contrast lii form and feature 
is scarcely to be met with in any part of the kingdom, than 
the county of Derby presents. The mote southern districts, 
though richly cultivated, are generally flat and monotonous 
in outline; to the picturesque traveller they are therefore 
comparatively of but little value: approaching its northern 
boundaiy it wears a more dignified aspect; here the hills 
gradually assuming a bolder, a wilder, and a more majestic 
appearance, swell into mountains, which, extending to the 
most elevated parts of the Peak, mingle their summits with 
the thiii white clouds that often float around them. 

That part of Derbyshire known by the name of the High 
Peak, is every where composed of a succession of hills, of a 
greater or lesser elevation, and intervening dales, which play 
into each other in various directions. Throughout the whole 
the same general character prevails. A thin mossy verdure, 
often intermingled with grey barren rock, adorns their sides; 
and sometimes the interference of what Mr. Farey has deno-^ 
minated *' indestructible limestone JRubhle^^ disfigures their 
steep acclivities. Yet even then a little brush-wood occasion- 
ally breaks in to enliven and diversify the otherwise sterile 
scene. These Remarks particularly apply to the minor dales 

B 4 


of Derbyshire. Those which form the channels of the prin- 
cipal rivers are of a more elevated description, and possess, in 
an eminent degree, that variety of object, form, and colour, 
which is essential to picturesque beauty, sometimes united 
with a magnitude of paits where grandeur and sublimity 
preside in solitary stillness. 

Travellers accustomed to well wooded and highly culti- 
vated scenes t>nly, have frequently expressed a feeling border- 
ing on disgust, at the bleak and barren appearance of the 
mp^ntains \n the Peak of Derbyshire ; but to the man whose 
^te is unsophisticated by a fondness for artificial adornments, 
they possess superior interest, and impart more pleasing sen- 
sations. Remotely seen, they are often beautiful ; many of 
their forms, even when near, are decidedly good ; and in dis- 
tance the features of rudeness, by which they are o^casipn^ly 
marked, are softened down into general and harmonious 
masses. The graceful and long-continued outline which they 
present, the breadth of light and shadow that spreads over 
fheir extended surfaces, and the delightful colouring with 
which they are sometimes invested, never fail to attract the 
attention of the picturesque traveller. But there are pier- 
sons who, unfortunately for themselves, cannot easily be 
ideased with what they see ; and who, like Sterne's Smelfim- 

fus, can " travel from Dw to Beershebaj and cry, — 't^is ^U 
Nature is not only exceedingly arbitrary, but even capri- 
cious in the distribution of her treasures: sh^ does not gene- 
rally arrange the materials that constitute her wildest; scenes 
in strict conformity to the rules and principles of taste. The 

Eictures she presents are not always harmoniously composed j 
ut here, the sloping mountains, turreted with grey projecting 
rock, not only entertain the eye with romantic forms, but fre^ 
quently present very pleasing combinations. 

It may here be observed tnat picturesque beauty is not no^ 
ces3arily confined to any peculiar species of landscape : it 
belongs not exclusively either to a flat or a hilly country. 
The happy intervention of light and shadow may atone for 
the absence of variety of form^ and impact this delightftd 
quality to scenes and objects apparently at variance with tl>pse 
acknowledged principles on which it is understood to depend: 
hence it may be found, not only amongst the dales of Derby- 
shircji but in the level counties of Leicester and Lincoln^ where 
Ae sight, uninterrupted by hills, freely expatiates ov6r an ex- 


teaQsive range of well-cultivated country.* It is refreshing to 
the spirits, and gratifying to the ^y^, to wander over ground 
Uke this, wh^re no objects intervene to disturb that calm sub^ 
limity of feeling, produced by contemplating an expanse of 
prospect terminating only with the limited powers of human 
vision ; and where one prevailing tone of colour, broad and 
bold in the foreground, barmoniouslv unites an infinity of 
detail that gradually softens into the blue mists of distance, 
and imperceptibly melts into the hori;^n. 

The gratification derived from beholding a landscape of 
thi^ description, is marly allied to the ineiFable feeling 
^wakened and ch0rished by a view of the ocean, under a clear 
aky, and unrufiled by a breeze ; when the mbd, moving over 
a world of mighty waters, is sensibly impressed with the gran«- 
dfiw arising from a ^^k>ng continuation of the same idea,'' and 
whcjp^ contetnplating immensity above, beneath, and around, it 
becomes expanded and sublimed to the loftiest pitch of hu- 
man feeling. 

Sea-coast scenery is indisputably more captivating than any 
other. The bold promontory shooting far into the deep, the 
broad expanded bay, the busy beach, the airy lighthouse, the 
towering cliff, and the shifting lights which play upon the 
waters, are objects of no common attraction to the lover of 
picturesque beauty. 

Storms at sea, from the awful effect which they never fail to 
produce upon the mind, have great sublimity ; and fogs, mists, 
and clouds, sometimes subserve the purposes of grandeur. 
Who that has travelled along the coast has not had his feel- 
ings powerfully excited by the phenomena attendant on a 
retiring fog ? Who has not watched with the most lively in- 
terest, the progressive unfolding of the sea, and the gradual 
development of the ships upon its bosom? A vane or a top- 
sail descried above, through the vapour that encompasses and' 
renders undistinguishable all below, excites lively emotions of 
pleasure, mingled with intense curiosity ; and we watch, with 
an absorbing anxiety, the vessel slowly emerging from its ob- 
scurity, and leaving behind the clouds that hung upon its way. 
Inland landscape may likewise derive an accession of pic- 
turesque effect from the incidental intervention of mists and 
clouds, for nature has a thousand wavs of enriching the many 
views she has spread before us. ^rhese shadowy nothings, 
these thin and evanescent visitants, not only serve to vary and 
diversify the scene, but in a mountainous country they are. 


occasionly, the source of considerable beauty* To trace the 
white clouds floating across the bosom of the hills of Derby- 
shire, their highest peak sometimes illumined with a bright 
sunny ray, ana sometimes compassed around with the majesty 
of darkness, is at least an amusing, if not a sublime employ- 
ment : it calls into play the reveries of imagination, a faculty 
which is always more delighted with objects of its own creation, 
than with what it finds definitively formed and incapable of 
its arbitrary modifications. 

Such are the appearances that often occur amongst the 
mountains of Derbyshire. Descending into the dales, espe- 
cially those through which the Derwent, the Dove, and the 
Wye meander, the eye is enchanted with brilliant streams, well 
cultivated meadows, luxuriant foliage, steep heathy hills, and 
craggy xocks, which administer to tEe delight of the traveller, 
andaltemately sooth or elevate his mind as he moves along. 


Abbey Dcde. — Autumnal Morning. — Beofuchief Abbey. — Ekd 
Moor. — Vieu^ into Hope Dale* — Froggat Edge* 

Partly from a conviction that the scenery of Derbyshire may 
be best explored oh foot, and partly from a predilection for 
walking, the following excursions have been chiefly pedestrian. 
Sometimes they have been performed alone; but more fre^ 
quently the tediousness of a solitary journey has been relieved 
by the presence of a friend. Occasionally they were attended 
by one whom the author once anticipated would have been the 
companion of the whole ; who was the sweetener of many a 
happy hour, and the delight of many of his rambles ; whose 
pencil could pourtray wim fidelity the various features of the 
landscape, and sometimes arrest an evanescent beauty; but 
who has been removed from her native home by one of the 
most important events in the life of a female. The sweet 
dales of the Derwent and the Wye she has now exchanged 
for the more magnificent scenery of Sicily, and a residence in 
the midst of the " Golden Shell* of the Italian poets." 

In the detail of excursions so performed, the author trustif 
he may be permitted to speak as if none of them were under- 
taken alone ; unless when an individual feeling or opinion is 
intended to be expressed : on such occasions, personal respon- 
sibility may perhaps soften the egotism that attaches to the 
self-important pronoun I, and tolerate a mode of expression 
which he knows not how to avoid. 

In undertaking the following excursions, which have been 
chiefly, though not entirely, made for the purpose of pictur- 
esque observation, it was my intention to travel through the 
mountainous parts of Derbyshire, and visit every place worthy 
of notice in the high and low Peak, especially those sequestered 
spots which lie within the Dales that determine the course of 

* The name given by the poets of Italy to the Vale of Palermo. 


the three principal rivers, the Wye, the * Derwent, and the 

The investigation of the scenery of the Wye was my first 
object ; we therefore bent our way towards the source of that 
river in the neighbourhood of Buxton, by the way of Stoke, 
MiDDLETON, Eyam, and Tideswell. 

Approaching the partition line that separates Derbyshire 
from Yorkshire, and skirting a part of its northern extremity 
through Abbey Dale, we crossed the river Sheaf, near Beau- 
diief. Independently of the lovely valley throogb which our 
road lay, this monastic rum was tke first object diat claimed 
our attention in our progress to the Peak. 

The hills intlie vicinity of Beauchief are singularly graceful 
in form, aod the long li»e <if luxarioiit wood with which th^ 
'are adorned gues them im air of grandeur. It was a cafan 
aulvmnal mbmifig aa we passed throegii Abbey Dale. The 
guB had just ascended abome tb« hortaon ; bis slant lines of Ugbt 
played through the lea^ branches of the woody acclivky on 
the left, and mmninatai the tops of the trees; the smoke, from 
the coilag^chimnejrs on the side fif the hfll, slowly curling from 
out the surroiindiiig feliaM, enlWentd the landscape wtldi & 
beautiftil incid^t. The whole was a d^%htfiii monung pio- 
tdre^ ev«iry fedUag acknowledged its inftuenoc^ and piud aa 
ittTolttBlary tribute to the sweat scenery of Abbey Dale. A 
thin misty veil^ exquisitely soft and tender, was threnrn o««r 
the-principaL pajrt of the seene;. the.sun?ouiidliag dsjects, en^ 
ifelopt^ in the haziness that prevaikd,. were blended, haraao*- 
niously together^ and they assimud a magnitude^ from the 
medium through which they weare heheld, that strongly evinced 
bow nearly allied obscurity b to gcandcmrw .Shoatfy, the sun 
shone out in all its i^lendour, the mists disappeap*ed, and the 
cliann diasolved. Its existence, though lovely, waa ifiagittve. 
A aew pictare succeeded, extnsmaiy unhkc die one whidi had 
passed away: every olijidot it contained was clearfy defined; 
fresh ixL colouring, aad glowing with lights it came upon tibe 
eye like an island slowly emerging frma a sea of vapour, and 
gradually unfolding its rich Tariety of parts. I know not that 
I ever behefai a more pieasing and beauti&d eSoct than the 
transition presented. 

In a part of this valley, near the foot o£ the hilly on which 
Beauchief House stands, m^e the remains of a once magnificent 
abbey, founded by Robert Fitz^^Ranulph, Lord of AlfreCon ; 9s 
an expiation for the part he is said to have acted in the mur- 


der of ThonuM d Becket. The late Dr. Pegge^ the learned 
antiquary of Whittington, discountenances this tradition* 
His arguments, however, which are chiefly founded on the 
circamstanee of the brother of Robert Fitz^Ranulph being 
afterwards in great fcvour with Henry the Second, do not 
appear conclusive; particularly when opposed to the authority 
of Dugdale, Fuller, Bish<^ Tanner, and others who have 
written on the subject. 

Dugdale says — ♦* Robert Fitz-'Ranulph, Lord of Alfreton, 
Norton, and Marnham, was one of the four knights who 
martyred the blessed Thomas ^ Becket, ArchlMshop of Can-> 
terbnry ; and afterwards founded the monastery of Beauchief^ 
by way of expiating his crime, in the reign of Henry the 

Bishop Tanner writes — " Beaofchief, an abbey of Pre- 
monstratensian, or White Canons, fotimkd A.D. 1189, by 
Robert Fit^^Ranulph, Lord of Alfreton, one of the execu-^ 
tioners of Thomas k Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury $ to 
whom canonised, this monastery was dedicated.'* 

The walls of this abbey, with the exception of the west 
end of the chapel, where parochial service is still performed, 
have long since either been removed, or have mouldered 
into dust ; and nothing now remains to pdnt out the original 
form of this once extenave pile of building. 

The exterior architecture of the chapel is so extremely 
{^n, that with the exception of Ae reeded windows, and the 
double buttress at the angles, it is almost destitute of orna- 
ment. The elevation of the tower is said to have been 
<^ curtailed of its fair proportion ;" but the parapet with which 
it is surmounted is, in my opinion, an existing evidence 
against the correctness of such a supposition. 

On the east side, two angular lines mark the connection 
which the chapel had with the other buildings, and a part of 
the ground<-plan may be traced by an old adjoining wall, in 
which are the remains of two circular Gothic arches, very 
little impaired by time or accident. A wreath of ivy which 
fells from the top of the tower, and nearly invests one side 
of it, breaks the dull monotony of its outline, and produces 
a tolerably good effect; in other respects, it is not strikingly 
i^ractive as a picturesque object. The Abbey of BeUo^ 
Capite will ever be dear to the antiquary, who will visit it 
with veneration and delight; nor will the artist pass it by un- 
noticedr The magnificent woods, and the beautiful hills that 


environ the Abbey of Beauchief, amply compensate for any 
deficiency of grandeur in the subordinate adornments of so 
rich a scene. 

This monastery, though once a considerable structure, was 
never wealthy. At the time of its dissolution, in the reign 
of Henry the Eighth, the whole of its revenues were esti- 
mated at only one hundred and fifty-seven pounds. 

On the summit of the wood-crowned hill of Beauchief, a 
mansion has been erected of the materials furnished by the 
demolition of the abbey : it is built in that broken style of 
architecture which was introduced in the reign of Elizabeth, 
and was regarded as the standard of excellence in tlie begin- 
ning of the seventeenth century. Of this peculiar style of 
building many splendid examples yet remain in different parts 
of the kingdom. The principal entrance to the best front of 
the house is through a gateway fonned by two heavy stone 
pillars, surmounted with busts, which are now completely en- 
veloped in ivy. I remember visiting Beauchief before this 
parasitical plant had become so luxuriant ; it had then as- 
pired to the height of one of the busts ; a branch of it had 
climbed obliquely across the breast, and threw a light mantle 
of verdure gracefully over the right shoulder. It was one of 
the little sports of nature that pleased by its elegance. 

Beauchief House was built by the descendants of Sir 
William Shelly, to whom the estate was given by Henry 
the Eighth, in the twenty-eighth year of his reign. It is 
now the residence of B. Steade, Esq. 

When the Romans, after invading Britain, had made 
themselves masters of its coasts, and extended their conque3ts 
into this remote part of the kingdom, (the northern extremity 
of the ancient Coritani,) the smelting of lead, and the ma- 
nufacturing of iron, were alike essential to the permanent 
possession of the country which their valour had acquired. 
Hence it is that we find scattered over every district, where 
iron ore abounds, the remains of furnaces and forges where 
they have ceased to exist for centuries. That they once pre- 
vailed in Abbey Dale, is indisputable : large mounds of cin- 
ders, evidently produced from the smelting of iron ore, have 
been recently broken up in this vallev ; and others, of still 
greater dimensions, yet remain. Dr. ^hittaker, in his His- 
tory of Manchester, remarks, that " the manufactory of iron 
must have been undoubtedly enlarged, and the forges must 
have heetk multiplied by the Romans. One forge, perhaps," 


he adds, " was erected in the vicinity of every station ; and 
within the West Riding of Yorkshire,' in the neighbourhood 
of North Brierly, amid many beds of cinders, heaped up in 
the adjacent fields, some years ago was found a quantity of 
Roman coins carefdlly deposited in one of them." 

The Romans, the Anglo-Saxons, and their successors in 
the sovereignty of this island, appear to have separated both 
lead and iron from their native ores by a process extremely 
simple : they erected their furnaces sometimes in narrow val- 
leys, sometimes on hiUs ; and they were always so situated as 
to be exposed to the free operation of the most prevailing 

We now passed the village of Todey, which stands at the 
foot of that immense range of mountains that takes its rise in 
the vicinity of Ashover, and is continued thence through the 
Peak of Derbyshire, Westmoreland, and Cumberland, into 
Scotland; and which has been dignified, by Camden and 
others, with the appellation of the English Appenims. 

[To enumerate the many beautiful pictures which occur in 
the first six miles of this delightful road, would require a 
pause almost at every step : the hills and the woods, the cot- 
tages embosomed in trees, and the water sparkling with light, 
present a continued succession of objects rich in picturesque 
beauty, and sometimes very tastefully combined.] 

Leaving Totley, the transition from cultivation to barren- 
ness is forcibly impressed upon the mind. All before us was 
now naked and unadorned ; while in the immediate neigh- 
bourhood of Sheffield, the hills, with a few exceptions only, 
are thickly wooded, and fringed with foliage from the summits 
to the river's brink, and the fields and the meadows are in the 
highest state of culture. 

Near the Toll-Bar-House, which is built on the side of the 
East Moor, about a mile and a half from Totley, we had a 
vast retrospective view of the country we had passed. Mi- 
nutely to describe the scene here presented would perhaps be 
tedious : all its features are ample and agreeably varied, both 
in form and colour. The foreground is well broken ; some- 
times thrown up into rugged knolls, and sometimes sinking, 
with an easy sweeping line, into gentle declivities, which are 
every where adorned with fern, and heath, and verdure. A 
long slope of hill succeeds, which declines into, and forms 
one side of. Abbey Dale : the other, extremely beautiful in 
outline, and clothed with magnificent wood, rises more ab- 


ruptly from the dale, blending its topmost foliage with the 
horizon. A part of Shef&eld, including the three churches, 
occupies the extreme point of the valley ; beyond which the 
hills gradually ascend, presenting a continued succession of 
woodland scenery to the vicinity of Wentworth. The three 
architectural monuments pf Hoober Stand, KeppePs Pillar, 
and the Mausoleum erected by Earl Fitzwilliam to the me- 
mory of the late Marquis of Rockingham, embellish the re- 
mote distance of this richly diversified prospect. 

Another two miles of ascending road brought us to th^ 
summit of the hill that first presents a view of the fine open 
valley through which the Derwent runs. What a noble pros- 
pect is here unfolded I Boldly featured hills crested with rock, 
retire into mid-distance : beyond, embosomed in a capacious 
amphitheatre of mountains, the beautiful eminences that stud 
the dales of Hathersage, Hope, and Castleton, display their 
graceful variety of outline. 

" With rude diversity of form 

" The insulated mountains tower : 
•* Oft o'er these hills the transient storm 

" And partial darkness lower j 
" While yonder summits, far away> 

" Shine sweetly through the gloom, 
" Like glimpses of eternal day 

*• Beyond the Tomb." 

MoNTGOMERT'd Peak Mountains, 

The Dale of Hope looked lovely from this coinmanding 
situation. A mild gleam of sunny lighl fell broad upon it, 
and for a while it was the ofily illuminated spot of ground 
within the widje horizon : the name of this sweet vale — the 
soft; yet cheerful ray that now rested upon and lighted up its 
meadows, produced an association of pleasing images round 
which the tiiind lingered with delight. 

This is one of the lofty stations from whence the scenery of 
the Peak of Derbyshire assumes an appearance of grandeur; 
and the sudden change we had experienced from one species 
of landscape to another, made the contrast more forcibly felt. 
We had just enjoyed a sweeping and highly diversified view 
of fine flat country, which included many parts of the counties 
of Nottingham, Derby, York, and Lincoln, every where cul- 
tivated like a garden, enriched with the fairest park and 
woodland scenes, and .ornamented with some of the most 
magnificent mansions of our nobility. 

The hand of industry was busily employed even in thii^. 


rude place, where stone walls, intersecting each other at right 
angles, have obtruded on the wildness of these moorland 
wastes, and robbed them of a beauty which they once possess- 
ed. In a few years they will wear a different appearance, and 
corn will wave where the yellow gorse and the purple heath 
now flourish ; and the oak, the ash, the elm, and the pine, will 
each contribute to enrich and ennoble the scene. To accom- 
plish so . important an object, a society has been formed in 
Sheffield, for the purpose of purchasing and planting those 
parts of the Derbyshire moors which lie nearest to the town, 
and their plan includes the district which has excited the pre- 
ceding observations. The establishment consists of a limited - 
number of shares of fifty pounds each, no person being per- 
mitted to subscribe for more than ten. The management is 
confided to a committee, and they annually plant a stipulated 
number of acres. 

Derbyshire was new to my companion ; and, feeling our- 
selves now completely within the boundaries of the Peak, we 
paused awhile to contemplate the country around us. 

Strangely insensible to the beauties of nature must that 
man be who can approach these hills with indifference, and 
unmoved behold the varying and graceful outline of form 
which they occasionally exhibit, the subtle admixture of light 
and tint that play upoti their surfaces when near, and the soft 
blue misty colouring which pervades them in distance. Yet 
the mountains of Derbyshire, remotely seen, are not always 
distinguished by this pleasing and shadowy hue. When the 
black clouds that crown their summits portend a storm, they 
wear a darker colour, and display a more awful aspect Even 
at sunset I have sometimes beheld them invested with a pur- 
ple tint, so firm and deeply toned, that, with the exception of 
the great landscape painter. Turner, who delights in the 
strong opposition of light and shadow, and in those sublime 
efiects which gloom and storm produce, but few artists could 
be found hardy enough to transmit to canvass so striking and 
singular an appearance, unless they hesitated not to incur the 
imputation of having 

" O'erstept the modesty of Nature." 

Every turn in the road now varied the picture, and every 
object that presented itself attracted attention, and charmed 
by its novelty. The abrupt knoll, the rocky projection, and 
the broken foreground, are not often defective in picturesque 


beauty; and, when combined with the heathy hills of Derbjr- 
shire, they sometimes produce a landscape in which the parts 
have a dependance on each other, where the same general 
character prevails, and where nothing glaringly incongruous 
intervenes to disturb the harmony of the composition. 

On a flat plot of ground, contiguous to the situation we now 
occupied^ several piles of stones formerly stood, which were 
rudely built in a conical form, without lime or cement: they 
were removed about fifty years ago, and used for the purpose 
of repairing the road, when it was discovered that they con- 
tained urns or vessels of earthen-ware, in which some human 
bones were deposited : they were placed at regular distances, 
and, in connection with each other, they described nearly a 
circle: they were the cemeteries of the ashes of the dead; and 
one cannot but regret that their hallowed character, and their 
antiquity, have not preserved them from violation^ 1 recol- 
lect once observing some uncouth heaps of stones of a similar 
construction, in a wild and very singular dell in the neighbour- 
hood of Bretton, about half way between Highlow and Eyam : 
they greatly excited my curiosity ; but, qt that time, I had 
neither the means nor the opportunity to ascertain their con- 
tents, and information is extremely difficult of attainment in 
the Peak of Derbyshire. 

The Lows and Barrows that so frequently occur in this 
now cheerless district, may probably justify the supposition, 
that it was once inhabited by a more numerous population, 
and that these naked hills and barren moors have heretofore 
been fertile places ;, a conjecture which may require njore 
particular attention, when traversing those parts of Derbyshire 
where these burial-places of the earlier ages are more fre- 
quently found. 

The road from the summit of East Moor is carried with a 
gende descent along the brow of the hill to a steep rocky 
knoll, which may be regarded as the commencement of that 
lofty ridge of mountains denominated Froggat Edge ; then 
Grossing the Derwent, near the village of Calver, it proceeds 
to Stoney Middleton. 

The view from this rocky elevation, in grandeur and sub- 
limity, is unsurpassed in Derbyshire : indeed it would be 
difficult to find in one short mile of road, in any other part of 
the kingdom, a succession of scenery more richly and beauti- 
fully varied than is here presented. The hills which form 
the capacious dale of the Derwent, even when individually 


considered, are noble objects : they are beautiful in outline ; 
and, in connection with each other, they exhibit all the grace 
and majesty which rock, and wood, and heath, and verdure, 
can possibly possess, when spread over a long chain of hills, 
sometimes rising boldly and abruptly into lofty and magnifi- 
cent masses, at others declining into easy dales. The banks 
of the Derwent, from Stoke upwards, and throughout the 
whole of its windings, as far asf the eye can trace its course, 
is every where luxuriantly wooded. On one side of the river 
the highest eminences are turreted with broken crags of 
rock, which is the grand marking feature of every lofty pro- 
jection from Froggat to Mill-stone Edge, and from thence to 
the vicinity of Hathersage; beyond which the blue misty hills 
of the Peak present a succession of faint and shadowy oudine, 
scarcely distinguishable from the clouds of heaven. 

He who undertakes, in passing through & country, to de- 
scribe the scenes he admires, and who hopes to excite a cor- 
respondent picture in the minds of his readers, will often have 
to lament the inefficiency of the means he is under the neces- 
sity of ^nplojing. The peneil, by an accurate delineation of 
forms, may speak to the eye, and the canvaa^ maty glow wkh 
the vivrd tints of nature ; but it is not through the mediAm of 
words, with whatever felicity they may be selected md com- 
bined, that an adequate idea of the finest features of a landscape 
can be communicated. The language of description is like- 
wise so very confined^ and its phrase* so extremely few^ that 
similar appearance will often suggest a similarity of expression; 
hence the choicest terms become tiresome from nepetitionywud 
the impression they prodtiee faint tsed imperfeet. 

c 2 



Viem from near Stoke. — Stoney Middleton. — Stoke Hall. — 
Middleton Church. — St. Martin's Bath. — Middleton Dale, 
— iMoer's Leap. — Roman Coifis. 

From the village of Froggat we crossed the bridge to Stoke. 
The day was now declining ; and as it was our intention to 
visit Eyam before we took up our lodgings for the night, we 
clambered to the top of the mountain terrace which connects 
the high grounds near Stoke with that interesting and 
pleasant village. 

The Peak of Derbyshire has here a new character ; the 
wildness of its native features is adorned with the ornaments 
of art, and the general austerity of its aspect is softened into 
beauty. Immediately- below, sloping to the brink of the 
river, waves the thick and ample foliage of Stoke; within 
whose shades the Derwent for awhile retires, only to burst 
again upon the sight with increased force and beauty. The 
rocky chasm callad Middleton Dale lay on our right : the 
hills near Calver rose majestically from the valley. Their 
base was lost in smoke, which, issuing in clouds from the 
lime-kilns below, had spread like an obscuring fog over this 
part of the landscape, where it seemed to rest, while a mild 
and steady light played on their summits. Scattered down 
the vale, which is distinguished by the beautiful meanderings 
of the Derwent, several little villages and groups of cottages 
appear. In mid-distance the extensive woods that surround 
the splendid mansion of Chatsworth, backed with the hills 
which form one side of Darley Dale, stretch across the valley. 
The extent of the scene, the features by which it is marked, 
the time of the day, and the peculiar circumstances under 
which it was beheld, all conspired to impress upon it a cha- 
racter of grandeur. 


•* In the western sky, the downward sun 

'' Looked out effulgent from amidst the flush 

" Of broken clouds, gay shifting to its beam." 


Notwithstanding the promise of a most lovely mommg, w^ 
had a day of partial rain. A sweet evening succeeded and 
the sun set with unusual splendour. A bright gleam of light 
burst from the clouds which yet rested on the western hori- 
zon, and spread a rich misty glow over the woods and the 
Palace of Chatsworth. 

^ 'Twas on^of thos^ ambrosial eves 

'* A day of storm so often leaves 

" At its calm setting — when the west 

" Opens her golden bowers of rest, 

•* And a moist radiance from the skies * 

*' Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 

*' Of some meek penitent, whose last 

'' Brieht hours atone for dark ones past, 

** And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven, 

" Shine as they fall, with light from heaven !" 

Mooae'i Laila Rookh, 

From this commanding station the steep ridge of mountains 
called Froggat Edge form the back-ground of Stoke HdL 
They are the loftiest eminences on this part of the Peak, and 
their towering summits are often covered with clouds. Stern, 
rugged, and apparently impassable, they frown over the valley 
below; from whence, to an active and ardent imagination, 
they look like " the barrier of unwrought space." 

*• Atocky coronet adorns their brows ; 

** A verdant wreath, with purple heath-bells gay 

" And many a wild flower twined, plays on their sides ; 

** And humble dwellings shelter at their base." M. S. 

Many of the hills in this part of Derbyshire are thus tur- 
reted, and Froggat Edge presents a striking specimen of 
their prevailing character. Generally their summits are uh- 
blessed with verdure ; and they look as if at some remote 
period their soil had been washed away by the rains of hea- 
ven, and their heads left bald by the storms of time. 

From Stoke we passed by a pleasant road to Eyam, a 
village containing about one hundred houses, scattered over 
a gently rising ground, and chiefly inhabited by miners. 
Hills of steep ascent rise high above the village on one side ; 
on the other the view is bounded, at a distance of several miles^ 

c 3 

22 CAST MOOft. 

by the mountains in tbe neighbourhood of Calver, Baslow, 
and Chatsworth. 

Ni^t had now closed upon us ; and as we were aware that 
Eyam would occupy our attention the greatest part of the fol- 
lowing day, we paid a hasty visit to the church-yard there, and 
then proceeded through a narrow craggy defile to Middleton 
Dak. The moon rose majestically over the hills : the soft 
dubious light thrown on the rocky projections, the dark mass 
of intervening shadow, and the obscurity that now pervaded 
this wild and singular dale, wonderfully enhanced its grandeur. 
We passed it in silence, as if we feared to disturb the stillness 
of the scene, and interrupt its solitude by conversation. 

The uncertainty in which the mind is involved when it 
contemplates objects undefined in form, and only indistinctly 
seen, is a source of sublime and elevat^ feeling. Participat- 
ing the emotions thus excited, we leisurely rambled down the 
dsue to Stoney Middleton, where we took up our residence at 
the Moon Inn, Here we found excellent accommodations, a 
neat rocMO, a jd^&r fire, civil treatment, and good beds. 

The long chain of mountain we had previously passed on 
our way from Sheffield, is generally denominated East Moor. 
It is the barrier that separates the coal tmd limestone districts 
of Derbyshire, and it constitutes an enormous stratum of 
millstone grit The highest hills on the opposite side of the 
Derwent are of similar formation, but more argillaceous and 
laminated : they rest on an immense bed of limestone, which, 
in one direction, extends from Eyam beyond the river Wye. 
At Middleton, where it makes its first appearance, it has 
evidently been rent asunder by some strong convulsion in 
nature, at a period of time too remote for historical record. 
A great variety of shells and marine impressions are found in 
the rocks, and the rugged walls in the dale contain many cu- 
rious GombinaticNiis of organic i^m^ns. 

No part of the kingdom is better calculated to facilitate the 
stttdy of mineralogy and geology, than the Peak of Defby- 
flhire : it is here that nature, in a peculiar way, lays bare her 
operations. The various strata here exhibited, in some places 
highly elevated, in others greatly depressed, and broken into 
Tents and cha»ms by fi-equent dislocations, unfold the interior 
formation of the earth we inhabit, and carry the mind back 
to that era of time when it was shaken and tumbled togedier, 
Mid the hills and dales assumed their present fo»m and p:)si- 


Whitehurst, in his theory of the formation of the earth, 
has deduced his most powerful arguments from the strata of 
Derbyshire, which, he contends, exhibit irrefragable testimony 
of their volcanic origin. St Fond, who entertained a differ- 
ent opinion, professes his astonishment, that a man so gifted 
as Whitehurst should discover any proofs in support of his 
peculiar theory, in a country where, as he remarks, " every 
_thing is evidently of an aqueous origin.** 

Thus it is that the disciples of Werner and Hutton, the 
Neptunists and the Vulcanists of the present geological 
school, support their different theories from appearances 
strikingly similar, if not essentially the same; Tlie basaltic 
stratum which, in various places, alternates with calcareous 
rock, and which is provincially called toadstone, has ftir- 
nished Whitehurst with his most triumphant arguments : that 
it is obviously and indisputably lava, he maintains, cannot be 
denied. Wherever it occurs, it occupies and fills up the 
space that intervenes between the different limestone strata ; 
and the manner in which it cuts off or intercepts the metallic 
veins is, in his opinion, conclusive on the subject 

It may be here remarked, that though the toadstone of 
Derbyshire differs materially in its external appearance, it 
has one general character by which all its varieties are de- 
cidedly marked. So indeed has lava. It breaks with an 
equal fracture in all directions : so does volcanic lava. It is 
likewise of various colours : so are the lavas of Etna and Ve- 
suvius, and there is a striking similarity in their internal 

I have attentively examined more than a hundred speci- 
mens of lava, now in my possession, and have repeatedly 
compared them with the toadstones of Derbyshire, without 
being able to detect any thing like a characteristic difference 5 
and I have now by me a tablet composed of nine varieties of 
each, which forcibly illustrates their general affinity. 

The lavas of Etna exhibit every degree of compactness and 
hardness, from the close texture of granite and marble to the 
most porous. The interior of the molten mass, being gene- 
rally in a more fluid state, when hot and flowing, differs in 
appearance from that which floated on the surface ; and the 
part which appears to have been in immediate contact with 
the earth is, in many instances, but little more compact than 
half-burnt clay. I have indeed observed onLv one specimen 
of lava that does not closely correspond with some one or 

c 4 


Other of the toadstpnes of Derbyshire : it is of a dark blueish- 
green colour, intermixed with streaks of a dirty earthy yellow ; 
and it contains a great number of quartz crystals of various 
sizes, sometimes closely imbedded in the surrounding matter, 
and sometimes congregated together in small caverns. 

I feel it would be presumption in one so superficially ac- 
quainted with geology, to offer an opinion on a subject neces- 
sarily requiring long previous investigation. I shall there- 
fore, after first apologizing for the preceding observations, 
resume the detail of my excursions, reserving to myself the 
privilege of again adverting to the subject on my visit to 
Matlock Dale; where, if I am not mistaken, a vein of lead ore 
occurs, and is regularly worked, in a stratum of toadstoQe. 
This fact indeed is far from being fatal to the theory of White- 
hurst, as several instances of metallic veins being found in the 
very craters of volcanoes are known to exist.* 

The following morning we revisited Stoke: the sun that 
had set so gloriously the preceding evening, and seemed to 

" The promise of a golden day to-morrow," 

was partially obscured with clouds when he arose. A brisk 
wind prevailed, which we did not regret, as it imparted to the 
scenery around us a pleasing variety, and impressed upon the 
mind a new train of images. At intervals the sun shone 
brightly in the heavens ; the clouds were driven rapidly along 
by the violence of the gale : every object was at one moment 
strongly illuminated, then instantaneously dark with shadow. 
The quickness of the change, the freshness of the breeze, the 
elastic motion of the branches of the trees as they strained 
and struggled with the blast, the rustling of the leaves, — all 
conspired to produce a very interesting effect. 

Motion, amidst the eternal repose of fixed objects in nature, 
is always pleasing to the eye, and frequently exhilarating to 
the mind. The course of clouds, changing place, and shape, 
and colour continually ; the flight of birds, whether suddenly 
startled from the bushes, sailing aloft in the air, or darting to 
and fro near the earth; the visible lapse of waters in the 
variable bed of a river ; the fluttering of the foliage of hedge- 

* Gold-mine in the island of Ischia. The whole island is entirely volca- 
nic. Breislat Mine of mercury at Guanca Velica, is in the crater of a vol- 
cano ; and also the gold-mine of Naggag. — Bakewell on Geology. 


row trees, or the verdant undulations of a sea of wood, tossing 
in the gale and shifting its lights and shadows in the sun ; 
the revolutions of a water-wheel or a wind-mill; the alternate 

{rlimpse and disappearance of carriages on an interrupted 
ine of road ; the progress of solitary passengers seen here 
and there in contrary directions; the rambling of animals, 
herds on the mountains, sheep on their walks ; — all these 
various forms of motion, if such they may be called, either 
present life, or resemble it, and excite peculiar feelings of 
sympathy, curiosity, and pleasure. 

These are but the adventitious adornments of a landscape ; 
they are, nevertheless, some of its richest and most attractive 
appendages. Rocks and hills, dales, plains, and mountains, 
are fixed and permanent; their forms and their positions 
change not. Unvisited by life and motion, they repose in 
undisturbed tranquillity, and their stillness is often grand and 
awful; but their most picturesque effects are transient and 

The beauties of Stoke have often excited the admiration of 
travellers. It is indisputably one of the most delightful 
mansions in the north of Derbyshire ; and though not suffi- 
ciently capacious for the purposes of magnificence and splen- 
dour, it might yet be selected as a fit and happy home for the 
comforts and elegances of life. Its architecture is neat and 
simple — neither poor for want of ornament, nor gaudy with 
proftision; and it stands on a graceful eminence near the 
brink of the river, embosomed in some of the most lovely 
wood-scenery in Derbyshire. The Derwent, as it passes the 
grounds of Stoke, is a noble stream ; black with shadow, it 
moves majestically along, its dark surface occasionally relieved 
by the transparent reflection of the foliage which overhangs 
its banks. 

This beautiful place was formerly the residence of Orlando 
Bridgman, Esq., now Lord Bradford, of Weston Hall, in 
Staffordshire. It is at present occupied by Robert Arkwright, 
Esq., a grandson of the late Sir Richard Arkwright ; a man 
who was the artificer of his own fortune, the founder of a 
highly respectable family, and a benefactor to the commerce 
of his country. 

Returning over the fields to Middleton, and descending 

by a by-path from a farm-house on the brow of the hill, we 

had a pleasing view of the village, which is romantically 

* situated at the entrance into Middleton Dale. The cottages 


are scattered amongst the rocks in a very picturesque manner, 
one rising over another from the base to the summit of the 

In the Church-yard of Middleton we found but little to 
attract attention. The most interesting object we observed 
was an old stone-font of a very elegant form, and carved 
in a good Gothic style. It stands in a corner of the church- 
yard, overshadowed by some light trees. It is difficult to 
conjecture why so graceiul a piece of workmanship ishould be 
cast, like useless lumber, into an obscure comer, rapidly to 
moulder away, when, by being removed into the interior of 
the church, it might be long preserved, an ornament to the 
building that gave it shelter. 

A church-yard, to the contemplative mind, is a school of. 
instruction. It is not always an easy task to analyse feeling, 
or trace the emotions we experience to their source; but 
surely it is not possible to approach a place dedicated to the 
moral and religious improvement of the livhig, and which is 
the sacred depository of the dead, without associations and 
impressions calculated to elevate the mind and improve the 
heart. The lessons of mortality taught by the silent monitors 
that crowd these hallowed receptacles, and the conviction 
that we hold our dearest enjoyments by a frail and uncertain 
tenure, com6 forcibly upon the heart which is softened to 
receive instruction, by the contemplation of our common 
home, where so many of our brethren rest in peace together, 
who, perhaps, by their little feuds, once agitated and disturbed 
each other ; and our feelings become exalted as the mind, 
dwelling on what we are, and on that event which connects 
time with eternity, thinks on what we may be. 

The uncouth tributes of respect paid to the departed, and 
the humble memorials of their virtues which abound in a 
country church-yard, however offensive to good taste, fre- 
quently excite our sympathy. They are the records of affec- 
tion; and that heart must be cold indeed, that can seriously 
condemn these lowly offering* of the Muse, even though the 
whimsical absurdities by which they are occasionally marked, 
may sometimes produce a feeling not altogether in unison 
with the solemnity of these homes of the departed. 

" Their names, their years, spelt by th' unlettered muse, 

** The place of Fame and Elegy supply ; 
** And many a holy text around she strews, 

" That teach the rustic moralist to die." 


We do not indeed expect to find the poetry of a Gray on 
these simple tablets ' of fond rememberance : — the stone- 
mason, the parish clerk, and the village schoolmaster, 
generally divide the trouble and the honour of their embellish- 

An ancient bath, supposed to have been originally esta- 
blished by the Romans when they occupied a station at 
Brough and Buxton, still exists in Middleton; but it now 
wears a modern appearance. Two neat stone buildings have 
lately been erected on the site of the old bath, for the accom- 
modation of bathers. The heat of the water is about two 
degrees higher than the warmest springs at Matlock ; and it 
is said to possess very salutary qualities: it is dedicated to 
St. Martin, by whose name it is still known. 

That this bath was constructed by the Romans may not 
be easily established, at this remote period of time ; but, when 
we consider that they long occupied this part of the kingdom, 
and that the use of the tepid bath was probably introduced 
by them into this country, the opinion appears not altogether 
groundless. The form and composition of the wall that for- 
merly surrounded it, and which was evidently Roman, may 
likewise be adduced in support of the supposition. The find- 
ing of Roman coins in the vicinity of the bath is another 
circumstance of no trivial importance. So late as the summer 
of 1814, some workmen employed in removing the soil from 
a part of the Limestone Rock, near where the road branches 
out of Middleton Dale to Eyam, discovered a quantity of 
Roman coins ; about one hundred of which are now in the 
possession of Mr. Bird, of Eyam ; they are chiefly copper, 
but some of them are covered with a thin silvery coating: 
they are in a good state of preservation, and bear the inscrip- 
tions of the &nperors Probus, Gallienus, &c. ; and of Victo- 
rinus, a successful usurper of imperial power. 

Nearly at the time we were at the village of Middleton, 
the Bishop of Litchfield passed through it on his way to the 
North, and changed horses at the Moon Inn. The church 
had then been for many months without a pastor ; and the 
landlord of the inn availed himself of the opportunity, which 
the presence of the bishop afforded, to represent to him the 
circumstance, and solicit redress. After an apology, in his 
plain way, for the intrusion, he told his lordship that at 
Stoney Middleton they had a church, as well as their neigh- 
bours at Eyam; but then they had not a parson, nor had they 

28 lover's leap. 

had any service on a Sunday for sixteen months : that they 
had many Methodists in the village, who were very indus- 
trious, and had their preachings and their prayer meetings 
several times a week. " Then," added he, " if this is not 
giving them an advantage over us, your lordship, I do not 
know what is." He concluded his appeal to the bishop with 
a great deal of simplicity, by informing him, that he was no 
way person]^' j* interested in the application; that the church 
being shut up did not affect him at all, for he had not been 
there for several years. This application, plain and honest as 
it was, obtained redress for the evil complained of, and re- 
opened the doors of Middleton Church. 
• From Middleton we proceeded up the Dale, for the purpose 
of revisiting the village of Eyam. This part of Derbyshire 
has been frequently noticed, and some travellers have either 
felt or affected a contempt of its pretensions to picturesque 

Passing through Middleton, a high perpendicular rock, 
called the Lover's Leap, marks the first grand opening into 
the Dale. From the summit of this feaiful 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 
attempt: her face was a little disfigured, and her body bruised, 
by the brambles and the 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 summit 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 
subsided; and she ever afterwards lived, in a very exemplary 
manner, in the vicinity of the place which had been the scene 
of her folly; and she died unmarried. 

The crags which form one side of Middleton Dale are 
boldly featured, and the parts are broad, and massy. Half 
way from their base they are much broken, and present many 
smaller projections and recesses; then commences a lofty 
range of perpendicular rock, the different strata of which are 
defined by lines running horizontally athwart its sides. The 
regular tower and turret-like forms which the stony heights 


in this dale assume, have, in many places, so much the effect 
of an old castellated building, that, viewed from the road 
below, the eye sometimes doubts whether it contemplates the 
works of nature or of art. A little foliage, inti'fxluced to 
remove the prevailing appearance of barrenness, and a few 
trees scattered amongst the declivities to break the regularity 
of the parts, would render this dale beautiful as w**'' a« ro- 
mantic. This improvement, however, even if it mr « ^ ' .. .*tted 
to be one, would impair, if not entirely obliterate, its present 
character of naked and savage grandeur. 

The best view of this stupendous piece of rock scenery is 
obtained from the base of the ascending ground, which forms 
the left side of the dale, near the smelting mill, about half a 
mile from Stoney Middleton. Before you, seen in distance, 
is the chasm through which the road winds to Tides well and 
Buxton : on the right is the Delve, a deep dell, whose rocky 
sides are partly covered with verdure, and profusely adorned 
with underwood, elm, and ash. A little nearer the foreground 
is Eyam Dale; one side of which is strongly characterised 
with what I have chosen to denominate castellated rock, and 
the other is fringed with pine, fir, and sycamore. Directly 
opposite this dale, another branches out on the lefl; the whole 
presenting a singular combination of hills, and rocks, and deep 

The wild scenery of Middleton Dale is oflen greatly im- 
proved by the fires of the lime-kilns, with which it abounds. 
The smoke that issues from them, curling about the. rocks, 
renders their forms indistinct, softens down the asperity of 
lines by which they are in some places distinguished, wraps 
them in obscurity, and communicates an imposing sublimity 
to the whole : sometimes the smoke rolls in dark masses, 
beyond the broadly-illuminated surface of the boldest pro- 
jections; sometimes the turreted summits only are seen 
gleaming with light, while all below is involved in the indis- 
tinct and shadowy medium that floats at their base. 

A short distance from the smelting mill, a deep cavern enters 
the foot of the rock, near the side of the road. It has been 
explored to the extent of about two hundred paces, when a 
deep water prevented all further progress. The roof is in some 
places so low, that the cavern cannot be penetrated in an erect 
position ; in others, the passage is of considerable capacity ; 
and it furnishes many beautiful crystallizations : it is a dreary 
hole ; and the entrance into it is now nearly closed up by the 


falling of a mass of rubbkh from above. Even wben moit 
easy of access, it was but rarely visited, as f^^pears from a cir- 
cumstance wbich occurred about forty ye^^s a^< An itinerant 
Scotch pedlar, well known and much respected, who period- 
ically attended most of the villages in the Peak of Derbyshire, 
was found murdered in this gloomy cavern : he had remained 
undiscovered until his corpse was nearly a skeleton. His person 
was identified by the buckles in his shoes, and the dress that 
he wore : his bones were removed to Eyam church for s^ul- 
ture, where they remained unburied, until the late rector, the 
Rev. Mr. Seward, consigned them to the grave. 

The entrance from Middleton into Eyam Dale is marked 
by a high rock, whose sides are adorned with ivy, interspersed 
with branches of yew. A boy, in a perilous attempt to take a 
bird's nest from the top of this part of the rock, lost his hold, 
and his life became the forfeit of his temerity : he was pred- 
pitated into the depth below, and nearly d&shed to pieces. 

Lord Duncannon, passing along tliis dale in the summer 
of the year 1743, observed a piece of spar upon the road, 
which his horse accidentally trod upon< He exammed and 
admired this elegant production of Derbyshire ; and, anxious 
to have it formed into a vase, be sent it to Mr. H. Watson, of 
Bakewell, for the purpose. Thus originated the manufactur- 
ing of that beautiful fluor provincially known by the name of 
Blue John, into columns, vases, urns, and obelisks. It has 
since become a source of considerable profit ; and the splendid 
ornaments that are now produced from this exquisite material 
frequentiy adorn the houses and the palaces of tiie wealthy 
and the great 



Eyam visited hy the Plague 1666. — Riley Grave^Stones. — 
Mr. Mompesson. — Cucklet Church. 

Unconnected with the local history of the place, Eyam is 
of little importance ; but having been afflicted with the plague, 
in the year 1666, it has become an object of considerable in- 
terest. Suffering has sanctified its claim to notice, and the 
curious and enquiring traveller feels a melmicholy pleasure in 
tracing out the records of the rava^s made in this litde vil- 
lage by that depopulating scourge of nations. 

Dr. Mead, in his narrative of the great plague in London, 
has noticed the circumstance of its communication to this re- 
mote part of the kingdom ; and he particularly mentions its 
introduction into Eyam, through the medium of a box of 
clothes, sent to a tailor who resided there. The person who 
opened the box, from whence the Imprisoned pestilence burst 
forth, was its first victim ; and the whole of the family, with 
the solitary exception of one, shared the same fate. The 
disease spread rapidly, and almost every house was thinned 
by the contagion. The same cottage, in many instances, con- 
tained both the dying and the de»d. Short indeed was the 
space between health and sickness ; and immediate the transi- 
tion from the death-bed to the tomb. Wherever symptoms 
of the plague appeared, so hopeless was recovery, that the 
dissolutidh of the afflicted patient was watched with anxious 
solicitude, that so much of the disease might be buried, and its 
influence destroyed. In the church-yard, on the neighbour- 
bouring hills, and in the fields bordering the village, graves 
were dug ready to receive the expiring sufferers ; and the earth 
with an unhallowed haste was closed upon them, even whilst 
the limbs were yet warm, and almost palpitating with life; and 

" O'er the friendly bier no rites were read, 
'< No dirge slow chanted^ and no pall outspread; 
*' While death and night piled up the naked throng, 
" And silence drove their ebon cars along." 


Such is Dr. Darwin's description of the interment of those 
who died of the plague in London ; but here " night piled not 
up the naked throng," nor was darkness resorted to, to veil 
the unseemly sight. The open day witnessed the " frequent 
corse," not decently conveyed to its last home, not only un- 
attended by friends ; but uncoffined, and hurried to the grave 
with the precipitation of panic. The population of Eyam, at 
this time, was about three hundred and thirty; of whom two 
hundred and fifty-nine fell by the plague. 

Visiting this village, and traversing its environs, the 
"Mountain Tumulus," distinguished by the name of Rilei^ 
Grave-Stones^ claims particular attention. When I first be- 
held this little spot of ground, I came suddenly upon it from a 
ramble over the hills above. Its insulated appearance, and 
the freshness of its verAire, bedded in surrounding heath of 
the brightest purple, together with the hallowed purpose to 
which it had been appropriated, induced me to pass a serious 
half hour within its walls. Miss Seward has informed us that 
this was the burial-place of the dead when the plague raged at 
Eyam, and the church-yard had become too crowded to admit 
any more of its victims. 

The situation of Riley Grave-Stones is on an elevated piece 
of ground not half a mile from the village. A wall has been 
erected round the stones that remain ; but many, whose resting 
places are not distinguished by any mark, except a gentle 
swell in the turf that covers them, are not included within this 
humble paling. 

I know not that I ever felt more seriously and solemnly im- 
pressed than on my visit to this place. The dreadful power 
of that disease, which, while it prevailed in London, appalled 
the whole empire, and in the following year unpeopled the 
village of Eyam, is here strikingly exemplified. Six head- 
stones and one tabular monumental stone, yet remain to tell 
the tale of the total extinction of a whole family, with the 
exception of one boy, in the short space of eight days. The 
inscriptions, though much worn, may still be distinctly traced. 
The respective dates are — * • 

Elizabeth Hancock, died August 3, 1666. 

Jno. Hancock, sen 4, 

Jno. Hancock, jun. 7, 

Oner Hancock / 7, , 

William Hancock 7, 

Alice Hancock 9, 

Ann Hancock 10, 


What a mournful memorial of domestic calamity do these 
few stones and their brief inscriptions present I Cm the four 
sides of the tomb, which contains the ashes of the iather of 
this unhappy family of sufferers, are the words — Horam Nes^ 
citis^ Orate^ Vigilate. 

As an inhabitant of the town of Sheffield, and interested in 
whatever is connected with its prosperity, I trust the following 
short digression from this afHicting subject may be forgiven. 

About the year 1 750 a Mr. Joseph Hancock, a descendant of 
this family, discovered, or rather recooered^ the art of covering 
ingots of copper with plate silver, which were afterwards flatted 
under rollers, and manu&ctured into a variety of articles in 
imitation of wrought silver plate. This business he introduced 
into the town of Sheffield, where it has since become one of its 
most important and lucrative concerns. ^Birmingham has at-^ 
tempted to rival this elegant manufacture, but, with the ex- 
ception of the Soho establishment, its pretensions are humble. 

I have not hesitated to use the term rec&oered^ as^ applicable 
to the art of which Mr. Joseph Hancock has been considered 
the founder, for I am well aware that the practice of covering 
one metal with another more precious is of great antiquity. 
That articles plated with silver, particularly candlesticks, were 
in use during the reign of Henry the Seventh, can hardly 
admit of controversy. A specimen of the work of that peripd 
of time was. lately taken out of Lady Idonea Percy's Monu- 
ment, in Beverley Cathedral : a circumstance of itseU* sufficient 
to establish the correctness of the opinion here expressed. 

Some few years ago, when fewer restraints were imposed on 
commercial pursuits, nearly five thousand of the inhabitants of 
the town of Sheffield derived employment and support from a 
manufacture recently brought into existence by a branch of the 
unfortunate family of whose rapid and almost total extinction 
Biley Grave Stones are the melancholy record. 

We are informed by Miss Seward, that, nearly a century 
after the plague had thus afflicted Eyam, five of the villagers 
employed in the Summer of 1757, in digging near Bilet/ Grave 
Stones^ found some linen or woollen cloth not entirely con- 
sumed, and that even at this distant period of time " the subtle, 
unextinguished, though much abated power of the most dread-* 
ful of all diseases, awakened from the dust in which it so long 
had slumbered.'* She adds, " the men all sickened of a putrid 
fever, and three of the five died; the disorder was contagious, 
and proved mortal to numbers of the inhabitants of Eyam." 


From this account it appears that the very ghost at this ter- 
rible pest, rising from me tomb, gave awfiil proof of its former 
malignancy, after the lapse of a century. 

Respectable as the authority b cm which this singular &ct 
rests, its accuracy is doubtful. The bare mention of a circunoi- 
stance so very extraordinary, naturally excites enquiry, and 
after all I have heard upon the subject, I am inclined to think 
that Miss Seward has been mistaken in point of fact. Nor is 
it more correct that a particular place was appropriated to the 
burial of the dead, during the ravages of the plague. A pro- 
miscuous grave, dug hastily in the nearest convenient place to 
the dwelling of the deceased, would more probably, be the re- 
ceptacle of his remains, and the many stones vet to be found m 
the fields adjoining Eyam, with the dreadml year 1666 in- 
scribed upon them, may determine a question now scarcely 
worth agitating. It must, however, be admitted that the place 
known by the name of Riley Grave Stones, appears to have 
been more generally resorted to than any other, on this mourn- 
ful occasion. A few years ago a small plot of ground, im- 
mediately contiguous to the village, contained many of these 
memorials ; now only one is to be found within it; the others 
have been removed by the sacrilegious hands of some of the 
inhabitants. As materials for the purposes of building, they 
lay convenient for use ; and one man has floored his house, 
and another his barn, with the very stones that told the story 
of the calamities of Eyani. The dates on those melancholy 
tablets of mortality, wherever I have observed them, are Au- 
gust and September, but chiefly August, which, probably, 
being the hottest month in the year, proved the most fatal. 

Every thing connected with this awfiil contagion has, even 
at this remote period, a powerful and affecting interest; and 
the traveller, anxious to trace out its history, will find it per- 
petuated in the fields that surround the village of Eyam in 
characters too obvious to be misunderstood. Riley Grave 
Stones, Cucklet Churdi, and the tomb of Mrs. Mompesson, 
the impressive memorandums of this desolating scourge, axe 
ihe last places in the neighbourhood of Eyam that should have 
suffered violation ; but even these have not escaped. Riley 
Grave Stones : alas ! the busy hand of agriculture has nearly 
obliterated this part of the record, and com now waves over 
the diamel*house of the dead. The stones, agreeably to the 
custom once prevailing here, were originally, as I have been 
infionaad, laid horixbntally upon the sod that covered the re- 


mains of the dq»rted : but tbis sncred spot, or rather thki epot 
which ought to have been regarded as sacred, being included 
within the operation of an enclosure act, they have been placed 
in a perpendicular position, and the plough has passed aroofid 
them. ^^ May we not enquire, why was this permitted ? and 
why did not the inhabitants of E^am preserve this depositoiy 
of the dead from being thus rudely violated by the living ? 

Mr. Bird, a gentleman of £yam, has lately possessed him* 
self of this interesting plot of ground, and, for the purpose «tf 
restoring and preserving to it that character of sacredness 
which it never should have lost, he has {^nted a few fir trees 
within the walls that now enclose Riley Grave Stones. When 
I last saw them they had lost their leafy honours, and their 
branches were withered; a circumstance which aggmvated 
the dreariness of the scene, and coni^ired to impress more 
forcibly upon the mind the images of death and decay. 

Mr. Mompesson, who held the living of Eyam during the 
ravages of the plague, was eminently successful in preventing 
the spread c^ the disease to the surroundii^g country. Th^ 
salutary measures that he adopted, and the enthusiastic af- 
fection with which they were carried into fulfilm^H» wei^ 
all attended with the happiest results. S3b was ^e priesti 
the physician, and the legislator of a community of «u£ferers;$ 
and the bond by which they were connected^ had a melan- 
choly influence over the minds of his parishioners^ Hm wil^ 
nay even his wish but half expressed, bad the fopoe aad effe<^ 
of a legislative enactment; and even at a time^ and under 
circumstances, when men usually listen to the suggestioiK 
;of personal safel^ only, he was .regarded with revereiM0 
and obeyed with alacrity. He represented fto the iahabitaBjIjs 
the consequence of leaving their homes, and communicadM 
to others the pestilent malady with which they were visited^ 
and the little probability of esc£^ing the contagion by Higbt* 
His character and exan\ple, combined wiA his iuithorit|r, 
drew a circle round the village of Eyam which none al- 
ten^ted to pass, even though to remain .within it W4is tp 
hazard almost inevitable death. At his aug^s^on an anran^gfr- 
ment was made, by which supplies of food, and every thing 
necessary to mitigate the horrors of the disease^ ¥W<^ dl^po- 
sited, from whence they were regularly removed by ^me nf 
the villagers to whom this task was assigned. The Earl #£ 
Devpnshire was at thi^ time at Chatewi»rth, wiigre, Hnd^«9rid 
by^e dread of tiie pj^gue, he rem^at^ dw:iiiK -the whale i>f 



its ravages, assisting Mr. Mompesson by his exertions, his 
influence, and his example. 

Troughs, or wells are now shown which were then filled 
with water, and placed at the boundary line of communica^ 
tion, to receive and purify the purchase-money used in this 
perilous traflSc; and I have been informed that a little rivulet, 
whose stream was devoted to supply and replenish them, was 
long known by the hallowed appellation of Mompesson's 

This excellent man, conceiving that the assembling of his 
congregation in the church during the hottest parts of the 
year, would in all probability aggravate the virulence of the 
.disorder, and give a wider range to the evil, collected his 
little flock tggeuier in a deep romantic dell in the immediate 
vicinity of f^am, where on Sundays, and occasionally again 
during the week, he addressed them from a rocky eminence, 
now odled Cucklet Church. 

When we figure to ourselves this admirable man sur- 
rounded by his parishioners, under circumstances so awfiiUy 
impressive; preaching to them as it were in a wilderness, 
from the point of a projecting rock ; imparting to them the 
consolations of heaven, at a time when such consolations 
were peculiarly needful, and inspiring them with fortitude in 
the hour of danger and of dread ; is it possible to conceive a 

Sicture more truly sublime ? Paul preaching at Athens, or 
ohn the Baptist in the wilderness, scarcely excites a more 
powerful and solemn interest than this minister of God, this 
** legate of the skies," when contemplated on this trying and 
momentous occasion, " when he stood between the dead and 
the living, and the plague was stayed." — Numbersy chap. xvi. 
y. 48. 

To this pious pastor was committed one of the most ardu- 
ous and important duties ever confided to man. The zeal 
and fidelity with which he discharged the fimctions of his 
high c^ce, have an everlasting claim on the gratitude of 
mankind, by whom the memory of his benevolent exertions, 
connected with the tale of the calamity by which they were 
called into action, should be reverently cherished. 

Mr. Mompesson, was, at this time in the prune of life. He 
lived to see the disorder subside, and to witness the success 
of his endeavours to prevent its extension beyond the pre- 
cincts of the little village that was his peculiar care, and which 
it had afflicted for nearly seven months. He was, however. 


personally destined to participate in the general distress, and 
to drink of the cup of sorrow that went round among his pa- 
rishioners. His wife, an amiable woman, only twenty-seven 
years of age, and the mother of his two children, was one of 
the victims of the plague. She died in the month of August, 
and her remains lie near the church of Eyam. How much, 
and how severely, the good man felt on this occasion, and 
how feeble were his hopes of escaping the infection, may be 
ascertained from the following letter addressed to Sir George 
SaviUe, patron of the living of Eyam. 

''Eyam, Sept. 1, 1666. 

" Honoured and Dear Sir, 

" This is the saddest news that ever my pen could write. 
The destroying Angel having taken up his quarters within my 
habitation, my dearest wife is gone to her eternal rest, and is 
invested with a crown of righteousness, having made a happy 
end. Indeed, had she loved herself as well as me, she had 
fled from the pit of destruction with the sweet babes, and 
might have prolonged her days ; but she was resolved to die 
a martyr to my interest. My drooping spirits are much re- 
freshed with her joys, which I think are unutterable. 

'' Sir, this paper is to bid you a hearty farewell for ever, and to 
bring you my humble thanks for all your noble favours ; and 
I hope you will believe a dying man, I have as much love as 
honour for you, and I will bend my feeble knees to the God 
of Heaven, that you, my dear lady, and your children and 
their children, may be blessed with external and eternal hap- 
piness, and that the same blessing may fall upon Lady Sun- 
derland and her relations. 

" Dear Sir, let your dying Chi^lain recommend this truth 
to you and your family, that no happiness or solid comfort 
can be found in this vde of tears, like living a pious life ; and 
pray ever remember this rule, never do any thing t^pon which 
you dare not Jirst ask the blessing of God. 

" Sir, I have made bold in my will with your name for 
executor, and I hope that you will not take it ill. I have 
joined two others with you, who will take from you the trou- 
ble. Your favourable aspect will, I know, be a great com- 
fort to my distressed orphans. I am not desirous that they 
should be great, but gopd : and my next request is, that they 
be brought up in the fear and admonition of the Lord. 

1^ S 


<< Siy, I thank God I am eonlentedr to shake hand& wi«h aU 
the world ; and have many comfovtable assuruMses that God 
'mil acoeptr me upon account of his Sen. I find the goc^ness 
of God greater than ever I thought or imagined; and I wish 
from my soul that it were not so much abused and contemned* 

^ I de^e, Sir, that you will be pleased to make choice of a 
humble, pious man, to succeed me in my parsoni^; and 
Boviii I see jour face before my departure hence, I would 
infbnD you in what mannev i think he may live ccmifortable 
amongst his people, whic^ would be some satisfaction to me 
before I die. 

^ Dear Sir> I beg the prayers of all about you that I may 
not be daunted by the powers of hell, and that I may have 
dying graces : with tears 1 beg, that when you are praying for 
Mherless orphans^ you would' r^nember my two pretty babes. 

*^ Pbrdon the rude style 06 this paper, and be pleased' to 
believe that I am, dear Sir^ 8cc. 

** William Momkesson." 

Tbi» lettev, written when the disease was m^dng the 
greaitest havoc, when it had ah*eady entered the writer's 
oweUiim pvostralied his. hemes, despoiled, and almost deso- 
lated, his afiPectkMis, and evidently produced under the expect* 
«tio»of aa immeditate attack from the destroying Angel, and 
9m approoehiag» dissohitioRs is beautifully illustrative of the 
idiaracter of its: amiable author. It is^ indeed, a hean>-reiiding 
aippeid, and deepens our regret that so littte is known of the 
htttoiy ^ so good a man., tits were unobtrusive virtues, and 
tbey moved m a narrow circle, but their salutary effects 
wore not confined to the village in which he lived. The 
disorder, the virulence of which he unremittin^y endeavoured 
to mkugatey was. fetal beyond example; and when we reflect, 
thal}]4^ waackiefiy owii^ to his benevolent exerticm^ that the sui^ 
nMindiiig hamlets, escaped tiie cc»itagion, gratitude requires that 
they should not be forgotten. He was not only the preserver 
of a small remnant, who were saved at Eyam, but, perhaps^ 
the saidouD of noany in the vicinity;. 

A shovt time after the date of the preceding letter the dis* 
ease happily subsided, and in a subseauent one addressed tt» 
John Bcfl]by, Esq^ Nov^ 20th, l#^, his sensations, though 
strong, appear to be less acute, and' the prospect of death 
zemoffed fertiMif from kinov In this tetter he saysi^— 

<< The condition of this place has been so sad, that^ I per«> 

SMMie mysdif h did eixeeed all history and examples 1 may 
truly 9ay that our place has become a Golgotha, the place of 
a skull; and had there not been a small itenmant of us 
left ^ we had been as Sodmna and been made like utito 
Gomorrah/ My ears never heard such dolefiil lamentations^ 
and my eyes never beheld such ghaady spect8cles.-^Now» 
blessed be God, all our fears are over, .m none have died of 
the infection since the eleventh of October, and all the pest* 
houses having been long empty. I intend, God willing, to 
spend most of this week in seeing all wooll^i eloaths filmed 
and purified, as well for the satisfaction as the safety of the 

^ riere has been such burning of goods that the like I think 
was never known, and, indeed, in this we have been too 
precise. For my part, I have scarcely left myself apparel to 
shelter my body from the cold, and nave wasted more than 
needed, merely for example. — As for my part, I cannot say 
that I had ever better heakh than during die time of the 
dreadful visitation, neither can I say that I have had any 
symptoms of the disease. My man had the distemper, and 
upon the appearance of a tumour, I gave him severalchemical 
antidotes, which had a very kind operation-; and with the 
blessing of God, kept the venom from the heart, and after the 
rising broke, he was very well. 

" I have ktrgely tasted the goodness of the Creator, ami^ 
blessed be his name, the grim looks of death did never yet 
affiright me. I always had a firm faith that my dear babes 
wouM do well, which made me willing to shake hands with 
the unkind, froward world ; yet I hope that I shall esteem it a 
mercy if I am finistrated of the hopes of a translaticm to a better 
place : and Giod ^ant that I may make a right use of his mef- 
cies : as the one hath been tart,^ sa the other hath been sweet 
and comfortable." 

Near the entrance into the chancel oi Eyam Church I no- 
ticed the tomb of Mrs. Mompesson, vrhich for some time I 
endeavoured to find in vain. I had taken, as my guide, the 
description given of this burial place by Miss Sewani j I 
therefore expected to see it " surrounded with iron paling,*' 
of which, at present, no trace remains. There is, indeed, as 
it now appears, no indication of its having been so honoured 
at any time. At the comers of the tomb are placed four rude 
stone pillars, or rather posts (for they merit no better a naim), 
and recently some lime trees, which were planted on each side 

D 4 


of her grave, far more worthily distuiguished the place where 
she was interred. The trees nourished, they became valuable 
as timber, and the sacrilegious axe had just levelled them 
with the earth when I first visited Eyam. The tomb, how- 
ever, is permitted to remain : on one end of it is an hour glass 
placed between two expanded wings, intended, no doubt, as 
an emblem of the rapid flight of time ; and underneath, on an 
oblong tablet, CAVE ^ is inscribed ; and nearer the base ap- 
pear the words Nescitis Horam, On the other end of the 
tomb is a death's head, resting on a plain projecting tablet ; 
and below I traced the words Mihi lucrum^ now nearly 

Peace to her ashes and to the ashes of that excellent man 
whom she left to deplore her loss. Though the village of 
Eyam cease to protect the relics that record her sufferings, 
though the consecrated use of Cucklet Church be effaced from 
the memory of man, and Riley Grave Stones prove unfaithful 
to their trust, yet the name of Mompesson, the rival in virtue 
of the good Bishop of Marseilles, shall not be forgotten, if the 
pen or the press can save it from oblivion. 

The conduct and character of Mr. Mompesson procured 
him many friends, who sedulously promoted his advancement 
in the church ; through their influence the prebends of York 
and Southwell, and the rectory of Eakring, ^ in Nottingham- 
sliire, were conferred upon him. At Eakring, where his 
bones repose, he terminated his labours at a good old age. 
Had this pious man, in his progress through life, been solicit- 
ous of ecclesiastical preferment, he might have attained to yet 
higher honours in the church. The deanery of Lincoln was 
offered to him, but, anxious to promote the interest of his 
friend. Dr. Fuller, the author of " the British Worthies," &c. 
he declined accepting it, and generously transferred the influ- 
ence he possessed to the service of a man whom he sincerely 
esteemed. Dr. Fuller succeeded to the deanery, and he had 
the gratification to reflect, that he had been placed in the situa- 
ation to which he had aspired, by an act of friendship as noble* 
and as disinterested as ever dignified the human character. — A 
fervent piety, a humble resignation, a spirit that, under circum- 
stances peculiarly afilicting, could sipcerely say, " not my will 
but thine be done;" a manly fortitude, and a friendly generosity 
of heart; were blended together in the life and conduct of 
Mompesson. He died in the year 1 708 ; but, as Miss Seward 


emphatically observes, ^^ his memory ought never to die ; it 
should be immortal as the spirit that made it worthy to Mve" 

In the year 1766, the Rev. Mr. Seward, the father of the 
poetess of Litchfield, preached a centenary sermon in the 
church of Eyam, in commemoration of the event recorded 
in these pages. It was written with great power of descrip- 
tion, and appealed so forcibly to the hearts of his auditors, 
many of whose ancestors had fallen by the plague, that he was. 
frequently interrupted by their tears, and overpowered by 
his own sensations. The sermon and the effect it produced 
are yet remembered by some of the villagers of Eyam, and 
when they recur to the character and the talent of their late 
minister, they estimate the powers of his mind and the feelings 
of his heart by their display on this occasion. 

About a mile from Riley Grave Stones, and at the contrary 
extremity of the. village, stands Cucklet Church, which is 
situated in a deep and narrow dingle called the Delf or Delve. 
A range of fine ash trees, probably planted from a feelmg of 
veneration for this consecrated place, form the boundary of 
the little area where it stands. The rock, thus denominated, 
projects from the side of a steep hill, where it appears like an 
irregularly-formed building. It is excavated through in dif- 
ferent directions, the arches being from twelve to eighteen feet 
high. From the portico of these arches, in the midst of a 
romantic dell, and surrounded with the rocks and the moun- 
tains of the Peak, Mompesson administered the consolations 
of . Religion to his mourning people, during a period of 
sorrow and suffering almost unparalleled in Village History. 

Cucklet Church consists of a flinty combination of what 
the miners denominate Chert Balls, and of consequence it 
is almost impenetrably hard. The dell in which it is placed 
is rich with verdure, wood, and rock. Its steep and rugged 
sides are embellished with the hazel, the wild-rose, the dog- 
berry, and the yew ; beautifully checquered with the light and 
silvery branches of the birch, and the more ample foliage and 
deeper colouring of the oak and the elm. The tall aspiring ash, 
which from its prevalence in this part of Derbyshire may be 
called the Tree of the Peak, is likewise profusely scat- 
tered throughout the dell. The ash, indeed, is peculiarly 
entitled to the appellation here bestowed upon it. Wherever 
a cottage rears its head, there flourishes the ash : wherever 
the side of a hill or the base of a rock is adorned with trees, 
there wave the graceful branches of the ash; and the rivers 


Iliat circulate Arough the dales of Derbyshire, hai^e dies' 
banks decorated and their various windings marked by this 
graceful tree, which universally characterises the woodland 
sc^iery of the Peak. 

lliis deH opens into Middleton Dale, the wildness of which 
it softens and improves by its milder features. Here its ex- 
tremest width prevails ; nearer Eyam the two sides rapidly 
approximate, and a little above Cucklet Church they form the 
'entrance into a narrow chasm, called by tiie villagers the 
Salt Pan. TTie name is sufficiently undignified, mitr the 
picture it presents is exquisite of its kind. Two perpendicu- 
lar rocks terminate the dell, and on their nearest approach, 
where liiey meet widiin a few paces only^ the lofty trees and 
thick underwood with which they are crested, cast an almost 
midnight darkness into the deep space that sepM'ates them ; 
while the elm and the ash, which flourish at their base, throw 
their boughs athwart the gloomy cleft;, and intermin^e 
their topmost foliage with the descending branches from 

The tree? in this lovely dell have a majestic character, and 
during the summer months the tufts of brushwood which are 
scattered along its steep sides, are ftmeifttUy festooned with 
honeysuckles and roses. The wild roses in Derbyshire, 
wherever the limestone soil prevails, are peculiarly beautiful, 
and exhibit not only a luxuriance of growth but a richness of 
colour unsurpassed in any part of the kingdom. The last time 
I visited this place was in die month of July 1817. The wild 
rose was then in its greatest glory, and the trees had on their 
fullest foliage. It was a fine summer's day, and they aiflbrded 
a delightful shelter from the warm rays of an unclouded sun. 
The breeze that breathed through the dell, loaded with the 
fragrance of a thousand flowers, came upon the senses with a 
voluptuous s<^ness that almost wrapt them in forgetftilness. 

" Though a thousand branches join their scre^ 
** Yet the broken sunbeams glance between 
** And tip the leaves with lighter green, 

** With brighter tints the flower. 
" Dull is the heart that loves not then 
** The deep recess of the wildwoodjslen, 

** When the sun is in his power. 

From Harold the DaunUeu, 

Contemplating the scenery of this secluded spot, and calling 
to. recollection the sublime incident by which it has been dig- 


nified and hallowed, I have alwinrs regarded it as a subject 
admirably adapted for the pencil. Historic landscape pauiting 
is one of the most exalted departments of art, and one that 
powerfully affects and elevates the mind. Hannibal's march 
over the Alps, which Turner has treated with great force of 
imagination and genuine poetic feeling; Joshua commanding 
the sun to stand still, by Martin, a picture that cannot be 
beheld without the sublimest emotions; John the Baptist 
preaching in the wSderness, by Salvator; and many others 
might be enumerated, if necessary, in illustration of this 
opmion. And what artist would wish for a finer opportuiiJLty 
for the display of his talents than the dell near Eyam presents? 
The foreground is a happy composition of rock, and hiD, and 
wood, and verdure. Cueklet Church, the place consecrated 
by Mompesson to the most awful and solemn of all human 
purposes, might be ma<te an extremely picturesque object. 
The jutting crst&s on which his hearers sat, the verdant slopes 
where they redined in melancholy sadness, the dark ixKky 
clefb behind crested with trees, the whole backed in distance 
with the mountains of the Peak, furnish altogether, an assem- 
bh^ of objects^ but rarely combined in nature. Water is, 
p^maps, the only adjunct wanted m the composition; and 
this, thou^ sparingly, is sometimes supplied: during an in- 
undation of heavy rains a troubled stream issues through the 
chasm called the Saltpan^ and foams and bubbles down the 



Et^am Church- Yard. — Ancieni Stone Cross. — 7%e Bev. R. Cun- 
ninghame, — Miss Seward. 

1 HE church-yard of Eyam was the next object that attracted 
our atteution. The traveller fond of antiquarian research 
will be pleased with the rare relique it contains. Near the 
entrance into the chancel of the church stands an old stone 
cross, which, according to village tradition, was found on some 
of the neighbouring hills. It is curiously ornamented and 
embossed with a variety of figures and designs characterised 
by different symbolic devices; and its sides are liberally 
adorned with Runic and Scandinavian knots. 

Were the value of this antique specimen of the workman- 
ship of former times more accurately appreciated, it might 
easily be made a more engaging object : as it now appears, 
the earth covers a portion of its shaft, no part of which should 
be so obscured: lifted from its present bed, a distinction 
which it eminently deserves, it would not only be a valuable 
fragment, rich with the uncouth sculpture of former times, 
but an ornament to the church-yard and the village of Eyam. 
This cross has suffered dilapidation from the culpable neglect 
of those who ought to have felt an interest in its preservation. 
About two feet of the top of the shaft is wanting, as may be 
seen by referring to the engraved sketch which was taken in 
the year 1815. The present sexton of the church, who is an 
old man, well recollects the part now missing being thrown 
carelessly about the church-yard as a thing of no value, until 
it was broken up by some of the inhabitants, and knocked to 
pieces for domestic purposes. 

The cross at Eyam is probably indebted for its present 
appearance to the circumstance of its having, about thirty 
years ago, attracted the attention of a man who had spent the 
ripest years of his existence in mitigating the horrors of a 
prison, and ameliorating the condition of a forsaken and 
friendless class of his fellow creatures. When the benevolent 


Howard visited the village of Eyam he particularly noticed 
the cross, even though at that time the finest part of this 
vestige of antiquity was laid prostrate in a corner of the 
church-yard, and nearly overgown with docks and thistles. 
The value this hitherto unregarded relique had in the esti- 
mation of Howard made it dearer to the people of Eyam : 
they brought the top part of the cross from its hiding-place, 
where it had long lain in utter neglect, and placed it on the 
still dilapidated shaft, where it has ever since remained. 
Condemning, as'I most cordially do, the little attention which 
has been paid to the cross at Eyam, it is, nev^heless, some 
gratification to know that it owes its present state of preserv- 
ation to the interventi(Mi of no less a man than Howard. 

Other crosses, similar in appearance and workmanship, 
have been found on the hills of Derbyshire, particularly one 
in the vicinity of Bakewell, which is now in the church- 
yard there^ It evidently originated with the same people as 
the one at Eyam, though it is extremely inferior in its embel- 
lishments, and more mutilated in its parts. These crosses 
are of r^note antiquity, and, from their prevailing character, 
and the rude sculpture they exhibit, they have generally been 
regarded as Saxon or Danish structures. Tne interlaced 
and curiously involved tracery work, with which they are 
frequently invested, have been denominated Runic and Scan- 
dinavian knots ; but I have not yet learnt that any of them 
are marked with characters decidedly Runic, and it is highly 
probable that the ornaments they contain were adopted from 
buildings of a different nature, for they do not appear to have 
any thing peculiarly national about them. That they are not 
Roman may perhaps be inferred from the very uncouth 
figures sculptured upon them, and the general inferiority of 
their workmanship. They must therefore have originated 
amongst a people less acquainted with art than the Romans 
were at the time they invaded this country ; and the Danes 
being only " almost and not altogether Christians," and being 
moreover but little removed from barbarism, were, perhaps, 
not likely to indulge in the erection of these external emblems 
of their newly acquired faith ; nor am I inclined td adopt the 
supposition that the civilised Britons were the founders of 
those crosses, which have generally been regarded as Scandi- 
navian. On the whole the probability is in favour of a Saxon 
origin of this monument. The Saxons used the sign of the 
cross on many occasions ; and so highly did they venerate this 


sacred symbol, that they always affixed it to their s^patiire^ 
even whether they could write or not : hence, no doubt, arose 
the custom of making a cross instead of writing a name^ a 
custom which is recognised as a valid mode of signature on 
the most important occasions. 

Mr. Ciarkey F. S. A. in a letter addressed to Mr. Britton, 
the author of the Architectural Antiquities of Britain, says, 
«< the cross became a part of the decoration of every church 
and of every altar.. It was employed in every sacred rite, 
and occurred in the diplomas as an inviolable test -of every 
compact ; lior can we be surprised to find it sculptured on so 
many of our public monuments, when designed to excite sen- 
timents of piety or compassion ; or on land-marks 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 reverenc€l towards the 
mysteries at which they were about to be present. On the 
high road the cross was frequently placed with a view to call 
the thoughts of the passenger to a sense c^ religion, and to 
restrain me predatory excursions of robbers. In the market- 
place it was a signal for upright intention and fair dealing, 
and was in every place designed as a check upon a worldly 
spirit." — The preceding extract is taken from the first volume 
of " The Architectural Antiquities of Great Britain,'* 
by J. Britton, F. S. A., and its introduction here has affin-ded 
me an opportunity of paying a tribute of respect to the author 
of that excellent and splendid work. With a spirit not less 
enlarged than honourable to himself, he has undertaken a 
series of successive productions, equally interesting and im^ 
portant in their object; and, if possible, more beautifully 
executed. It would be a libel on the ta$te of tlie country to 
suppose that this deserving author was not even now enjoying 
the rich reward of his exertions. He may truly be regarded 
as the patron of those artists, whose labours, in conjunction 
with his own, will probably preserve the recollection of many 
a beautiful specimen of Gothic architecture, even when the 
structure itself has mouldered into ruins. 

We likewise noticed in Eyam church-yard a cemetery, or 
family burial {Jace, of a singular construction. It is an ob- 
long structure, formed by eight stone columns placed «t 
jegular distances, and surmounted with urns, the intervening 
space between the columns beii^ built up with stone wallinff ; 
and on two aides are fimall iron^grated windows, not unlike 


the light-holes in a prison. Originally iJiis boilding had a 
iieayy leaden roo^ which is now removed. Nothing in this 
place appertaining to the dead, appears to have been held 
sacred. It was ^^ thrift, thrift, Horatio," that unplumed this 
repository. The material which covered this house of de- 
parted mortals, like the trees that lately distinguished the 
tomb of Mrs. Mompesson, was of value ; the roof was an 
accommodation not necessary for the dead, and the produce 
mi^ht be useful to the living; it was therefore taken down 
and sold to die best bidder. This, though not a very 
delicate mode of proceeding, is, at any rate, making the most 
of one's ancestors. 

This church-yard appears to be poetic ground ; scarcely a 
stone but has its distich commemorative of the virtues of the 
deceased, and the sorrows of surviving relatives. The follow- 
ing inscription, which is sufficiently whimsical to amuse the 
reader, may be found on a humble tablet, placed against the 
south side of the church, near the (x)mb of Mrs. Mompesson : 
I have preserved the spelling, and the division of the lines, as 
they occur upon the stone. 













Many of the modern epitaphs in this burial place are by 
the Rev. R. Cunninghame, who was the officiating curate of 
£yam Church nearly eighteen years, and who often strewed 
upon the graves of those he buried, the offerings of his not 
*' unlettered muse." The following stanzas, inscribed upon 
a stone to the memory of a young man of the name of Froftgat^ 
exhibit a fair specimen of the style and manner of those littlp 
productions, on which he was frequently employed. 

** How eloquent the monumental stone, 

** Where blooming modest virtues prostrate lie, 

" Where pure religion from her hallowed throne, 
"** Tdlls man — it is an awful thing to die. 

48 cunninghame's poems. 

<< Is happiness thy aim ? or death thy fear ? 

** Learn how their path with glory may be trod, 
" From the lamented youth who slumbers here, 

** Who gave the glory of his days to God.** 

Some of Cunninghame*s compositions were amongst the 
earliest of my poetic readings, and I therefore remember them 
with pleasure and afiection. He was a poet, studied in the 
school of Gray and Mason; elegant and tasteful in expression, 
rich in imagination, and often highly animated in description; 
but cold in feeling. His lines, mcfugh generally graceful, and 
not unfrequently polished to excellence, are occasionally cum- 
brous and sluggish, from a redundance of epithet. His mind 
was amply fraught with the rich stores of classic literature, 
on which he liberally drew to embellish his productions, and 
which he sometimes used with a commanding skill and an 
enviable felicity. As a poet he had many beauties chequered 
with a considerable portion of defect. If, in the estimation of 
the reader, the accuracy of the preceding remarks be not 
established by the following quotation, let him be reminded 
that they have a general application to whatever I have read 
from the pen of Cunninghame, and not a particular one to the 
passages here selected, which are introduced not with a view 
to their justification, but to induce an enquiry after those pro- 
ductions of his muse that are worthy of being preserved. 
Collected together, they might do honour to his memory; 
and if they did not add much to the stock of poetic excellence, 
they might, at least, contribute to the gratification and amuse- 
ment of mankind. 

Three of his poems, the Naval Triumph, the Russian 
Prophecy, and his Chatsworth, were written during his 
residence at Eyam, and were published separately about 
thirty years ago. His Chatsworth,. which opens with an 
apostrophe to the " dells and woodlands wild" of Derbyshire, 
is, throughout, a very pleasing poem, and contains a number 
of fine passages. Being strongly characterised by the pe- 
culiar traits of his poetry, I have ventured to extract entire a 
few of the first stanzas. 

** Ye dells and woodlands wild, in song unknown, 

** Receive a wanderer's tributary strains, 
** Here wont to muse, where nature on her throne 

" Id awful solitary grandeur reigns. 

cunninorame's poems* 49 

** And ve, sublime sequestering mountains, hail ! 

•* whose hoary ridges waving pines adorn, 
** Where roseate health that courts the vernal gale, 

** Hears the shrill sky-lark wake the blushing mom. 
• Struck with th' inspiring scenes, your bard hath rung 

* His sylvan shell till orient suns have hurl'd 
** Their latent beams, and Hesperus hath hung 

** His diamond lustre o'er the peaceful wond. 
** Nor when the vernal Pleiads cease to rise, 

** When summer to his southern courts retires, 
*« Nor less when snow-robed winter rules the skies, 

* His awful reign the poet's soul inspires. 

** Tis thine, stem power, to raise his soaring song, 

" When the pim tempest hovers on thy brows, 
** Or night's pale spctres glide thy wastes along, 

« When heaven's blue cope with streaming brilliance glows. 

'* On storm-clad Zembla's unfreauented. shores 

** The wandering mariner, by fortune tost, 
*• While the rough ocean round him raving roars, 

** Thus views with awe stupendous piles of frost. 

** Where on eternal winter's ice-built throne 

" Pale lingering suns a pensive radiance throw, 
** And but the shagsy sullen bear alone, 

** Tracks his wildrealm of ever-during snow. 

^ But chief amidst thy proudly pendant groves, 

" Majestic Chatsworth ! and thy fair domains, 
** The Muse with loitering step delighted roves, 

<* Or thoughtful meditates her sylvan strains. 

** There in receding Scorpio's tranouil hour, 

** She loves, sweet Autumn ! in Uiy train to hear 
** The red-breast, hid in golden foliage, pour, * 

" Slow-warbled requiems o'er the parting year. 

" Or wrapt in fancy's bright elysian dream,^ 
" She wanders, Derwent ! where, with lingering pride, 

^ The amber-tressed Naiads of thy stream 

** Through bending woods and vales luxuriant glide. 

** Fair, when the parting sun's mild golden light 

** A mellower radiance on thy bosom throws, 
** But fairer when the olver beams of night 

" With trembling lustre on thy stream repose. 

** On Latmos thus, as Grecian bards have sung, ^ 
" When Night's fair Queen forsook her starry road 

** And o'er Endymion's face enamour'd hunc, 
<* His sleeping form with silver radiance ^ow'd. 

** And thus near fair Florentia's shining towers, 

" Her Amo's tide, immortalized in song, 
** Rolls from her silver ura through myrtle bowers, 

** And purple vineyards lucidly along. 


** Oh ! could my ren9 iminortalize thy ] 

** Derwent ! thy praise in «ong should ever flow 
^ With dulcet murmurs and increasing fame, 

" Like yellow Tiber, or resounding Po." 

I cannot dismiss the preceding extract without particularly 
noticing the picture in the seventh stanza of the "unfrequented 
shores of Nova Zembla." The ice-built throne of eternal 
winter, on which pale lingering suns shed a pensive radiance, 
and the shaggy Bullen bear prowling alone through his wild 
realm of ever-during snow, are happy and appropriate images, 
that have been selected with judgment, and disposed with fe- 
licity. There is altogether a dreariness, a desolation, and a 
chilling coldness in the scene here described, which may be 
sensibly felt. The stanza on the red-breast — the bird of 
autumn, hid in golden foliage, and singing her " slow warbled 
requiems o'er the parting year,'* is genuine poetry : it is 
** music, image, sentiment, and thought." 

In a subsequent passage the author pays an elegant tribute 
to his favourite river, the Derwent, when beheld under the 
effect of moonlight, or, as he poetically expresses it, " when 
the silver beams of night with trembling lustre on its stream 
repose ;" -and the comparison that follows, " where night's 
fiur queen forsakes her starry road," and hangs enamoured 
o'er the face of Endymion, whose sleeping form glows with 
the silver radiance that emanates from her, is exquisitely 
beautiful, and I believe original. This is a charming subject 
for the pencil, and I remember seeing seme years ago an old 
painting of the Italian school, in which it was treated with 
great taste and feeling, and executed with a most fascinating 
effect. The stillness and repose of Endymion were uninter- 
rupted by the pleasant images that evidently played round 
his fancy in asleep, while the figure of Diana, of feminine grace, 
and sofmess, and light and buoyant as the clouds on which 
she rode, hung enamoured over him, or rather seemed to steal 
a kiss from his forehead as she passed ; his sleeping form 
glowing at the same time with the mild light poured upon him. 
It was a combination of loveliness, and altogether one of the 
sweetest little pictures I recollect having beheld. To this 
circumstance, perhaps, my admiration of Cunninghame's poet- 
ical picture may be partly ascribed. I have likewise a recol- 
lection of the same subject being attempted in bas-relief, by 
Rossi, but not with equal success. 

Cunninghame's next poem, "The Russ^r^N Prophecy," 


was written in the year 1785; and was, as he informs us, oc- 
casioned by a remarkable phenomenon in the heavens, said to 
have been observed in Russia, Feb. 19th; a particukr account 
ot which was given m the Gentleman's Magazine, July 1785 
page 5Sl. In this poem the jzenius of Russia foretcls the de-' 
chne and extinction of the Ottoman Empire, and the esta- 
blishment of a Russian dynasty on the throne of Constanti- 
nople- It IS a very spirited production, and contains some* 
exceUent stanzas, which I regret cannot be quoted in connec- 
tion with each other widiout making the extracts too volumin- 
ous. His description of the approach of the Russians is 
highly ammated. 

" See where the fierce Muscovian eagles Ay, 

** As consdous of their heaven-devoted prey, 
" Hang like the night o*er all the Thracian sky, 

" And strike the turban'd legions with dismay. 
** See the grey Mufti smites his troubled breast 

" Within his mosque, with gleaming crescents crown'd. 
" And dashes, fill'd with Araby the blest, 

" His fuming censer on th* embroidered ground. 
•• Big with the fates of oriental powers, 

** See where sublime her ♦ eagle genius soars. 

** Her eynr builds on Theodosia's towers, 

" And flies in triumph round her Euxine shores." 

The poet then pourtrays some of the happy results of the 
accomplishment of his prophecy, and he anticipates the revival 
of Greece in all its glory. 

"Near lucid fountains, where the muses trod, 

** Lo ! Poesy her new bom laurel rears, 
** That at a sultan's torpor-shedding nod, 
** Slept a long triple century of years.f 
** I see o'er each poetic mountain roam 

" Shades of great bards, reviving freedom's fire, 
** By genius welcomed to her Grecian home 

** With hymns of rapture on his classic lyre." 

His poem called the Naval Triumph, written in comme- 
moration of the victory obtained over the French fleet, under 
the command of Admiral De Grasse, by Lord Rodney, on the 
1 2th of April, 1 782, contains the following picture of detraction, 
which, with the exception of an incongruous image in the last 
line, is a spirited sketch, and it afibrds a fair specimen of the 
general style of Cunninghame's versification. 

• The late Empress of Russia. 

t Constantinople wag taken by the Turkish Sultan, Mahomet, May «d; 

£ 2 

59 cunnikohame's poems^ 

** And see where foul Detraction rears her head, 
" 'Midst the rude clamours of a sordid throng; 

" Her bloatc»d form, with venom'd rumours fed, 
^ She rolls, with snaky glance, her folds along ; 

** Breathes her dark vapours on the victor's crest, 

^ And plants, with hand unseen, her dagger in his breast.'* 

The eloquent Burke, it appears, participated at this time 
nn what the poet has chosen to characterize as the *^ rude cla- 
mours of a sordid throng/' 

** He from whose lips such elocution flows^ 
" As peace to stormy senates can impart; 
" He, who widi softness of the feather'd snows, 
'* Falls on the sense, then melts into the heart; 
** Not he upon whose lips prophetic hung 
** The clustering bees — more sweet or more divinely sung." 

The third and fourth lines in the preceding stanza are in* 
imitably fine, though the simile itself is borrowed fi*om Homer. 
They likewise suggest the recollection of a very beautiful coup* 
let in Burns, which.Cunninghame could not have seen. 

^ Or as the snow falls in the river, 

^ A moment white — then gone for ever." 

The subsequent extract is from a poem to the memory of 
R. R. Esq., in which the writer intimates that it is the peciuiar 
office of the muse to consecrate her sweetest strains to departed 
yirtue. Many of the lines are beautiful, and one cannot but 
regret that he did not oflener use the same versification. 

** For this the muse, the plaintive muse was given, 
** Tndn'd in the lore and melodies of heaven ; 
" For this the sweetest lyres of yore were strung, 
'* Departed idrtues graced the poet's tongue : 
** To each bright name the muse fresh lustre gave, 
^ And taught the living to defy the grave. 
** — What art thou, life ! unless some fairer sky 
** Cheer other worlds where virtue ne'er can die ? 
" What is thy dream of happiness we prize ? 
^ Btt a fair blossom that expands and dies ; 
" Unless some bright reversion gild the scene 
•* Where life ne'er fades, nor pain can intervene, 
" Where hope ne'er sickens, where the cup of joy 
" No tears embitter and no deaths destroy. 
•* There, only there, affliction finds her stay, 
** Looks up reviving to the realms of day : 
** Sees by the eve of faith her prospects bloosp^ 
*' Beyond the dreary horrors of the tomb; 
* Sees death divested of her awful frown,— 
** —Sees future immortality her own." 


Having indulged thus liberally in quotation, I have i 
sarily circumscribed the space that, otherwise, might have been 
devoted to a more ample account of the writer. The Rev. R. 
Cunningfaame left the village of Eyam in the year 1790; 
where, ** through evil and good report,'' he had spent the 
flower of his days. Though now not exactly in the decline 
of life, he was yet not yoiuig, and his mode of living had left 
him poor ; he was, therefore, under the necessity of selling all 
that he possessed, even his books, to enable him, as he ex- 
presses it, *^ to encounter the expensive outset of die new life 
he was entering upon." In a letter to one of his friends, 
written the week befoce his departure, and which is now be- 
fore me, he says, *^ I am disposing of all my books and every 
thing else, as you may suppose I shall need all the money 1 
can raise to encounter the very expensive outset of the new 
life I am entering upon ; and, from what I can discover, I 
must chiefly depend upon myself for the means. You have a set 
of the elegant Swinburne's Travels in Spain belonging to me : 
they cost me 6s. a volume; if you choose to purchase mem you 
sluJl have them for 10^. 6d.; which you will be so good as to 
remit me munediately, or the books, that I may dispose of 
them elsewhere. I ^ould suppose you will have an oppor- 
tunity of doing either by R. Blackwall or the old post on Sun- 
day. By those carrier pigeons you can likewise oblige me with 
the copy I desired ; I wish my circumstances enabled me to 
o£kr you the books gratuitously. But, alas ! — " 

The majority of Mr. Cunninghame's parishioners were poor 
and ignorant, and he strove to better their manners and im- 
prove their situation in life by informing their minds. His 
attention to the education of the youth of the village was, at 
one time, truly exemplary ; regardless of pecuniary compens- 
ation, he took them under his tuition, and devoted much of his 
time to their improvement. So long, indeed, as he remained 
at Eyam none were permitted to want instruction; hence he 
was beloved, and the grateful recollections of his pupils still 
dwell upon his name with delight. His farewell sermon, and 
the efiects which it produced, are well remembered and fre- 
quently mentioned, even at the present day : it was a compo- 
sition of great eloquence and the most powerfril pathos, frill of 
recollected kindness, and delivered in the tenderest tones of 
aflection. This sermon was never printed, but some copies 
were circulated in manuscript among his hearers, after he had 
bidden them a last farewell. These are yet preserved with 

E S 


something like a religious veneration ; and I have occasionally 
seen them brought n-om the place where they were carefully 
deposited, and viewed and contemplated with a melancholy 
feeling of reverence and regret, that forcibly indicated how 
strongly attached the villagers of Eyam yet are to the name of 

Oh leaving Eyam he obtained an appointment as chaplain 
to the English factory at Smyrna, where he remained for 
several years. There he was singularly unfortunate : in the 
Archipelago he almost miraculously escaped from shipwreck ; 
and at Smyrna, where he was involved in equal peril by the 
casual occurrence of a fire, his life was narrowly preserved, 
and he lost his papers and manuscripts in the conflagration. 

A residence at Smyrna was banishment to Cunninghame, 
and he soon determined to revisit his native country. Return- 
ing homeward, an English lady, who had become acquainted 
with his misfortunes, his merits, and his wants, presented him 
with a volume of poetry, which she remarked might occa* 
sionally amuse him on his way. Desolate, unknown, without 
friends or money, far from home, and travelling on foot 
through Germany on his way to Paris, he sustained much 
fatigue and suffered many privations. Approaching a town 
on the borders of Hungary, ailer a hard day's journey, he sat 
down to reflect on his forlorn condition, when he took his 
volume of poetry from his pocket, for the first time, and read 
to relieve his mind from the pressure of those unpleasant 
thoughts and gloomy presagings that now began to harass and 
torment him. Reading was a pleasure which he had not en- 
joyed for several days; a particular poem had been recom- 
mended to his perusal by his female friend, and he anxiously 
turned to the page, where he found, " close nestled within the 
leaves," a note, or order, for fifly pounds : thus delicately did 
an amiable woman contrive to administer to the necessities of 
a stranger in a foreign land. 

Shortly after his return to the country he iso reluctantly had 
lefl:, he undertook the duties of a humble curacy in the vicinitv 
of London, a situation which he soon relinquished for a small 
living, obtained for him through the influence of the Devonshire 
family, during the last short administration of that friend of 
his country, Charles James Fox. This he did not long enjoy. 
Invited to preach an annual sermon to a society at Isungton, 
to whom he had become endeared, he attended and dined with 
the members, after delivering to them his last and one of his 


best discourses. He appeared in perfect heakh and high in 
spirits, but soon after the cloth was removed, while conversing 
with a gentleman near him, he fell back in his chair, and im- 
mediatdv expired without a sigh or a groan : such was die end 
of Cunmnghame. Enough has been said to excite an enquiry 
after his poedc effusions, even if thej are worthy of being re- 
membered and preserved, and, certainly, too much if they are 
not* The local history of Eyam has afforded an opportunity, 
of which I have gladly availed myself, of devoting a few pages 
to the memory of a man who was once the admiration of all 
who knew him, afterwards the object of their pity, and lastly 
of their condemnation. Contemplating his character, as pre- 
sented to us by the Rev. Mr. Seward in his farewell sermon to 
his congregation at Eyam, how amiable does it appear ! who 
would wish to turn his eyes from such a picture to nx them on 
one less perfect ? 

^^ I hope and trust,'' says Mr. Seward, ^^ that I shall return 
to you and fi-equently address you from this pulpit; but, in 
the mean time, I have the greatest consolation and joy that I 
leave you under the care of so excellent a preacher ; whose 
piety to God, whose delight in the pe;;formance of the duties 
of his office, whose amiable, engaging, courteous, and affec- 
tionate behaviour to the rich, and condescending, affable, and 
charitable treatment to his poorer neighbours, is a continued 
living sermon to us all, and has so endeared him to us already, 
that he has become our general friend, our delight, and our 
joy. Like holy Job, when the ear heareth him then it blesseth 
him, and when the eye seeth him it giveth witness to him : one 
hearer telleth another how rational and clear he is in his ar- 
guments, how affecting and convincing he is in his persuasions, 
and how zealous and devout in his pi ayers ; and one neigh- 
bour certifieth to another how cheerful he is in his common 
conversation, how candid and charitable in his opinions and 
characters of others, and how ready in showing pity to all who 
are in the least distress. Think not that I have put so much 
of the pulpit duty upon him, since we have been here together, 
through idleness and indolence ; no, it was that I would not 
disappoint so many longing ears that wished to hear him ; it 
was that I rejoiced at the occasion of really preferring his 
sermons to my own, and of giving so eminent and worthy, 
though so young a man, the right hand of fellowship : grey 
hairs may receive instruction from his lips, and the aged bow 

£ 4 


down to bim, and that because he keepeth the commandments 
of the Lord, and delighteth in the law of his God." 

Eyam, in the person of Miss Seward, iiumishes another and 
a more successful candidate for literary honours. Her claim 
to notice in the history of her native village cannot be dis- 
regarded here, though her talents as an author are too well 
known to admit of much controversy, and almost every cir- 
cumstance of her life is already before the public. She was 
born at Eyam, where her earliest years were* spent at the 
residence of her father, previously to his removal to Litchfield. 
A. manuscript from the pen of Mr. William Newton, of Cress- 
brook Dale, to whom she gave the honourable appellation of 
the Peak Minstrel, strongly expresses her attachment to the 
place of her birth. He had a personal knowledge of this 
eminent female : I have therefore chosen to use his language 
rather than my own. " In this seat of inspiration," he ,ob- 
serves, ^^ she passed many of her earliest years, and I have 
heard her say in more advanced life, her eyes swimming in 
delight, that in her childhood rambles about her native village, 
the views of the Alpine scenery around her first elicited the 
poetic spark, which afterwards mounted into as pure and as 
bright a flame as ever issued from the altar of the Muses." 

The same manuscript, when speaking of the blandishments 
of her conversation, and her various accomplishments, adds — 
*^ the grace and elegance of her form were equal to the ener- 
gies of her mind and the brilliancy of her imagination. Bom 
and nurtured in the bosom of those mountains which gave her 
birth, I knew her very earlv in life, and when she was in her 
twentieth year, to her might have been applied the language 
of one of our most eminent writers, • I saw her at ***, and 
surely never lighted upon this earth, which she scarcely seemed 
to touch, a more delightfiil vision.' " 

To high personal accomplishments and great mental acqui- 
sitions. Miss Seward added benevolence of heart, sweetness of 
disposition, and an enthusiasm in her fiiendships and affections 
that was idmost unbounded ; but *^ the most amiable trait in 
her character," Mr. Newton observes, " was her filial piety.'* 
In the latter years of her father's life he shared the fate of 
Swift, Steele, Marlborough, and other men of superior 
talents and great sensibility. In die paroxysms of his disorder 
she attendedf his bedside, and for whole nights I have known 
her watch him with the kindest and most sedulous attention, 
administering to him his cordials and medicines with her own 


hand : and I have seen the tears of joy trickle down her chedk 
when she found him in a ludd moment. It was her delight, 
as it was her honom*, 

^ To rock the cradle of dedining age." 

Miss Seward was removed firom Eyam early in life, yet so 
strong was her attachment to her native viUace, and so de- 
lighthil were the recollections that it revived, that she made a 
pilgrimage to it every year of her life ; and many of her letters 
evince that she visited it with an enthusiastic affection. 

From the many volumes of Miss Seward's letters which 
have been published, she may be regarded more as a writer of 
prose than poetry. They manifest an intimate acquaintance 
with polite literature, and occasionally they display a consider- 
able portion of critical taste ; at the same time they have more 
of the stateliness and formality of studied lectures, than the 
ease and &miliarity of private and friendly correspondence. 
In their production the head has evidently been more con- 
sulted than the heart. 

The history of Miss Seward's life is too well known, and 
her talents as a writer too accurately appreciated, to require 
any illustration from the pen of a Pe^ Tourist ; but her 
poetic character, and some circumstances connected with it, 
are sufficiently important and interesting to justify the critical 
observations that are here indulged. 

Cunninghame, from his friendly connexion with Miss Se- 
ward, his admiration of her powers, and the fascination of her 
manners, had become one of her imitators in verse, and his 
talents as a poet were at one time the theme of her commend- 
ation, and at another the object of her unfriendly animad- 
versions: yet his sins in verse, whatever they were, may 
partly be charged upon herself; she it was who first seduced 
him from the ease and simplicity of nature, and taught him 
to indulge in those splendid trickeries and glittering corus- 
cations of artful composition, with which her works too much 
abound. Early in life she appears to have been under the in- 
fluence of this errdr in judgment, if I may so term it ; and the 
maturer. compositions of her riper years, though they evince 
a more vigorous imagination and a greater command ^f lan- 
guage, are neverthekss tainted with this predominating fault. 
Jrerhaps her frequent association with the eccentric Dr. Dar- 

56 MI88 SBWARD. 

win, when lie resided ftt litchfidd, was but little calculated to 
improve her taste. A fire that sparkles and daszles, bat 
warms not, pervades the productions of both these writers of 
modem poetry : pictures for the eye, and not the mind, crowd 
their respective canvasses, and towards the close of their in- 
timate connexion there was a marvellous assimilation in the 
style and construction of their verse. It was late in life when 
T>r. Darwin appeared before the public in the character of a 
poet: there can, however, be no doubt but long previous 
study was required, and much mechanical construction and 
management practised, before he could so eminently succeed 
in e1i£orating his versification into such splendid feebleness. 
In this unprofitable labour he was probably assisted by Miss 
Seward, and the lines that occupy the first four or five pages 
of the Botanic Garden, and which are the exordium of the 
poem, appear to warrant the supposition ; they were published 
originally as Miss Seward's, in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
eight or nine years before the Botanic Garden blazed on the 
literary world. She has claimed them as her own, by a last 
solemn act, and they appear as her's in the volumes of her 
works edited by Walter Scott, to whom her papers were en- 
trusted for publication. Dr. Darwin, without any acknow- 
ledgment that he had received them* from another, has used 
them as his property, and they certainly afford a fair and 
ample specimen of the general style and manner of the whole 
work. They contain his pecuuar beauties, and they are 
marked with his faults. It is, however, remarkable that Miss 
Seward never reclaimed those lines till after Dr. Darwin's 
death. There was a reason why the Doctor should permit 
diem orlgmally (supposing they were his own) to be errone* 
ously ascribed to Miss Seward ; namely, that his great work 
was not even known to be in contemplation, much less in pro- 
gress, for many years after the appearance of these introduc- 
tory lines. If Miss Seward had been the inventor of this 
peculiar form of verse, the ground-work of it at least would 
have been traceable in all her poems ; whereas it is only found, 
in a high degree, in her Elegy on Captain Cook, many pas- 
sages -of which are so thoroughly in the style of Dr. Darwin, 
both with respect to diction and illustration, that it seems as 
probable that he was the author of them, as that Miss Seward 
was the writer of the lines in question. Her largest poems in 
the heroic measure — the Monody on Major Andre, and 


1^ the poetic novel of Louisa, scarcely bear a mark of the Dar- 

iti.r winian cadence of metre, and are but little assimilated in 

^ imageiy to the manner of the author of the Botanic Gardsh, 

'^T' throughout all whose works this peculiar manner 4>revails. In 

^ him it is an original characteristic ; in Miss Seward it is evi- 

dently only incidental and imitative^ 



William PeveriL — Eyam Mineral Charter, — Hammer of 
Thor. — Dnddical Circle and Ancient Barrens — Effects of 
an Earthquake in a Mine on Eyam Edge. 

When William the Conqueror, after the overthrow of 
Harold at the battle of Hastings, found himself at leisure to 
attend to the distribution of the lands which his prowess had 
obtained, he bestowed the Peak of Derbyshire upon his 
natural son William Peveril, whom he appointed lord and 
governor of the counties of Nottingham and Derby. The 
rich domains thus acquired continued in the family of the 
Peverils until the reign of Henry the Second, who deprived 
the then possessor of his honours and his lands, on a charge 
of poisoning Ranulph, Earl of Chester. The correctness of 
the accusation was hardly disputable, and he ignominiously 
fled to another country, stigmatised with the character of a 
murderer: so terminated the brief honours of this once 
wealthy &mily. Afterwards Richard the First gave and 
confirmed to his brother John, then flarl of Mortaine, the 
<^ counties of Nottingham, Lancaster, and Derby, with the 
honours belonging to them, and also the honour of Peveril." * 
Those parts of Derbyshire which are included under the 
general denomination of the King's Field, are subject to the 
operation of a peculiar system of mineral law, which declares 
<^ that by the custom of the mine it is lawfiil for all the King's 
liege people to dig, delve, search, subvert, and overturn, all 
manner of grounds, lands, meadows, closes, pastures, mears, 
and marshes, for ore-mines, of *a)hose inheritance soever they 
beg dwelling-houses, orchards, and gardens, excepted." From 
the inconvenient effects of this comprehensive and sweeping 
clause, the freehold tenures of the parish of Eyam are happily 
exempt, in consequence of a mineral charter granted by King 
John, when Earl of Mortaine, previously to nis being created 
Duke of Lancaster. 

• Cambden. 


From King John the Eyam estate descended to the Stafford 
family, on whom it was bestowed in consideration of certain 
military services, and on the express condition ** that a lamp 
should be kept perpetually burning before the altar of St. He» 
len, in the parish church of Eyam/' The lamp has ceased to 
bum, and Uie estate has passed'into other hands : it now con- 
stitutes a part of .the immense property of his Grace the Duke 
of Devonshire. 

In the reign of Richard the Second, a period when the 
rights of the subject were but inaccurately defined, and his 
liberty but imperfectly secured by law, a violent and out- 
rageous assault was made on one of the Staffords, who was at 
that time lord of the manor of Eyam. Attacked by an armed 
force when in the bosom of his domestics, he was forcibly 
carried away from his home to the residence of his enemy, 
and there detained close prisoner until he was ransomed by 
his fi*iends. A new mansion was erecting for the last of the 
Staffords who resided at Eyam, at the time of the plague^ 
when the family left the place never to return : the buildings 
part of which yet remains, was never finished. 

The wild moorlands which surround ,this village have 
lately been brought into cultivation, a circumstance that has 
obliterated the traces of many mountain tumuli which were 
before conspicuous : some, evidently of a very ancient date, 
in which urns, bones, and arrow heads, were found, have 
lately been opened on Eyam Moor ; and not &r from Huck- 
low, a brazen axe and a beautifully polished stone hammer, 
supposed to have been used by the Druids in sacrifice, were 
turned up by the plough : they are now in Mr. Bird's col- 

The hammer was the weapon or sceptre of Thor, one of 
the Gods of the Saxons, who long possessed this part of the 
country, and where undoubtedly they had erected altars to 
their divinities. It is therefore probable that this hammer 
may be a Saxon, and not a Druidical relique. Whatever 
may have been its use, the instrument has evidently been 
mann&ctured with the nicest care, and as it appears not to 
have been intended for common occasions, the supposition of 
its Saxon origin may not be entirely groundless. In the 
Honourable W. Herbert^s Miscellaneous Poetry, published 
in 1804, there is a very curious and romantic ballad, called 
<* The Sono of Thrym, or the Recovery op the Ham- 
mer.'' Thor was the Mars of the Scandinavians, and the 


hammer was not only the symbol but the depository of his 
power. Thrym» the King of the Thursi, bemg acquainted 
yMli this important secret, stole upon the god in his hour of 
sleep, and carried away this mysterious ensLzn of his prowess. 
He now demands that Freyia, the wife of Tnor, shall become 
the partner of his bed, and he declares that on no other terms 
shall the hammer be restored. This proposition su^;ests the 
adoption of a mischievous stratagem; and Thrym's fit of love, 
which, like many a mortal attachment, was fraught with ruin, 
becomes the means of his destruction. 

** High on a mound, in haughty state, ' 

"* Tl]^, the King of the Thursi, sate; 

** For his do^ he was twutinc: collars of golj^ 

'* And trimming the manes ofliis coursers bold. 

• ••••• 

*< He had the thunderePs hammer bound 
" Fathoms eight beneath the ground : 

• • • • • • 

" Then busked thejr Thor as a bride so fair, 

** And the great bright necklace save him to wear ; 

** Round him let ims the spousafkeys, 

** And a maiden kirtle hang to his kneet ; 

** And on his bosom jewels rare, 

** And high and quaintly braided his hair." 

Thus disguised, he visits Thrym, who as an earnest of his 
*^ love and fondness," commands his attendants to *^ bear in 
the hammer to plight the maid." The hammer is laid upon 
the lap of Thor ; nis strength immediately returns, and he 
finds himself once more mighty in power. The enormous 
supper he had just made would have unfitted any mortal for 
great and extraordinary undertakings, but it was die r^ale of 
a God, and we find him not only exempt fi'om the stupifying 
influence of good eating but prepared for the most active ana 
important exertions. The poet informs us that, 

'^ He at^ alone 
** Sii( salmons and an ox full grown, 
**' And all the cates on which women feed, 

<^ And drank three firkins of sparkling meed. 

• • • • • • 

" The thunderer's soul smiled in his breast 

** When the hammer hard on his lap was placed : 

•* Thrvm first, the King of the Thursi, he slew, 

•< And slaughtered all the giant crew. — 

? He slew that giant's sister old 

^ Who prayed for bridal gifts so bold ; 

'* Instead of money and rings, I wot, 

" The hammer's bruises were her lot. 

'— «-^ Thus Odia*s son his hammer got.'* 


The district^ included under the general denomination of 
Eyam Moor, occupies a space of sereral miles. In one di- 
rection it extends to Bretton, and in another to the vicinity of 
Highlow. Spears, and arrow heads, axes, hatchets, and 
other remains of antiquity, have been frequently found in this 
wild moor ; and very recently, before the introduction of the 
plough, it contained one of the most perfect and interesting 
barrows in the Peak of Derbyshire. Near this ancient place 
of sepulture, the remains of a druidical circle are yet to be 
seen, the circumference is about nineteen yards, and a rude 
altar of unhewn stone occupies the centre of the area. The 
adjacent barrow is indisputably of remote antiquity, and it is 
formed by a circle of stones, which includes a space of greater 
extent. In the middle of this circle there is, or rather 'voas, a 
mound composed of an admixture of earth and stones : on 
opening this mound an unbs^ed urn was found, containing 
human bones, an arrow head of flint, and some fragaaents of 
the charcoal with which the body had been burnt. That this 
was the cemetery of some person of distinction, is highly pro- 
bable, and the peculiarity of its construction might induce one 
to ascribe it to the Danes, had not the arrow head of flint been 
found within it; a circumstance which intimates that it was 
formed antecedent to the use of metals in this country. A 
part of Eyam Moor, called Wet-withins, is the site of this 
interesting monument of antiquity. 

Wormius, describing the &neral ceremonies of the Danes 
in that early period of their history which he denominates the 
age of burning, says, ^^ The defunct was brought out into the 
fields near the highway or estate that belonged to him while 
living, where they made an oblong place with great stones, 
for the reception of the body, and there burnt it, collecting 
the ashes into an urn, round which they set great stones ; then 
with sand, gravel, or earth, they threw up a little hillock in 
form of a mound." The same writer afterwards details the 
mode of sepulture which succeeded to that of burning, from 
which it seems highly probable that both methods were occa- 
sionally united. Some of the barrows that have been opened 
in Derbyshire, and particularly one near Ashford, are con- 
firmatory of this opinion. " The body," Wormius observes, 
*' was brought entire with its ornaments, and laid unbumt in 
the middle of a large circle of stones : then over it they raised 
a mount of earth, &c. These mounts were sometimes plain, 
made only of earthy and cast up Uke a cone, and sometimes 


they were ornamented with a circle of stones s but this wad 
only for their generals and great men/' 

That these modes of burial existed in all countries with 
which we are acquainted at a very early period, is evident 
both from historical and poetical record. Strutt, in his 
account of the Manners and the Customs of the Ancient 
Saxons, tells us in a note, vol. i. page 18, '< that Woden made 
a law that the bodies of the dead slam in battle should be burnt, 
together with their arms, ornaments, and money; and over 
the ashes of their kings and heroes, to raise large mils of earth ; 
and on the sepulchres of those who had performed great and 
glorious actions to erect high monuments, inscribed with Runic 
characters." The custom of burning the dead and depositing 
their ashes in urns, probably originated in those correct and 
better feelings to which many of our ancient usages may be 
referred. Respect for the dead is a sentiment that seems to 
have been interwoven with our nature, although in times of 
semi-barbarism it may occasionally have been contemned or 
neglected. Achilles conquered Hector, and then dragged his 
dead body round the walls of Troy ; an unmanly outrage, 
which may be traced to a ferocious practice, rather than to a 
want of decorous and honourable feeling. Burning the dead 
became therefore a pious duty, and the performance of this 
ceremony was sometimes necessary to preserye the body of a 
fisdlen hero from being ill-treated and mangled by a cruel 
enemy. Hence, no doubt, arose this ancient custom ; and it 
was the peculiar privilege of the next of kin carefully to collect 
the bones and ashes of the deceased, and place them in an urn 
for sepulture. 

The spoils of war, the weapons of dead chieftains, and the 
bones of animals, have been frequentiy found in those barrows 
which have been opened in Derbyshire and other parts of the 
kingdom ; and the poetic reader cannot fail to recognise the 
existence of a similar mode of interment in the days of Homer 
and Virgil. What a sublime tumulus Homer has thrown over 
the ashes of Achilles ! and how interesting is the ceremony of 
consigning his remains to their last earthly home, as described 
by him in the twenty^ fourth book of his Odyssey. 

'* To flames we gave thee, the succeeding day, 

*^ And fatted sheep and sable oxen slay ; 

^ With oils and honey blaze th' augmented fires, 

'' And like a God adorn'd, thy earthlv part expires : 

** Soon as absorbed in all embracing 4ame, 

** Sunk what was mortfd of thy mighty name^ 


" We then collect thy snowy bone«, and plac^, 

" With wines and unguents, in a golden vase.— < 

" Now all the sons of warlike Greece surround 

^ Thy destin*d tomb, and cast a mighty mound ; 

" High on the shore the growing hm we raise, 

<' That wide the extended Hellespont surveys ; 

** Where all, from age to age, who pass the coast, 

'^ May point Achilles* tomb, and hail the mighty ghost/' 

Virgil, in the eleventh book of his ^neis, has riven a very 
minute and interesting description of the funeral of Pallas, 
and it closes with a few lines that beautifully refer to the last 
sad office which the living had then to perform for the dead* 

" The conquer*d Latians, with like pious care, 
** Files without number for their dead prepare i 
** Part in the places where they fell are laid, 

" And part are to the neighb*ring fields convey'd. 

• • • • • • 

^ Now had the morning thrice renew'd the light, 

** And thrice, dispel 1*4 the shadows of the night, 

" When those who round the wasted fires remain 

" Perform the last sad office to the slain : 

" They rake the yet warm ashes from below ; 

*' These and the bones unburnt in earth bestow : 

*• These relics with their countrjr's rites they grace, 

" And raise a mount of turf to mark the place," , 

It has been noticed as a curious and interesting &ct, that 
the great earthquake which, on Saturday, the first day of 
November, 1755, destroyed nearly the whole of the city of 
Lisbon, was very sensibly felt in many parts of Derbyshire, 
and particularly in the lead mines near Eyam. The narrative 
of Francis Mason, an intelligent overseer of the mines on Eyam 
Edge, has already appeafea in print, and I have not hesitated 
to compress it into a smaller compass, yet in so doing I have 
&ithfuily preserved the leading features of his detail. 

About eleven o'clock in the forenoon 6f the first of November, 
1755, as Francis Mason was sitting in a small room at the dis- 
tance of from forty to fifty yacds from the mouth of one of the 
engine shafts, he felt the shock of an earthquake, so violent 
that it raised him up in his chair, and shook some pieces of 
lime and plaster from the sides and roof of his little hovel. In 
a field about three hundred yards from the mine he afterwards 
observed a chasm, or cleft, in the earth, which he supposed was 
made at the same time : its direction was parallet* to the vein 
of ore the miners were then pur$uing, and its contuiuation 
from one extremity to the other wa3 nearly one hundred and 



fifly yards. Two miners, who were employed in the drifts 
about sixty fathoms deep when the earthquake took place, 
were so terrified at the shock, that they dared not attempt to 
dimb the shaft, which they dreaded might run in upon them, 
and entomb them alive. They felt themselves surrounded with 
danger, and as they were conversing with each other on the 
means of safety, and looking for a place of refuge, they were 
alarmed by a second shock, much more violent than the one 
preceding. They now ran precipitately to the interior of the 
mine : it was an instinctive movement that no way bettered 
their condition ; it only changed the spot of earth where they 
had previously stood ; but their dancer and their fears were 
still the same. Another $hock ensued, and after an awfiil and 
almost breathless interval of four or five minutes, a fourth and 
afterwards a fifth succeeded. Every repercussion was followed 
by a loud rumbling noise, which continued for about a minute ; 
then, gradually decreasing in force, like the thunder retiring 
into distance, it subsided into an appalling stillness more fim 
of terror than the sounds which had passed away, leaving the 
mind unoccupied by other impressions, to contemplate the 
mysterious nature of its danger. The whole space of time in- 
cluded between the first and the last shock was nearly twenty 
minutes. When the men had recovered a little from their 
trepidation, they began to examine the passages, and to en- 
deavour to extricate themselves horn their confinement. As 
they passed along the drifts, they observed that pieces of mi- 
nerals were scattered along the floor, which had been shaken 
from the sides and the roa( bit all the shafts remained entire 
and unicyuredt 



Mineral District. — HaycliffMine^ — Slicken^des. — Accident 
in a Mine near Hucklow. — WardUn» Mears. — Wheston Cross. 
— Tideswell Top. — Marble Mocks in TidesweU Dale;—Sin^ 
gtdar Stratum there, — Cotton Factories. — Tideswell. — IXtf 
Church. — Bishop Pursglove. — Sampson MeurriUs. — Tide^ 
well Church" Yard. — Conclusion^ 

V? E had now bidden adieu to the wild and naked rocks of 
Middleton Dale, and to the fertile and romantic valley of the 
Derwent, and had entered on a track of flat country termin- 
ating on every side with gradual eminences of a greater or 
lesser elevation. Nothing can be more miinteresting, in apic« 
turesque point of view, than the road' from Eyam to Tideswell. 
Scarcely one pleasant object occurs in the tedious course of 
the intervening four miles, to relieve the uniform dreariness 
of the prospect. In such a scene the mind loses its tone, and 
sinks into heedlessness or apathy. Such, indeed, was the 
feeling I experienced in passuig along this important mineral 
district; for, as Dr. Fuller quaintly expresses it, whem^eak"* 
ing of the Peak of Derbyshire, " though poor above, 'tis rich 
beneath the ground;" and the refuse dug from the openings 
into the mines every where encroaches upcn the scanty ver<^ 
dure of the fields^ where ^ it lies like man upcm a barren soil, 
encumbering what it cannot fertilize.'^ 

The business of mining, onoe asoqrce of considerable profit, 
nmpears to be rapidly dedimng in diis part of Derbj^re, 
The workmen are gradually witbdnxwing from an employ^^ 
m^it, the unpleasantness and the danger of which are but 
indhfferently compensated by the scanty wages they receive i 
and die capital that once invigorated the industry oP the* miner 
is diverted into other channels. The mina^ tithe of the 
Eyam estate alone has produced from* eight to* dine hundred 
pOBndrryeats it isnow not wiovth move than wtnatiy i)iiSfag9; 


Haycliff mine, now no longer worked, was once the grand 
depository of that extraordinary phenomenon in the mineral 
world, provincially called Slickensides. The external ap- 
pearance of this curious species of Galena is well known 
wherever mineralogy has been studied. At the present time 
good specimens of it are extremely rare, and can only be met 
with in cabinets that have been long established. In those 
mines where it has most prevailed, it exhibits but little variety 
either in form or character. An upright pillar of limestone- 
rock, intermixed with calcareous spar, contains this exploding 
ore : the surface is thinly coated over vnth lead, which resem- 
bles a covering of plumbago, and it is extremely smooth, 
bright, and even. These rocky pillars have their polished 
faces opposed to each other: sometimes they nearly touch, 
sometimes they are farther apart, the intervening space being 
filled up with smaller portions and fragments of spar and par- 
ticles of lead ore; and a number of narrow veins of a whitish 
colour, and a powdery consistency, intersect and run in 
oblique directions amongst the mass. 

The e£fects of this extraordinary mineral are not less singular 
than terrific. A blow with a hammer, a stroke or a scratch 
with a miner's pick, are su£Scient to rend those rocks asunder 
with which it is united or embodied. The stroke is immedi- 
ately succeeded by a crackling noise, accompanied with a 
sound not unlike the mingled hum of a swarm of bees : shortly 
afterwards, an explosion follows, so loud and appalling, that 
even the miners, though a hardy race of men, and little 
accustomed to fear, turn pale and tremble at the shock. This 
dangerous combination of matter must, consequently, be ap- 
proached with caution. To avoid the use of the common 
implements of mining, a small hole is carefully bored, into 
which a little gunpowder is put, and exploded with a match; 
the workmen then withdraw to a place of safety, to wait the 
result of their operations. Sometimes not less than five or 
six successive explosions ensue at intervals of from two to ten 
or fifteen minutes, and occasionally they, are so sublimely 
awful, that the earth has been violently shaken to the surface 
by the concussion, even when the discharge has taken place at 
the depth of more than one hundred &thoms. 

When the Haycliff mine was open, a person of the name of 
Higginbottom, who was unused to the working of Slickensides, 
and not much apprehensive of danger, was repeatedly cautioned 
not to use his pick in the getting of the ore. ' Unfortunately. 


ibr himself, he paid little attention to the admonitions of his 
fellow-miners. He struck the fatal stroke, that by an appa- 
rently electrical communication set the whole mass instantane- 
ously in motion, shook the surrounding earth to its foundation, 
and with a noise as tremendous as thunder, scattered the rocky 
fragments in every direction, through the whole vacuity of 
Haycliff mine. Thick boards of ash, at the distance of twenty 
or thirty paces, were perforated by pieces of rock six inches 
diameter. The poor miner was dreadfully cut and lacerated, 
yet he escaped with life. The impression made on his mind 
by this incident determined him, on his recovery, to discontinue 
the dangerous trade of mining. He now resides at Manchester, 
still bearing the marks of his temerity about him. 

Some attempts have been made to account for the wonderful 
properties of this fulminating ore, but hitherto with little 
success. A very intelligent miner, with whom I have con- 
versed on the subject, supposes the exploding power to reside 
in the white powdery veins which fill up the fissures of the 
rocky substance that produces Slickensides ; a suggestion that 
may probably assist in the developement of the strange quali- 
ties of this mineral phenomenon. 

The loudest explosion remembered to have taken place in 
HaycliiF mine has been mentioned by Whitehurst; in his 
" Theory of the Formation of the EaxthJ' It occurred in the 
year 1738, and he affirms that " the quantity of two hundred 
barrels of materials were blown out at one blast, each barrel 
being supposed to contain from three to four hundred pounds 
weight. During the explosion," he adds, " the ground was 
observed to shake as if by an earthquake." The accuracy of 
this statement can hardly be questioned; and, if correct, what 
an idea it conveys of the immense force required to dissever, 
from a solid mass of internal rock; so formidable a weight ! 

The miner, in the pursuit of his daily occupation, is so fre- 
quently exposed to danger, that his life may be said to be in 
continual jeopardy; and yet but fewfatal accidents occur: an in- 
teresting circumstance "of hair-breadth 'scapes i'th' imminent 
deadly breach" sometimes takes place. At Hucklow, a little 
village on our right, in the winter of 1815, a man of the name of 
Frost, who was engaged in one of the mines, had a miraculous 
escape froiji a very perilous situation, in which he was involved 
by the falling in of the earth where he was at work. His voice 
was heard from beneath the ground in which he was entombed, 
and it was ascertained that his head and his body remained 

T 8 


unhurt, die principal weight having fallen upon and bruised his; 
thighs and legs. Great care was required to accomplish his re- 
lease, and some of the most experienced miners were employed. 
A mass of earth was strangely, and almost miraculously, sus- 
pended over his head, wh^re it hung like an avalanche, ready 
at the slightest touch to crush him to pieces with its fall. The 
miners, aware that his situation was one of infinite peril, durst 
not attempt the attainment of their object by the most direct 
and expeditious means t slower operaticms were, in their 
opinion, essential, even though they dreaded the consequences 
that mi^t attend their protracted efforts. Had that impetu- 
osity of feeling, whidi, however honourable to our nature, 
sometimes defeats its most benevolent purposes, been alone 
consulted on this occasion, the poor man must inevitably have 
perished. They therefore proceeded with great caution, and 
the most unwearied perseverance, from Monday, the day 
when the accident took place, until the evening of the following 
Thursday, at which time they bad the satisfaction of witness- 
ing the complete success of their exertions, and the restoration 
of a fellow-creature to his fiimily and the world. The man 
was extricated from his dreadful situation with only a few 
slight bruises and a broken leg, after a temporary burial of 
upwards of seventy-five* hours. A drop of water that fell 
near his head, which he contrived to catch in the hollow of his 
hand, allayed his thirst, that otherwise would, probably, have 
become excessive: this fortunate occurrence, no doubt, con- 
tributed to the preservation of his existence. He was a 
Wesleyan Methodist, and his strong religious feding supplied 
him with fortitude. Neither pain nor apprehension de- 
stroyed his composure, and he employed many of the hours 
of his premature interment in singing those psalms and hyinns 
he was previously acquainted with. Under any circumstances, 
this men would have been a hero. 

As we passed along the road to Tideswell, Brosterfield, 
formerly the residence of Captain Carleill, and the little 
villages of Wardlow and Litton, lay on our left, and the two 
Hucklows occupied a part of the foot of the high chain of 
mountains on our right One would suppose that there was 
iMit little on these bleak hills and plains to excite the cupidity 
of the robber, or to induce the commission of the crime of mur- 
der, particularly amongst a people whose wants are neces- 
sarily as circumscribed as their means ; but even here, at a 
little distance on the left of the road, we observed a man 


suspended on a gibbet, but newly erected. He had entered 
the cottage of a poor woman who kept the toll gate at Ward- 
low-Mears, and for the paltry consideration of a few shillings, 
he had violated the law of God and man, which says, " Thou 
shall not HUr He then, with an inconsiderate infatuation 
which often attends the commission 4)f enormous oflences, gave 
the shoes of the woman he had just murdered to another who 
resided near, a circumstance that led to his immediate detectidn. 
Only a few weeks passed between the perpetration of the crime 
and the execution of the murderer. 

Approaching Tideswell, we found the prospect improve in 
picturesque beauty. Some well-grown trees, scattered around 
the town, hide apart of the dwellings, and obscure what other- 
wise might be offensive to the eye. The church is a large 
handsome structure, and a fine object in the landscape. The 
steep hills behind, rising high above the topmost pinnacles 
of the tower, are not only peculiarly characteristic of this part 
of the Peak of Derbyshire, but they form a good back ground 
to the scene. 

We passed through Tideswell on our way toWheston,a small 
and pleasant village, which is situated on an eminence that forms 
one side of Monks-dale, and which at this place is known by 
the name of Peter-dale. Wheston, though consisting of a 
few houses only, is a very picturesque little place : the trees, 
which are mingled with the cottages, are so abundant, and 
every where so finely foliaged, that the place appears more 
like a copse, or wood, than a village. Lime, elm, oak, and 
sycamore, of the most luxuriant growth, line each side of the 
road, and surround every dwelling. In one part of the village, 
near the road-side, stands an old stone cross, which, like every 
thing else that the place contains, is closely embosomed in 
trees. The upper part of the cross, .which is evidently of an 
ancient date and of a singular construction, resembles in some 
of its ornaments the foliated ramifications of a Gothic window • 
the shaft is unadorned and more modern. One side of this 
curious relic of former times represents the infant Saviour 
in the arms of his mother; over their heads there is a faint 
indication of a star, emblematic of the ray that directed the 
wise men of the East to the birth-place of Jesus. The other 
side of this venerable cross exhibits the crucifixion of Christ, 
whose birth and de^th it has apparently been the design of 
the sculptor to commemorate in the erection of this symbol of 
his faith. Several of these ancient structuves have been found 

F 4. 

?S WDfiflWiELL TOP. 

in this part of Derbyshire, but only a few have escaped the 
dila^idatihg progress of time ; others have been destroyed, as 
objects of no value. The shaft of a cross, originally of no 
mean workmanship, has in one place been converted into a 
gate-post ; at another, one has been scooped or hollowed out, 
and made into a blacksmith's trough. I have seen oney which 
is richly sculptured on the three remaining sides, with figures 
and a variety of ornaments, all well executed, that was long 
applied to this humble purpose. It is now in the possession 
of Mr. William Staniforth, of Sheffield. A small portion of 
the cross at Whjeston has been lately broken off, which I ob- 
served had been used as a common piece of stone, and built 
and cemented into an adjoining wall. Where so little interest 
has been felt in the preservation of these relics, it is only 
surprising that so many of them yet remain. 

From Wheston, a short walk of about a mile brought us to 
an eminence called Tideswell Top ; a place that curiosity had 
very recently opened^ for the piirpose of ascertaining its con- 
tents. It was a tumulus composed of a series of narrow caverns, 
formed with stones and earth, in which several skulls and 
many human bones were found. There is something unseemly, 
if not unfeeling, in thus disturbing the relics of the dead, and 
leaving them to bleach in the sun, or be preyed on and gnawed 
by animals. Some of the bones had been carried away, but 
many remained unburied, and lay scattered about that earth- 
built sepulchre, which those who consigned them to it vainly 
hoped might have " canopied them until doomsday." 

I recollect passing over this particular place in the year 1813. 
It was then a heathy moor : not a shrub or blade of grass, 
excepting what immediately bordered upon the town of 
Tideswell, was to be seen. I now revisited' the same ground, 
the same geographical spot of earth, but so differently clothed 
that every trace of what it had been was obliterated. The 
objects around me were so new, that I felt myself a stranger 
where every thing had previously been familiar to me* The 
sterile waste had vanished, and in its place a sea of cornj far as 
the eye could reach, waved plenteously around. That spirit 
of agricultural improvement which has pervaded nearly the 
whole of the kingdom, with the extraordinary (exception of the 
vicinity of London, has penetrated into the Peak of Derby- 
shire, and the plenteous corn field has succeeded to the bleak 
and heathy moor. 

A circuitous ramble round Tideswell brought us to a road» 


newly made through Millar's Dale to Buxton, the cuttm^ of 
which has laid open a bed of marble richly variemted, and but 
little inferior to any in the neighbourhood of Money- Ash. 
Incumbent on the marble a curious stratum occurs, totally 
dissimilar to any other yet observed in the Peak of Derby- 
shire, and its structure and composition may probably amuse 
the geologist in the midst of his speculations. This stratum 
is from fifteen to eighteen inches thick: it is of a reddish brown 
colour, and, when pounded, it resembles Crocus MartiSi <md 
though hard and compact when it is first obtained, it is easily 
reduced to a fine powder. Externally it lies in small particles, 
but the interior is composed of a series of five-sided angular 
prisms, that closely adhere together, but may be readily dis- 
united. Its whole appearance is curious and singular, and it 
furnishes many exquisite specimens of the basaltic columns of 
the isle of Staffa and the Giants' Causeway. The stone gene^ 
rally used in constructing the beds of smelting furnaces, .when 
highly vitrified by fire, assumes a very similar formation. 

lie-entering Tideswell, we observed a great portion of its 
inhabitants employed in spinning and weaving cotton — a 
business that since its introduction into this litde place has 
almost excluded every other. Nearly one-half of the present 
population are now engaged in some one branch or other of 
this widely-spreading manufacture. I was surprised to find, 
that the moral-murdering system of congregating a great num- 
ber of boys and girls together in the same factoiy had rami- 
fied so extensively into mis part of the Peak of Derbyshire : 
it is no doubt a source of wealth ; but may not the riches thus 
acquired be obtained at the expence of public morals ? Mo- 
desty, the chief ornament of one sex, and the delight and 
admiration of the other, by being thus early exposed, too 
often gives place to someihinff far less amiable and of infinitely 
less value. The leading charm of the female character is 
sullied, if not obliterated, and opinions and habits are formed, 
hostile to the regulations of domestic life, and subversive of its 
dearest and most substantial comforts. Women, on whom 
the well being and happiness of society principally depend, 
are thus early unfitted for the discharge of the important duties 
of wife and mother ; and the ofisprinff committed by nature to 
their care, deprived of a guide and a salutary example, are 
thrown upon the world to be educated by those who may or 
may not have an interest in their welfare, either at a Sunday 
School, a Lancasterian, or a Bellean establishment* Perhaps 


it may be worse than useless to condeain a system which is so 
intimately interwoven with the commerce and manufacturing 
interests of the country, that it may be regarded as their vitd 
principle; if so, I trust I may be permitted to express my 
regret, that a practice so obviously fraught with evil should so 
exclusively prevail in a nation that mpre than any other has 
long maintained a proud pre-eminence, not only in domestic 
comfort but in public morals. ^ 

Though Tideswell ranks amongst the market^towns of J>er- 
bvshire, yet, with the exception of the church, it is but a hum- 
ble looldng place. The houses are low, irregularly situated, and 
ill built, and there is altogether an air of poverty and meanness 
about it, with a want of cleanliness and comfort in its general 
appearance. Its name is said to have been derived from a well 
near it, which tradition represents to have possessed the re- 
markable property of ebbing and flowing at regular intervals. 
The spot where the well once was is siSl pointed out to the 
traveller who enquires for it, but it is now choked up, and its 
ebbings and flowings have long since terminated. This town 
was a part of the princely patrimony derived by William 
Peveril from his father, William the Conqueror. It was af- 
terwards vested in King John, who bestowed it upon one of 
his favourite attendants, from whom it passed by marriage to 
one of the Stafford family, who in the reign of Richara the 
Second obtained a charter for the establishment of a weekly 
market, and a yearly fair at Tideswell. The church is a fine 
edifice, built in the form of a cross, and the chancel is lighted 
by nine richly-ornamented Gothic windows. It is spacious, 
light, and beautiful ; but the most striking peculiarity in this 
country church is the tower, which is surmounted at the four 
corners with octagonal Gothic towers, having embattled par- 
apets, from whence ornamented spires arise : the intervening 
space is occupied by pinnacles of a lighter construction and 
lesser altitude. The efiect of the whole is rather heavy, as the 
dimensions of the base of this part of the building are too con- 
tracted to admit of such a crowded assemblage of spires and 
towers. Its appearance has, therefore, more of singularity than 
elegance. The chancel contains a monument to the memory 
of Kobert Purs^love, once prior of Gisburn Abbey, and after- 
wards bishop of Hull. This churchman has been represented 
as one of the pliant instruments of Henry the Eighth, by 
whom he was pensioned, in reward for his services. It is re- 
lated of him, that he not only quietly surrendered his own 


reUgioiis estaUisfament to the cupidky of Henry, but that he 
accepted from him the office of eommissioner, and undertook 
to prevail upon others to follow his example. In the succeed- 
ing reiffn he was made archdeacon of Nottingham and bishc^ 
of Hull: of these ecclesiastical honours he was deprived in the. 
year 1 56O9 for rtfiisin^ to take the oath of supremacy to Queen 
Elizabeth. The remauiing part of his life was spent in retire- 
ment lat Tideswell, the place of his nativity. 

If by a mean subserviency to the wishes of an arbitrary mo- 
narch he had sullied his character in one part of his Ine, its 
close was tmghtened by a series of benevolent actions. His 
native town of Tideswell, where he founded a school, and an 
hospital for twelve poor people, will long retain a grateful re- 
collection of the name of Bishop Pursglove. — The pro- 
perty he bequeathed to the school originally produced only 
13/. 6s. %d. per ann.; and one-third of it was directed to be 
appropriated to the maintenance of the poor of the parish. 
* The present income derived from the same source amounts 
to upwards of 400/. yearly : two-thirds of this sum is now re- 
ceived by the master of the school at Tideswell,' for the 
instruction of from twenty to thirty boys. A more striking 
instance of increase in the value of property does not often 

Another benefactor to the town of Tideswell was a Samp- 
son Meurrills, to whose memory there is a tabular monument 
in the chancel of the church. He was a brave and intrepid 
warrior ; and when the great'Duke of Bedford, after a series 
of splendid successes in France, found himself suddenly dis- 
comfited by a woman, whose shameful death was a disgrace to 
England and a stain upon the name of Bedford, Sampson 
Meurrills fought in defence of that military glory which his 
bravery and skill had contributed to establish. In less than 
two years, as appears from the inscription on his tomb, he 
fought in eleven battles, and was knighted by the Duke of 
Bedford at Saint Luce, for his eminent services. He wa^ 
likewise honoured with the dignity and title of Knight Con- 
stable of England. He died at the age of seventy-four, in 
the year .1462. On the tomb of this brave soldier, bread is 
given away everv Sunday to some of the poor inhabitants who 
reside in the parish of Tideswell. The continuation of this 
custom will pteserve theii^emembrance of the donor, and the 
name of Sampson Meurrills will be recollected and revered 


when the inscription on his tomb, though written in brass and 
marble, has been long obliterated^ 

Tideswell appears to be a strangely-neglected place, and it 
may truly be said to have degenerated from its former conse- 
quence. Once it was more deserving the notice of the topo- 
frapher and the tourist, and it had a fairer claim to estimation, 
ir John Statham, who was a loyal and active knight, and 
who, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, raised and equipped a 
troop of horse for the service of his sovereign, had his resi- 
dence in this humble town, where his descendants remained to 
a late period. A chapel and dormitory, on the south side of 
the church, still retain the name of this family. The grand- 
father of the witty Earl of Chesterfield, the preceptor of polite- 
ness, of whom every graceless youth has heard, built and 
resided in one of the most respectable houses in the place, 
which has been lately taken down and sold for the value of 
the materials. In another, yet standing, one of the Beeches, 
of Shaw, in Staffordshire, lived ; but all now is ruin and dila- 
pidation. The most interesting specimen of antiquity that 
Tideswell possessed was a stone chapel, or oratory, which 
stood on the left of the road, on the entrance into the town 
from Middleton. This structure was apparently much older 
than the church, and it was probably erected before the reign 
of King John ; but its antiquity could not preserve it from 
being taken down and sold to the best bidder. When it was 
unfloored and dug up, at the time of its demolition, many hu- 
man bones were found within it. Two large Gothic windows, 
of two compartments each, occupied the ends of this building; 
one looked upon the road, and the other faced the eininence 
called the Cliff. These windows were formed by three equal 
pilasters, surmounted with male and female heads, sculptured 
in stone ; and a pointed Gothic arch, rising from two slighdy 
ornamented buttresses, composed the porch or entrance into 
this old structure. Such a place, in such a country, must ne- 
cessarily have something supernatural attached to it ; it was 
accordingly peopled, by village superstition, with the visionary 
beings of another world. From this place, so long as it ex- 
isted, unseen choristers were sometimes distinctly heard 
hymning the sweetest strains, as they seemed to pass in slow 
procession along the vaulted passages of the chapel to the 
chancel of the church, where the sounds gradually died away. 
This ceremony, whenever it happened, indicated the approach- 
ing death of some of the most important personages in the 


place ; and no gospel truth was ever more religiously believed 
than was the occasional occurrence of these supernatural 
sounds. Persons whose veracity on other occasions could not 
be doubted have solemnly avenm this pretended fact* 

This place, of which no trace now remains, was probably 
'^ the chapel that King John gave to the canons of Lichfield 
for their common provision of bread and beer." 

The church-yard at Tideswell, which we perambulated 
when the day was far declined, affords but few original poetic 
inscriptions, and certainly none that are particularly curious 
or interesting : there is, however, in such a place, and espe- 
cially at the hour of evening, a solemn inBuence that prepares 
the mind for the reception of serious instruction, however 
homely or uncouth the garb in which it may be clothed. 

^ Contemplate, fis the sun declines, 

" Thy death with deep reflection ; 
" And when again he rising shines, 

" Thy day of resurrection." 

This stanza is inscribed on a humble grave-stone, and 
though not distinguished by any peculiar excellence, it forced 
itself upon our attention, and became impressed upon our me- 
mories. The thought on which it turns is given with so much 
brevity, that it may be said to be more hinted at than ex- 
pressed ; yet, situated as it is, it may be read and recollected 
with pleasure — perhaps with improvement. Tideswell is but 
ill calculated to induce the traveller to remain long within it ; 
yet, pedestrians as we were, we were not inclined to proceed 
farther on our journey ; we therefore passed the night at the 
George Inn, where we had no reason to be dissatisfied with 
our accommodation. 

I have now brought the First Part of my Excursions 
IN Derbyshire to a close, and I look back with pleasure on 
the seventeen miles of road that separate Sheffield from Tides - 
well, where our first ramble terminated. Abbey Dale, East 
Moor, Froggat Edge, the Dale of the Derwent, Stoke, and 
Middleton Dale, furnish in rapid succession a series of views, 
differing in feature, and varying in character, from the beauti- 
ful to me romantic, from the romantic to the sublime; and 


liie loeal history of the Tilhge of Eyam ha« lA a tkoasorad 
tender impressions -«^ aye, and sfdutaary ones toc^ vEpori the 
mind. Having accompliriied one portion of the pleasant 
task which I have imposed upon mysd^ I now find how 
very difficult it is to withdraw from a siib^t to whidi, per- 
haps whatever may be my present intentions^ I may never 
return. How reluctantly the heart bids adieu to what it loves ! 
and) << loath to depart," how fondly it Iii^^era roond those 
scenes and objects that are mingled and identified with happy 
feelings and pleasurable sensations I Thus unwillingly I close 
this excursion : my next will include the whole of the scenery 
of the RrvER Wte — that busy stream, which, winding 
through the most romantic dales of Derbyshire, 

^ Makes sweet music with the enamdlM stones, 

^ Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 

'* He overt&eth in his pilgrimiu^e; 

** And so by mainy winding nooks he strays 

** With willing sport," Shazsfeabe. 

Sira ox PART I. 





New Boadjrom Tidesfwell to Buxton. — Monksdale. — JTiunder 
Storm. — WormhiU. — Chee Tor^ 

jVIy second Excursion (in Derbyshire) commenced at Tides- 
well, The night by which it was preceded was full of turbu- 
lence and uproar ; the rain and wind beat violently against 
the roof and sides of our dwelling, and at intervals the light- 
ning gleamed on the towers of the church, that were distinctly 
seen from the apartment in which I slept. In the morning 
the storm somewhat abated, and in the hope that it might 
soon entirely subside, my companion and myself commenced 
our journey. We were only seven miles from Buxton, and 
as it was our intention to traverse the banks of the river Wye, 
we took the road through Monks-dale to Wormhill and 
Chee Tor, 

The new road from Tideswell to Buxton is carried through 
a continued series of romantic dales : immediately after leav- 
ing the town it winds round some rocky knolls, and descends 
along the side of a steep hill into Millers-dale, where it crosses 
the river Wye, amidst some of the most delightful scenery in 
the Peak of Derbyshire ; then skirting the base of Priestcliff 
by Diamond Hill, it passes through Blackwell-dale, and joins 
the Bakewell road about two miles from Taddington. The 
road formerly travelled to Buxton is now nearly deserted : its 
direction is through Monks-dale, which it crosses near Worm- ^ 
hill, then passes over a tract of uninteresting ground newly 
claimed from the moors, but now in a state of tillage, and 
everywhere disfigured with stone wall-fences. In a newly 
enclosed country there is but little to attract attention; its 
features, if not absolutely repulsive, are unlovely, and must 
remain so, until a lapse of years has introduced the softer 
graces and the richer clothing of cultivation. 

We left Tideswell early in the morning, and from the 
threatening aspect of the sky we anticipatea a return of the 
storm. Tlie hills before us stretching beyond Buxton, were 
of a deep purple colour, approaching to blackness, and they 


were only distinguishable from the clouds that hung over them 
by a pale streak of light which ran along the horizon. 
Shortly the lightning began to dart its fiery lines across the 
darkness of the hills, and the thunder murmured hoarsely 
at a distance. We pressed onward, and when we arrived in 
Monksdale we were in the midst of the storm. 

Monks-dale is a narrow deep ravine, whose steep and rug- 
ged sides are partly covered with heath and fern, intermixed 
with a thin mossy verdure. Grey barren rock occasionally 
breaks through the soil in large perpendicular masses, which 
though not sufficiently stupendous for the purposes of grand- 
eur, gives to this dell a peculiar wildness, which i§ rather 
increased than subdued by the few trees and scanty brush- 
wood that are scattered about it, as if intended only to remind 
one of their general absence. Wildness, however, was not 
the only feature by which Monks-dale was distinguished at 
this particular time ; it assumed another, and a more impos- 
ing character. Enveloped in deep gloom, and visited with 
fire from heaven, it was terricfic and sublime. The frequent 
and vivid flashes of lightning coming athwart the darkness of 
the storm, and the thunder loudly reverberating from rock to 
rock, had an awful and even an appalling effect. Peal on 
peal burst from the clouds on every side in rapid succession ; 
the real and the mimic thunder clashing and blending together 
in terrible confusion. 

In a confined part of this dell, at the foot of a projecting 
rock, where we had crouched for shelter, stands a single tree, 
the sport and victim of many a wintry storm. Its scathed trunk 
and leafless branches, peeled and bleached with age and weather, 
coming across a sky impenetrably black, while all the lower 
part of the chasm in which it once had flourished was involved 
in darkness that might almost be felt, presented a picture as 
disturbed and wild as Salvator ever imagined. 

The storm subsiding, we left Monks-dale, and proceeded 
over the fields to WormhilL .Here every view is cheerless 
and uninteresting, with the exception of the village only, in 
which the cottages are prettily intermingled amongst the trees. 
Beheld at a short distance^ the eye is refreshed as it rests 
upon it: it looks indeed like a beautiful spot of verdure amidst« 
waste and sterility, for the traveller as he surveys the scene 
around him is but little aware of those rich and narrow dells 
which abound in this part of Derbyshire : his eye wanders 
over the various undulations of the ground that lies before 

WORMHIU.. i^ W6iF' ^UKTl NO. 8S 

him : ' from the top of one eminence it passes to another, with- 
out perceiving either the frequency or the dimensions of the 
intei^ening dstles. Yet though the neighbourhood of Womi- 
hill is M; this time so naked and unadorned, if tradition may be 
credited it was once a forest and crowded with trees : it was 
then the shelter and the residence of wild and ferocious 
afiimals, from whence 

** Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave — 

" Burning for blood — bony, and gaunt, and grim — 

" Assembling wolves in raging troops descend, 

''And pouring o'er the country, b«ir along 

" Keen as the North wind sweeps the glossy snow— 

•* All is their prize !**— 

Camden, in his brief notice of Derbyshire, says that ^^ lands 
" were held here by the tenure to hunt wolves ;" and he fer- 
ther observes, " now there is no danger of wolves in these 
places, though formerly infested by them ; for the hunting and 
taking of which some persons held lands here at Wormhill, from 
whence those persons were called Wolve-hunt, as is manifest 
from the records of the Tower." Page 443. ■ — Whitaker, in 
his History of Manchester, calls these " the wildest parts of 
the wildest region in England, peopled as they must ^ then 
have been by the beasts, that gave denominatioh to th^ Wolf- 
hunters at Wormhill." — What a strange vicissitude of fortune 
has attended this district! Once a forest, the hauiit and slielter 
of wild beasts — then a desert and unproductive waste— now, 
destined to undergo another change — verdaiit fielc^ and 
hedge-row trees begin to appear where lately de&bliation pre- 

The unpropitious aspect of the landscape we had passed 
from TidesWell to Wormhill, was amplv compensated by our 
near approach to the river Wye. While in the village, 
nothing appeared to intimate the proximity of Chee-dale^ 
which is one of thfe most romantic parts of the Peak. We 
had therefore no anticipation, no foretaste of that rich asi^em- 
blsige of scenery, which nature has hid within the deep hollows ' 
and high hills that border the village of Wormhill. Nearly 
opposite the hall, which is a pleasant little mansion^ ^oely 
embosomed. in trees, we entered a small wicket-gate. All tha^ 
was uninteresting in form, and cheerless to the eye, lay now 
behind us; all before was magnificent and commanding. 
The whole range of vision is here occupied by rockg. an^. 
mountains, while from the d^lls lifeneath, &e Wye and its' 

o 2 


neighbouring streams, still unseen, send forth their murmurs, 
ana fill the air with melody. After a short pause, we de- 
scended by a steep and narrow path, and clambering over a 
rocky mound, the view from which is exquisitely beautiful, 
we entered a deep dale, apparently impassable at one ex- 
tremity, and yarded by craggy projections at the other ; in 
the midst of wnich, in majestic solitude, stands Chee Tor. 
In magnitude, form, and feature, this perpendicular rock is 
unequalled in any other part of Derbyshire; and the pic- 
turesque materials which nature has scattered with a lavish 
hand around this Giant of- the Dell, present a variety of ob- 
jects and combinations to the eye, some of which are wild and 
terrific, and some of a softer and a milder character. 

Having passed the mound which guards the entrance into 
Chee-dale, we seated ourselves on a mossy bank, by the 
side of one of the most clear and beautiful streams that ever 
flowed, and silently indulged in the delightful train of tliought 
and feeling, which a contemplation of the scenery of nature is 
peculiarly calculated to inspire. We now saw nothing be- 
yond the deep glen in which we were : the noise and bustle of 
the world, with all its cares and pleasures, were for a while 
forgotten, and Chee-dale was itself a .world to us. It is not 
easy to conceive a place more entirely sequestered, and cut 
off from every thing around it, than is "this quiet dell ; its 
solitude is but rarely disturbed by human footsteps : with the 
exception of the angler, and occasionally a stray traveller, it 
is almost unvisited oy man. No prospect, but what is in- 
cluded within the contracted limits of the dell, salutes the eye, 

** The summer heaven's delicious blue ;" 

and TKf sounds but what are native here — the lapse of the 
passing stream, the hum of bees, and the song of birds, reach 
the ear. In such a place, unseeing and unseen, the mind is 
naturally disposed to commune with itself, and enjoy the 
luxury of undisturbed reflection, until every unworthy thought 
and unhallowed sensation are subdued, and every feeling is in 
harmony with the scene. 

The views in Chee-dale, though impressed with the same 
general character,^ are agreeably diversified : the rocks on the 
right are thrown into the form of a vast crescent, and their 
summits are fringed with trees. This noble amphitheatre 
^pans the whole dale, and forms an impassable rampart round 

CH££ TOR. 85 

the br9ad breast of the Tor, which, like an immense semi- 
circular tower, broken and rent with age, and marked with 
weather-stains, rises in sullen grandeur from the deep recess* 
Round the base of this rock flows the river Wye. The dark- 
green mosses, and variously-coloured lichens which cover the 
stones that form its bed — the long smooth weeds that wave 
their slender stems between — the variety of intermingling 
hues all in motion — the sparkle of the limestone rock — the 
vivid transparency of the stream, everywhere giving an 
additional splendour to the objects over which it flows — all 
conspire to render this secluded dell one of the most imposing 
scenes in any part of Derbyshire : it abounds in pictures, — 
every change of place exhibits a new one, and every one that 
occurs is marked with a peculiar beauty. Near the boldest 
projection of the Tor, a view admirably adapted to the pencil 
-is presented. The foreground is enlivened by the lustre and 
the motion of the stream, which is here occasionally interrupted 
in its progress by insulated rocky fragments that divide and 
break it into foam, as it rushes over its rude channel into the 
levels below. The opposite bank is a gently rising mound, 
gradually sloping to the foot of the rock, and ornamented 
with lofty and well foliaged ash ; beyond appears Chee Tor^ 
towering above every surrounding object, and lifting his ample 
front to the height of near four hundred feet. Looking down 
the river, which widens as it winds round the Tor, an islet 
adorned with light trees and underwood, occupies the middle 
of the river. On the left the view is diversified with masses 
of rock, piled upon each other until they close in the pros- 
pect* Their jutting crags are partly covered with overhanging 
branches, and the hazel, the aspen, the wild rose, and the 
mountain ash, adorn their summits. Turning round, and 
looking up the dale, a different picture, but yet equally beauti- 
ful and interesting, is displayed : the widest part of the dell 
opens immediately before you, and the river, with its innu- 
merable^miniature cascades, is seen to greater advantage than 
in the contraiy direction. Chee Tor is still the grand object, 
and though it gradually loses its feature of vastness, it assumes 
a greater portion of picturesque beautv. The regularity of its 
receding outline is broken with lignt and graceful foliage, 
which hanging like wreaths upon its brow, plays along the 
side of the rock in tasteftil sportiveness, until it mingles with 
the ascending branches of the ash and the elm that decorate 
its base. On the right, a chain of rock sweeps round the Tor 

G 3 


in a regularly curved line, at the distance of from one to 
two hundred paces, forming a magnificent natural crescent. 
Iliese rocks beetle over their base; so far they are unadorned: 
their upper strata are covered with wood, which happily 
combines with the scenery of which it forms so beauti&l a 
part. Almost every circumstance, even the most minute, in 
the following extract from Sir Walter Scott's description of 
Loch Katrine, is peculiarly applicable to Chee-dale. 

'* Here eglantine embalmM the air, 

*' Hawthorn and hazel minted there; 

** The primrose pale, and violet flower 

" Found in each cleft a narrow bower: 

'^ Fox-fflove and night-shade side by side, 

** Emblems, of punishment and pride, 

" Grouped their dark hues with every stain 

** The weather-beaten crags retain. 

" With boughs that quaked at every breath, • 

** Grey birch and aspen wept beneath j 

** ^lon the ash, and warrior oak 

*' Cast anchor in the rifted rodL, 

** And higher yet the pine-tree hung 

** His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 

** Where seemed the clifis to meet on high, 

^ His bows athwart the narrowed sky." 



Observations on the river Wj/e.^^Blackwell MiU. — Topiey Pike. 
—Stagecoach. — Wi^e Dale. — Romantic Dell and Cascade 
near Lover's Leap. — Arrival at Buxton. 

1 HE upper part of the confined dell, which is dignified with 
the stately presence of Chee Tor, is extremely contracted. 
The rocks rise high and precipitately fi'om both sides of the 
river, which they here form into a narrow channel, and the 
traveller, who is not disposed to wade through the shallows of 
the stream, must necessarily return by the path he came. In 
a long dry season, the Wye is but a scanty rivulet ; it may 
then be crossed with little difficulty; at other times its passage 
is almost impracticable. Few individuals indeed ever attempt 
to penetrate beyond this part of Chee-dale. 

From this place to Blackwell-Mill, about a mile higher up 
the river, many beautiful scenes occur, all differing in detail, 
but, everywhere exhibiting the same general character. A 
brilliant and rapid stream sometimes winding round the huge 
fragments of stone that form its channel, then curling and 
circling into a thousand eddies — sometimes leaping precipit- 
ously from one bold shelving of rock to another, and breaking 
into the whitest foam ; then gliding smoothly though rapidly 
along, until another obstruction to its peaceful and unrufiled pro- 
gress produces the recurrence of a similar picture. Siich is 
the rivei; Wye in this sequestered place: its. banks are. every- 
where composed of a continued chain of perpendicular rocks of 
a greater or lesser altitude, which in some places are naked 
and unadorned, and in others finely covered with foliage. It 
may easily be imagined, that these materials must, occasionally 
if not frequently, be so thrown together and combined as to 
produce pleasing compositions. 

I have only once crossed the river from the upper extremity 
of Chee-dale, which I did with the intention of perambulating 
its banks from thence to Buxton : when this can be accom- 
plished, it must several times be forded from-one side to the 

a 4 


Other : indeed the channel of the stream, when occasions are 
taken of thus threading its course, is ahnost the only path that 
can be pursued without apprehension, as the sides and sum- 
mits of the rocks are precipitous and craggy, and in many 
places even dangerous to pass. My companion was equally 
anxious with myself to explore this hidden part of the Wye : 
we therefore, after passing the stream at the top of Chee-dale, 
wound our way up and down the steep acclivities, as a narrow 
and devious path-way led us, amongst bushes and brambles, 
until we came by a rugged and abrupt descent to a more open 
situation on the brink of the river. The scene here presented 
is one of the finest of its kind I ever beheld. A high rock, 
richly crested with oak and ash, occupies each side of the 
Wye. The branches of the trees throw themselves across the 
chasm, and produce a mass of shadow, deep, broad, and 
sombre: below, a smooth bed of water sleeps in unbroken 
tranquillity ; beyond, seen through the rocky vista, the luxu- 
riant foliage caught a stream of light, and all the upper and 
remoter parts of the scene were brightly illumined with the 
warm eflFulgence of a declining sun, which, contrasted with op- 
posing shadows, produced an effect that would have delighted 
a Rembrandt. The rock under which we stood, and the whole 
foreground of the picture, were finely broken : huge firagments 
of stone had been detached from above, and interrupted the 
progress of the stream, as it flowed and babbled along : tlie 
water, occasionallyruns nearly over them, and had left behind an 
earthy sediment, that nurtured the richly-coloured mosses with 
which they were invested : water docks, fern, and fox-glove, 
mingled their variety of leaf and tint to adorn and diversify 
this beauteous landscape : all the forms were fine, the colour- 
ing rich and harmonious, and the light and shadow most 
happily disposed. It was one of those fascinating scenes which 
memory treasures, and recurs to with delight. 

Leaving this retired spot, we again recrossed the river along 
the cragged sides of which we clambered with some interrup- 
tions, until we had attained the summit of the highest rock. 
Over this we had to pass or recede. The gulf that yawned 
below could not be contemplated without emotions of horror. 
We stood on a steep shelving bank, covered with a thin slip- 
pery grass, unsafe, and even dangerous to tread upon. A sheep 
track was the only path that lay before us, and this was car- 
ried so near the brink of the precipice, that I could not have 
beheld a goat or any thing that had life placed in so perilous a 


situation, without trembling. . We were now nearly four hun- 
dred feet above the little, stream that washed the base of the 
rock where we stood, and a glimpse into the fearful depth be- 
low was appalling and terrific. We paused for a moment — 
our nerves were shaken and unstrung: my companion, who 
fiilly shared in my feelings, hesitated — then refused to pro- 
ceed another step : we therefore retraced our way back to near 
Wormhill, and crossed the fields by a solitary path, which led 
us to the brow of a lofly eminence that overlooks Blackwell- 
Mill. From this elevated situation we descended by a wind- 
ing and narrow road, until we had regained the margin of the 

At Blackwell-Mill, where the river is spread out into con- 
siderable breadth, the dale expands and assumes a different 
character. Here the rocky scenery of the Wye subsides, and 
a series of deep dales succeeds, which are formed by high, 
sloping hills, thinly covered with verdure, and in some places 
crested with craggy knolls, and broken rock. Within the 
hollow of the lofty eminences that here prescribe the course of 
the river, lies Blackwell-Mill. Topley Pike, broad at its base, 
and lifting high its pointed summit o'er all surrounding ob- 
jects, is here a giant feature in the landscape. Along the side 
of this vast hill, the new road from Bakewell to Buxton has 
been carried : one would almost wonder at so bold an attempt, 
but what cannot the talent, the daring, and the perseverance 
of man achieve ? 

While I was in the dale below, contemplating the steep ac- 
clivity of Topley Pike, I was startled from my reverie by the 
sound of a coachman's horn, that came gently upon the ear, 
when I was least prepared to expect such a greeting. Shortly, 
a stage-coach appeared, which seemed actually to issue from 
the clouds that obscured the higher elevations of this stupend- 
ous hill ; and I observed it pass rapidly along, where the eye 
could scarcely discern the trace of a road, and where to all 
appearance a human foot could with difficulty find a resting- 
place. Had I supposed this vehicle to have contained within 
it beings like myself, I might have shuddered with apprehen- 
sion, but the coach, from its great height above me, looked so 
like a child's toy, and the sound of the horn was so soft and 
unobtrusive — so unlike the loud blast of a stage-coachman's 
bugle — and altogether the place was so unfitted for the in- 
trusion of such an object, that it appeared more like a fairy 


scene, or a picture of imagination, than any thing real and 

From the foot of Topley Pike the road passes by the side 
of the Wye, through some beautiful scenery to Buxton. 
Within about two imles of this fashionable bauiing^place the 
dale again contracts, and becomes a narrow passage through 
a cleft of rock, singularly romantic. The Wye is here ex- 
tremely beautiful : its lucid stream is sometimes pent up with 
fragments of rock that oppose its passage ; then breaking the 
bounds of its confinement, it foams and bubbles down its 
rugged bed until another interruption occurs to dam up the 
current. It now dashes against the mound by which it is^ 
opposed ; repelled by the obstruction it encounters, it circles 
into revolving eddies, that apparently retire under a shelving 
rock, until again it returns into the channel; then with an 
accumulated force it leaps the barrier, and bounds rapidly 
away. However fanciful, and perhaps even fantastic, this 
may be, I know not how otherwise to describe the impressions 
made upon my mind, as I watched the play, the spirit, and 
the progress of this secluded stream. 

The deep ravine through which the Wye thus sports is rich 
in picturesque materials, and at the " witching hour of even," 
the perpendicular rocks on the right of the road, split and 
broken into columns, and surmounted with bold and rugged 
battlements, gleam with the soft lightof departing day : the oppo- 
site side is dark with shadow, that envelopes all the lower part 
of the glen, which gradually becoming deeper and deeper as the 
night advanced, gives an additional clearness and a more bril- 
liant sparkle to the busy babbling Wye. In this contracted 
dell I again observed my favourite tree the ash ; — its gracefiil 
branches mingled with the varied foliage of the elm, the hazel^ 
and the yew : sometimes they shoot from a cleft or fissure in 
the rock — sometimes they play at its base, where they bend 
and dip their light stems in the stream they adorn. 

Near that part of the rock denominated the Lover's Leap, 
a little dell opens its craggy portals to the road. In winter a 
more picturesque place can hardly be found; and in summer, 
when a heavy shower of rain has swollen the mountain streams 
and filled their channels, a scanty rill, called Shirbrook, which 
takes its rise near the Ashbourne Road, about half a mile 
from Buxton, becomes in its progress a rapid and impetuous 
torrent ; passing between Staden's Low and the Duke's Ride» 
it enters a rocky glen near the Lover's Leap, where, dashing 


over a precipice, it forms a cascade of considerable elevation. 
The clifis near it are broken into romantic masses, and the 
basin into which it falls is composed of fragments of rock ; 
amongst these the water frets itself into the whitest foam ; 
whilst every object in the dell, the fern, the spiral blades of 
grass, the spreading dock, and every flower that blossoms 
there, are bright with spray and gemmed with drops of 

Proceeding from hence to Buxton, the dale through which 
the road is carried gradually loses its beauty until it terminates 
at the entrance into the town, where a neat and substantial 
stone bridge is thrown over the river Wye. We had loitered 
on the brink of this delightful stream idmost unconscious of 
the day's decline, until the last &int rays of the setting sun, 
that for a while rested on the topmost peak of Ax-edge, had 
withdrawn, and were succeeded by the sombre colourmg of a 
fine summer's night All was still around us, and the effect 
was grand and imposing. As we entered the town, we dis- 
cerned onlv the shadowy outline of things, and the mountains 
by which it is encompassed, wrapped in the solemn garb of 
night, came so near upon the eye, that their ample dimensions 
seemed to fill up the whole range of vision. As we proceeded, 
the sounds of distant music came upon the ear, and approach- 
ing nearer to the Crescent, we distinguished the sprighUy notes 
ofthe fiddle, the tabor, and the pipe. The assembly-room at 
the Great Hotel was now splendidly lighted up, and dancing 
had commenced for the evening. Our day's excursion ter- 
minated at the Shakspeare Inn, where we took up our resi- 
dence during our short stay in Buxton. 



T airfield, — Lime Hills. — Poolers-Hole. — Buxton Diamonds. 
— Ax'Edge. — Stranger at Buxton. — Source of the Wye, — 

The morning after our arrival in Buxton we visited Fairfield, 
the only pleasant situation in the whole district. This village 
stands on the summit of a gentle eminence, which forms a 
part of the extensive chain of hills that surround Buxton. 
The church-yard appears to have been long the burial-place 
for the whole neighbourhood ; and several tabular monuments 
and sculptured stones are found within it that record the names 
and deaths of individuals who sought health at Buxton and 
had found a grave at Fairfield. The church seems fitted only 
to adorn a landscape : and such apparently is the feeling with 
which it is regarded by those who are entrusted with its care : 
in distance it is a good object, though its exterior architecture 
is by no means imposing ; and within it is one of the most 
neglected places of worship in which man ever served his 
Maker. On a rocky mound, near it, stands a rude unshapen 
stone column, which is supposed to be part of the shaft of a 
cross ; but from its present appearance 1 should conclude that 
it had originally been used only as a pedestal to a sun-dial : 
for a more important purpose it is utterly unworthy. A 
curioTis epitaph, which we could not find, is said to be in- 
scribed on a stone here : I give it therefore on the authority 
of those who' have been more fortunate in their researches 
than myself : — 

" Beneath this stone here lie two children dear, 
" The one at Stoney Middleton — the other here." 

It is hardly possible to conceive a prospect more cheerless 
and forbidding than the hills around Buxton present. They 
had now lost the grandeur which darkness had thrown, over 
them the preceding evening, and their unpleasant detail was 


obtruded on the eye. With the exception of one or two 
small plantations of Scotch fir and larch, and a few meadows 
separated from each other by angular stone fences, that are 
carried along the sides of the hills with a tiresome monotony, 
scarcely any thing but sterility is to be seen. From Fairfield 
the lime hills beyond Buxton have a curious and delusive 
efiPect ; they appear like an assemblage of tents, placed on a 
steep acclivity, in regular stages one above another, and they 
strangely disfigure the scene : as a feature in landscape, they 
are very unpleasant, yet they are not the least extraordinary 
places in the vicmity of Buxton. Many of them have been 
excavated, and they now form the habitations of human be- 
ings. Some of them are divided into several apartments, and 
one aperture serves to carry off the smoke from the whole. 
The roofe of these humble dwellings are partially covered 
with turf and heath, and not unfrequendy a cow or an ass 
takes a station near the chimney, on the top of the hut, 
amongst tufts of fern and thistles, which together produce a 
very singular and' sometimes a pleasing effect. One conical 
hill that I observed, contains within it five or six different 
habitations, and to the whole there appears but one or two 
chimneys : by what contrivance these are made to answer the 
common purposes of so many families, 1 have not been in- 
formed. When Faugas St. Fond visited Buxton, he was as- 
tonished to see human beings entering into and emerging 
firom these excavations in the earth, like rabbits in a warren. 
Strangers beholding these places, would never imagine them 
the residence ofi creatures like themselves. When I first saw 
them, I knew not to what uses they were applied, for I did 
not then recognise them as objects I had previously met -with 
in description, and none of their inmates appeared at the 
threshold to mark them out as dwellings. On a second l«Dk, 
they had issued from their hovels as if by general agreement, 
and I found the whole hill was peopled — not like tne heathy 
glen in Scott's Lady of the Lake, with armed men at the sig- 
nal of Roderic Dhu -^ but with boys and girls, and men and 
women ; who having gazed for a moment upon us, suddenly 
disappeared, leaving us to reflect at leisure on the unusual 

At the foot of this hill lies Poole's-Hole. The entrance 
into this dreary cavern is narrow and forbidding ; and the air, 
even in summer, has a colJ and chilling effect that creeps 
through all the frame. Within, it is more capacious ; but in 


my estimation there is little in it to repay the trouble and in* 
convenience of a visit : those indeed who have seen the Devil's 
Cavern at Castleton, will derive but little gratification from 
Poole's-Hole. The roof and sides of this cave abound widi 
stalactites, sometimes thrown t<^ther in such a manner as to 
bear a distant resemblance to objects in nature. In one place 
we were shown a petrified turtle ; in another, a Jlitck of bacon ,• 
in a third, Old Pool^s saddle ; and still further on there -are 
other calcareous incrustations, caiXeA wool-packs — a, chair — 
a font — a ladi/s toilet — a lion — k pillion — and the pillar of 
Maty Queen of Scots. That these names have been dealt out 
and appropriated in a very arbitrary manner, may easily be 
imagined. The whale, or ouzel, which Hamlet points out 
amongst the clouds to poor Polonius, was not more unlike in 
form and feature than these uncouth resemblances are to the 
objects they are said to represent. 

About half a mile beyond this cavern is Diamond-Hill, a 
place often visited by strangers for the purpose of collecting 
those detached crystals of quartz that are here denominated 
Buxton diamonds. These crystals are hexagonal, and their 
sides and angles are accurately formed , but in general they 
ar^ of a bad colour, and but few of them are found perfectly 
transparent. They are hard, and their points, like the dia- 
mond, will cut glass ; but this property is soon worn off. 
Bray^ in his tour into Derbyshire, gives a curious account of 
the formation of these crystals : he says, " in the year 1 756, 
a gentleman, in his walks, observed some litde risings on the 
rocks, which appeared like ant-hills ; he opened some, and . 
found they consisted of a perfect %rch, drawn up, as he ima- 
gined, by the exhalation of the sun ; in them was first formed 
a thin bed of dirty-coloured spar, and upon that a regular 
cluster or bed of these crystals." He then adds, " Dr. Short 
says, all these are formed in the winter, and the more stormy 
and colder that is, the larger and harder these petrifactions." 
Our modern chymists, I am aware, will not be altogether 
satisfied with Dr. Short's old-fashioned method of manufactur- 
ing crystals. 

Returning from Fairfield, we passed through Buxton, in- 
tending to pay a visit to the summit of Ax-edge, a mountain 
which is considered one of the highest in the Peak of Derbyshire; 
A gradual and tiresome ascent of three or four miles leads 
to the top of this eminence, which commands an extensive view 
into Staffordshire and Cheshire oh one hand, and to the moun- 
tainous districts of Derbyshire dn the other. In the prospect 


here unfolded, the StaSbrdshire Hills are conspicuous objects ; 
and towards the source of the River Dove, which lies at the 
foot of Ax-edge, some very wild but barren scenery is pre- 
sented. This stupendous hill is covered with heath, which 
affords both food and shelter to the numerous moor game that 
inhabit it ; and as it was now the first day of the shooting 
season, we found ourselves somewhat annoyed with the guns 
that were continually going off around us : we were besides 
occasionally envelopea in clouds that swept over Ax-edge ; 
and being thus at times obscured from the sportsmen, and 
not entirely exempt from the danger of a stray shot, we relin- 
quished our picturesque pursuits and returned to Buxton. 

Re-entering the public-room at the Angel, I observed an 
interesting young man, who evidently laboured under the 
effects of a strong mental depression. His face was pale, but 
extremely prepossessing, and his dark eyes rather increased 
than diminished the melancholy expression of his countenance. 
He spoke but little, and he had apparently abstracted his at- 
tention so effectually and entirely from all external objects, 
that he seemed to be alone even in the midst of company. 
Yet the slightest noise breaking suddenly upon his ear, sensi- 
bly vibrated through all his frame. His existence was miser- 
able ; and I placea myself near hi in, not with the intention of 
impertinently interfering with the privacy of his sorrows, but 
certainly with a hope ^at an opportunity might occur of di- 
verting his attention to other objects than those which appeared 
to have taken possession of his every faculty. In this hope 
I was disappointed. His eye never wandered for a moment 
from the place on which it was fixed ; and I had too much 
respect for his sorrows, whatever they were, or however imag- 
inary they might be, to obtrude myself upon his observation. 
The greater part of the company had left the room in which 
we vere early in the forenoon, and the shooting parties, to- 
gether with some little merry-making, on account of the 
Prince Regenf s birth-day, brought the 12th of August, which 
^ might otherwise have passed without particular notice, to the 
recollection of tlie Buxton visitors. The casual mention of 
the day strongly agitated this interesting young man: the 
melancholy expression of countenance, and the wildness of his 
eye increased ; he was now conscious that he was not alone ; 
he therefore struggled with his feelings, and evidently endea- 
voured to suppress the violence of his emotions. With a 
tremulous voice he feebly ejaculated, " My poor brother !" 


then bursting into tears, he rushed out of the room. I know 
not that I ever observed any person more powerfully a^tated. 
I saw him again in the after-part of the day, when he ap- 
peared more composed, but I could not succeed in obtaining 
any part of his attention without a breach of good manners. 

I afterwards learnt that the 12th of August was the birth-day 
of a beloved brother, whom he had lately lost, not by the slow 
approaches of disease, but by a fall fi'om his horse. On the 
day of his brother's death the first paroxysms of his grief were 
succeeded by an intense stupefaction, that made him tptally 
indifferent to all around him : yet, until the day of interment, 
he would not be removed from the corpse of him whom in life 
he had so sincerely loved. At this awfiil moment, as the 
body was borne from one door of the house, he quitted it by 
another, and was not heard of for several days afterwards : he 
was then met with in a state of mental derangement, which 
afflicted him for many months, and at last left him so depressed 
in spirits, and so extremely sensitive, that with him existence 
could hardly be regarded as a blessing. This acute sensibilitv 
and excess of feeling exhibits, it is true, but little of self- 
possession ; it would, nevertheless, be impertinent and idle, if 
not cruel, to blame it. No man would willingly devote him- 
self to unpleasant sensations, and voluntarily become miserable: 
No! misery is instinctively and industriously avoided; and 
yet the mind that now triumphs in health may soon be 
" sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," and all its 
energies may be destroyed. Who can say that the fortitude 
which resists calamity to-day may not be overthrown on the 
morrow ? 

The remainder of this day we spent in perambulating the 
environs of Buxton, and having visited the source of the Dove 
in the early part of the day, we devoted the afternoon to a 
short excursion to the source of the Wye, that river which it 
was our principal object to investigate. Four of the rivers of 
Derbyshire — the Dane, the Goit, the Dove, and the Wye — 
are seen from the foot of Ax-edge, and taking difiPerent 
directions, tbey adorn and fertilise some of the most beautiful 
dales in the county. On the left of the Macclesfield road, 'in 
a deep hollow, about one mile from Buxton, we found the cradle 
of the Wye in as barren and unpicturesque a birth-place as 
ever infant streamlet had. With the source of a river with 
whose devious windings and lovely scenery we had been a 
thousand times delighted, we had associated ideas of the beau- 


tiful and romantic, and we wished to have found the Wye, 
where it first issues into day, not nestled amongst fern and 
rushes, but emerging from a bed of rock, and overhung with 
branches. Such was the picture our wishes and imagin- 
ations had portrayed. It was a sketch of &ncy that^ 
reality embodied not. But Nature works as she pleases; and 
if she gives more than she promises, who has a right to com- 
plain of the little pledge merely because it has been redeemed 
with a greater performance ? 

Nearer Buxton this little rivulet becomes an interesting, 
and, in some places, a beautiful stream : it winds through a 
plantation newly made, where a walk is carried alonff its 
banks, and as the river ripples amongst the stones or glides 
smoothly away, it is a pleasing picture to the eye. In the 
short space of half a mile several artificial cascades occur, 
which have but little or no beauty, yet the sound of the water, 
as it rushes over them, is grateful to the ear : it is one of na- 
tures sweetest melodies, and in the quiet retirement of a 
sequestered dell, where every other sound is hushed to rest, it 
come3 with a delightful influence upon the senses, abstracts 
the mind from ordinary cares, and sometimes soothes the 
troubled spirits to repose. 

Seated on a rural bench, beneath the shelter of a spreading 
elm, near one of these little water-falls, we listened to the 
music that it made until the last faint glimpse of day had de- 
parted, and the dark shadows of night, which seemed gradually 
to ascend from out the valley, had invested the tops of the . 
mountains, and the bat and the beetle, and the glimmering 
lights of evening, had warned us to depart: such, and so 
tranquil, was the close of our first day at Buxton. 




Staden-Lo^. — South entrance into Btixton, — The Crescent, — 
Mr. C. Sylvester's Hot Baths* — St. Ann^s Well. — Buxton 
Bath Charity. — Amusements. — Antiquity of the Warm Baths. 
^-^ Demolition of the Shrine and Image of St. Anne. 

The weather continuing fine, we commenced our second 
day*s ramble round Buxton by a visit to Sladen-Low, where 
the remains of some ancient earth-works are said to hare been 
clearly distinguishable until within a very few years. The 
ground, however, is now enclosed, and the plough has obliterated 
nearly every vestige of these memorials of former times. The 
adjoining village of Stad^i is of great antiquity, and it was 
once the most important place in the whole district. ' At this 
period, the officers of the surrounding hmnle^s, in consequence 
of some ancient prescription, were annually chosen, and 
inducted into their respective offices on the top of Stad^- 
Low, wlieHe liieir names were n^stered in dae pair ocUal 
records on a large fiat stone, which occupied tbat situation 
fer several centuries. This eostom has passed away, and tihe 
table of stone has disappeared. In this search after antiquities 
we were disappointed; but, as we passed along a part if the 
Duke's Ride, we were gratified widi a view of the river Wye 
from the tojJmost summit of the rock denominated Lover's 

As our observations had hitherto been confined to the modem 
part of Buxton, we determined, on our return from Staden, to 
join the Ashbourne Road near Shirbrook, and enter the town 
at the other extremity. Here nothing is presented to the eye 
but a mean country village, surrounded with barren hills. The 
houses, which are built pf limestone and thrown promiscuously 
together, equally in despite of order and taste, and the old 
church, one of the first objects that strikes the eye, and cer- 
tainly one of the humblest places of worship I ever beheld, 
seem to mark out this little town as the residence only of 


meanness and poverty. These observations must be under- 
stood to relate solely and entirely to the first appearance of the 
town as seen from the road, near a small inn, known by the 
name of the Chasbire Cheese. Strangers entering Buxton in 
this direction must be greatly disappointed in their expect- 
ations. The Crescent, and the numerous buildings by whidi 
it is surrounded, together with the whole of the modem part of 
the town, are hid in the deep hollow below, over which the 
eye passes to the hills beyond, and nothing is seen but a 
miserable village placed in as miser£d)le a country as the mind 
can possibly conceive. Approaching die Eagle Inn, the pla€e 
improves ; but it is not until we arrive at the brow of Saint 
Anne^s cliff that the new part of Buxton, with its elegant 
buildings and splendid hotels, is beheld. The transition is so 
sudden, and the change of scene so complete and entire, that 
the mind, bewildered and confused, almost doubts the reality 
of so extraordinary a contrast. Hie upper part of Buxton is 
truly a Derbyshire village ; the lower, in the elegance of its 
buildings, its show, and its parade, approximates to Bath. 
Nothing can be more instantaneous or more forcibly felt t^Mti 
the cimnge of passing from one part to die other of this 
fasbionabfc badiing^place ; and the company who visit k dur- 
ing the summer seas<Mi, furnish a contrast equally striking and 
ifflpreasiire. The bloom of health and the «ailow hue ^f 
disease >«— the elastic bound of youth and iHm &iling step of 
m&naitj^'^ wealth and poverty, «iid aH die gvadatiMis that 
society prodiicas between, are here tningled together, teaching 
a salirtary lesson to the obs^vi^ stranger as be piisses alon^. 
Buxton would indeed be a melancholy place were it not that 
fashion has made it her resort : hence ihe scene is variously 
chequered, and those gloomy impressicms, which are sometimes 
produced by a sight of human nature under affliction, are dis- 
sipated by gayer and more cheering objects. Here a man 
may learn properly to estimate that best of };>jlQ§$;i]iig$, health : 
he who possesses it, wUl be almost (every moment rewi.indeij of 
the treasure he enjoys ; and he who has j(t vi^ty may indulge 
the h<^e of findi,ng it, ieuod anticipate netumiiiig vjgour. 

As eauiy as the reign of Elizabeth, Buxton was>so n^uch fre- 
quented, that it became necessary to erect new btiikfings, and 
ftirnish additional accommodations to the nimierous visitors 
who even then resorted here both for health and pleasure, hi 
the legislative enactments of this period^ tfa^ itineraiit wigfiSSIr 
tions of the poor were restrained, and they weie more dosely 

H 2 - 


confined to their own parishes. Mendicity now became an 
offence, and in an act made in the thirty-ninth year of Eliza- 
beth, it is provided, that the poor who from disease or. infirmity 
might have occasion to resort to Bath or Buxton, should have 
relief from their parishes, and a pass from two magistrates, 
fixing the period of their return — a provision which evinces 
not only a solicitude to guard against vagrancy and begging, 
but the high estimation in which the Buxton waters were at 
this time held. 

The old Hall, over the Baths, was erected about this period, 
and other buildings were added as the wants of a progressively- 
increasing number of visitors appeared to require ; but it was 
reserved for the Dukes of Devonshire to bestow architectural 
splendour on Buxton. The Crescent is a noble pile of build- 
ing, and the Hotels of which it is composed are admirably 
a^pted to furnish the best and most elegant accommodations. 
A Crescent is not one of the finest forms a building can take : 
unless it be a portion of a very extensive circle indeed, it is far 
from being an imposing object. Nearly seen, or seen from 
any point of view besides the centre of the circle which the 
Crescent describes, some of th^ parts appear either distorted 
or out of proportion ; hence it is, I presume, that the Crescent 
at Buxton fails to produce impressions commensurate with its 
grandeur : buQdings of equal magnitude in almost any other 
form, would have a more magnificent effect. The architect- 
ural detail of inns and dwelling-houses, is not included within 
the plan of these excursions, yet having been favoured with the 
following particular account of the Crescent in manuscript, by 
Mr. H. Moore, of Derby, the accuracy^ of which is fully con- 
firmed by my own observations, 1 have not hesitated to use his 
communication, for which I now publicly return him my 
. thanks. 

" The Crescent at Buxton has three stories ; in the lower one is 
a rusticated arcade, that forms an agreeable prortienade : above 
the arches, an elegant balustrade stretches along the whole front 
and the ends of the fabric : over the piers of the arcade arise 
fluted Doric pilasters, that support the architrave and cornice : 
the trygliphs of the former and the rich planceer of the latter 
have a beautiful appearance. The termination above the cornice 
is formed by another balustrade, that extends along the whole 
building, in the centre of which are the Devonshire arms finely 
sculptured. In the space between the windows runs an enriched 
' string course. 


" The floor of the arcade is several feet higher than the gravel- 
led area, between which communications are formed by several 
flights, of steps. The span of the Crescent is two hundred feet, 
and each wing measures fifty-eight feet three inches, making the 
whole extent of the front three hundred and sixteen feet and a 

Within the ample sweep of this princely building, are the 
tepid Baths, and very recently two artificial Hot Baths have 
been added to the other accommodations of this fashionable 
place. They are convenient and very neatly fitted up, but un- 
fortunately they have been built where sufficient room could 
not be obtained ; they therefore want capacity. The appar- 
atus connected with these Baths, and the manner in which the 
water and the rooms are heated, are the work of Mr. Charles 
Sylvester, late of Derby, but now of London. What he has 
done, and done so well in a small compass, makes us regret 
that he had not more space for the exercise of his talent. These 
Baths are placed opposite the Grove Inn, i^nd they have a 
private communication with the Great Hotel, the only circum- 
stance, perhaps, which induced their establishment in so con- 
fined asSituation. 

The Crescent at Buxton is the work of the late John Carr, 
Esq. an architect of great provincial celebritv, who resided at 
York : its erection was dictated by a spirit of munificence, and 
it is executed in a style of grandeur that might well befit the 
residence of a prince ; yet the site on which it stands is perhaps 
the worst that could possibly have been selected for such a 
purpose. From no one point of view can it be seen to advan- 
tage. And the unmeaning hUl (I speak now of its form and not 
of its recent adornments) by which it is closely blocked up, 
precludes its inmates from beholding any other object. A 
grove once occupied the place where it stands, and the litde 
river Wye babbled through it. The stream is now confined 
to a hidden channel underneath the Crescent, and the trees 
were destroyed to make room for its erection. This instance 
of bad taste is really reprehensible, particularly in a place 
where trees do not abound, and which, notwithstanding some 
recent plantations, has altogether a very naked and dreary 
appearance. " . 

The stables belonging to the Duke of Devonshire's Hotels, 
constitute a fine range of buildings ; they occupy a gendy 
rising ground at the back of the Crescent, and thdr stvle of 
architectiire happily corresponds with the grandeur of that 

H S 

f6H SAIirt? A3»«i:'« WELL, 

ildble edlfte^f. A coveferfride is carried found die as^ca which 
Aese biiifdiirgp include, for. the ptirpose of afFordirtg a» oppor* 
tunity to the company at Buxton to indulge in the useful 
exercise of riding even in rainy weather.* Another of the 
architectural ornaments of modem Buxton is the New 
Church, a very handsome stone structure, which owes its 
€tiscti<m to the bbio^ nfillble ikmily a« whose expense the Cres- 
eetn wfts built, and under whose auspices a humble viUage has 
b^eS6i¥ie tiot otily one of the most important towns in the 
Feak of D^byshtre, but a place of general and fashionalde 

Under the liberal and munificent spirit of the Dukes of 
DeVctfishire^ Bu!itton is progressively and rapidly improvii^: 
Aie moimd in the front of the Crescent is no longer a lump of 
ddbrmitf ; the getlia» of Wyatt has concerted it into am object 
6f beaifty : all that taste and judgmel^t could possifafy effisct 
h&& been dme, and a series of beautiful promenades and ver- 
daht slop^ n^ow covers this once unmeaning hilL 

At the foot of this eminence Ae water from St. Aime's' 
Well issues into a marble basin, over which a somll but ele- 

Smt temple, surmounted with an urn, has been erected. Here 
e Buxton visitors resort to drink the water, which is gene- 
tully taken in moderate quantities before breakfast, and again 
before the usual hour of dinner. Though the water from this 
Well is warna, being about 82 degrees of Fahrenheit's thermo- 
ttf^ter, it is pleasant to the taste, and has a clear and sparkling 
l£ppearance in the glass. In the Baths the water is beaut^Uy 
transparent, a quauity which it gradually loses when deprived 
of its pecttKar temperature by exposure in a veissel to the 
Open air. 

The B«ths are all situated tiear the Old Hall, at the western 
extremity of the Crescent : two ^f them are appropriated to 
the ladies, three to the gentlemen, and the other is devoted 
to the use of the poor, who are allowed to bathe without fee 
or charge. Buxtbn Bath Charity, which bestows this valuaUe 
privilege on those who cannot otherwise enjoy it, is one of th« 
m6st ttnoi$tientatiOtrs institutions that benevolence ever estab* 
lisfhed. Thodgh the means by which it is supported arc 
precarious, and apparently too slender to produce any exten- 
[give benefit, yet much good is annually derived from the 
economical and judicious management of its funds. This 
Ch«n*ity is principally supported by a trifling contribution from 
4r6se whey fi»H Btixton t wiif^e^rer any utmeo§aga» «ndve 


either at the inns or the principal lodging-houses, immediately 
after dinner a subscription-book is introduced, in which thev' 
are expected to insert their names, and pay one shilling each 
towards the relief of those who su£fer the double infliction of 
pain and poverty. This little donaticm ** blesseth him that 
takes and him that gives :" it. purchases the gratifying privilege 
of recomm^iding a person to the Charity, who on his m^ 
mission is furnished with medical assistance —-the use of a 
bath, which is exclusively appropriated to this purpose — and 
six shillings a week for one mondi towards his support. From 
one hundred and fifty to two hundred sufiering individuals 
are thus annually admitted to a liberal participation of 
those benefits which result from the use of the tepid baths at 

Though the policy of limiting the benevcdence of individuak 
may be questioned, yet the practical operation of this regales 
tion in Buxton is generally approved : when the subscription- 
book is introduced th^re is no balancing between shSlings 
aiid pounds — neither the depth of the purse nor the feelings 
of the heart can be ascertained, or even guessed at, by the sum 
subscribed, and invidious remark and illiberal surmise and 
comment are thereby precluded. 

Buxton is not an expensive place to live at : the {nrincipal 
inns furnish excellent accommodations at a moderate rate: 
four shillings and sixpence is generallv paid for the day : for 
this sum breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper are provided : 
an extra charge of one shilling is made for tea to those who 
may be disposed to partake of so pleasant a repast. At the 
best lodging-houses the expense is somewhat less, and as those 
who prefer living in a retired manner even in the midst of a 
throng have an opportunity of fiimishing their own wine and 
liquors, they are much fi-equented. 

During the summer months diis httle town is far from be- 
ing devoid of amusement. The Theatre is but a very humble 
structure, yet its interior is well fitted up; and frequently per- 
formers of considerable merit are engaged by the managers 
for the best part of the season. Besides the Theatre, there is 
^ elegant and spacious Assembly-room, which is attached to 
the Great Hotel in the Crescent, and is opened early in June 
annually, for three nights in the week: nor is Billinge's 
Billiard Room, or the Coffee Room at die Great Hotel, desti- 
tute of attractions. The variety of amusements afforded by 

H 4 


these places, in addition to the time occupied in bathing', 
riding, walking, and dressing, completely fill up the whole 
round of a long summer day, and bid defiance to ennui. The 
Petrifaction fVorksy as they are generally designated by those 
who deal in the mineral and fossil productions of Derbyshire, 
are another soufce of amusement, and their investigation can 
hardly fail to produce both information and delight. The 
fluor, or phosphoric spars of this interesting county are here 
manufactured into a variety of ornaments, and many of the 
retail shops in &uxton ace enriched with these beautiful pro- 
ductions of the Peak. 

That this now fashionable bathing place was in earlier 
times a Roman station, appears indisputable, and it is highly 
probable that it was selected for the purpose by this warlike 

eK>ple on account of the warm springs with which it abounds, 
uxton is likewise the intersecting point of two great military 
roads — the one connecting Manchester with little Chester, 
and the other running firom Middlewich and Congleton to 
Brough, near Castleton, in the Peak, and thence to x ork and 

Yet Buxton, with all its advantages, and notwithstanding the 
early notice it obtained, appears to have risen but slowly into 
consequence: an author whom I have somewhere read, intimates 
*^ that the Romans erected magnificent mansions and elegant 
models of Italian architecture among the majestic mountains 
of the Peak." When a man is disposed to indulge in these 
splendid reveries of imagination, it is extremely diflScult to 
restrain his wanderings and confine him within the limits of 
probability. The same strain of fanciful feeling he still far- 
ther induces, and he sees *^ in his mind's eye" this insignifi- 
cant place "assume the appearance of a Roman bathing 
villa," and he talks with rapture of "the sudatories and 
dressing-rooms with which it was then furnished." But this is 
more lifce poetry than history : yet the coins and the other 
remains which have at various times been found here, establish 
the fact that Buxton was known to and visited by the Ro- 
mans. To this generation of enterprising men we are per- 
haps indebted not only for the use of the tepid baths in this 
countiy, but for the discovery of the warm springs at Buxton. 
Immediately after the expulsion of the Romans these baths 
probably sunk into ncjglect, yet it is not likely that they 
should even then remain long unvisited: their salutary in- 


fiuence had been experienced in many instances, and gra^ 
dually they became extensively and generally known. Cen- 
turies ago they were in great repute, and the chapel of St. 
Anne, the tutelary saint of these hot springs, was hung 
round with the crutches of those who had come infirm and 
lame to try the sanative powers of these waters, and had re- 
turned " leaping and rejoicing." A zeal for reform destroyed 
these reliques, which were supposed to have a tendency to 
perpetuate error and delusion. The following letter, written 
by one of the agents of the Eighth Harry, and addressed to 
Lord Cromwell, shows with what a ready subserviency the 
orders of monarchs are carried into effect, however silly and 
contemptible they may be. As connected with the history of 
Buxton, it is an interesting and curious document, and much 
too valuable to be neglected on this occasion : I therefore 
gladly close my observations on this rapidly improving place 
with a production ho full of information. 

" Might Honourable and my inespecial Good Lord. 

" 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-upon-Trent, which 
images I did take from the places where they did stand, and 
brought them to my house within forty-eight hours afler the con- 
templation 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 that allure and entice the ignorant to the said offer- 
ing ; also giving the keepers of , both places orders that no more 
offerings should be made in those places till the King's pleasure 
and your Lordship's be further known in that behalf. 

** My Lord, I have locked up and sealed the baths and wells of 
Buckston, that none shall enter to wash there till your Lordship's 
pleasure be further known ; whereof I beseech your good Lord- 
ship that I may be ascertained again at your pleasure, and I shall 
not fail to execute your Lordship's commandments to the utmost 
of my little wit and power. And ray Lord, as touching the 
opinion of the people and the fo;id trust they did put in those 
images, and the vanity of the things, this bearer ca.n 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, 
whom ever have your Lordship in his precious keeping. 

" Written at Langley with the rude and simple hand of your 
assured and faithful orator, and as one and ever at your command- 
ment, next unto the King's, to the uttermost of his little power. 

" To Lord Cromijoear 



Leave Buxton. — Water SwaUams. — Thnstead. — James Brind^ 
ley. — W&tmhill'Dale. — Fiewjrom Diamond Hill.— Miller's 
Dale. — Raven Tor. -^Litton MiU-Dale. — Cressbrook-Mill. 
fTm. Newton. — Difficult Passage Jrorm Litton^MiU to Cress- 
brook. — Scenery there. 

After spending a few days at Buxton, rambling about its 
vicinity, and sharing in tbe gaieties and the pleasures of the 
place, we left it early on a fine morning, and took the road to 
Fairfield. From Cheedale we had passed along the brink of 
the river Wye, on our way to Buxton ; instead, therefore, of 
retracing our steps, we crossed the fields by a bye path in the 
direction of Great-Bocks, leaving the farm-house called Water 
Swallows at a short distance on our left. At this place a 
stream that flows through the adjacent meadows suddenly 
loses itself in a chasm in the earth ; llien pursuing its way along 
a subterranean passage for several miles, it again emerges 
into day at the base of a steep hill near Wormhill. It wais 
our intention to regain the channel of the Wye at this par- 
ticular place, for the purpose of passing along the margin of 
the river, from thence to Haddon and Kowsley. We there- 
fore took the most direct path, through verdant meadows and 
lanes but little used, leaving the village of Tunstead about 
half a mile on our left. Here we paused for a short time to 
look at the birthplace of Brindley, the celebrated engineer 
who was employed by the Duke of Bridgewater in the im- 
provement of that system of inland navigation now so widely 
extended through every part of the kingdom, and which the 
talents of this obscure and humble individual contributed so 
essentially to promote. 

Few men have done more to benefit society than James 
Brindley : he was a man of an extraordinary and independent 
genius : he thought, comprehended, and decided for himself; 
and his invincible perseverance surmounted every obstacle in- 
terposed in his way. In the prosecution of his plans the 
mountains may be said to have sunk before him, oad the hills 


and valleys were to him as plain places : he perforated the 
one, and he bridged the other, with apparent facility, while 
his contemporaries, who were astonished at the vastness of his 
daring, confidently predicted his failure, and anticipated his 
disgrace. The Duke of Bridgewater was fortunate in con- 
fiding to this self-taught engineer the execution of his designs, 
and Srindley found a patron in the Duke, whose wealth was 
commensurate with his public spirit, and who entrusted to this 
humble individual the entire management of those works, 
which, in their results, might have involved the whole of his 
immense estates. 

In the execution of the various canal establishments in which 
Brindley was employed, it appears to have been his primary 
object to avoid all interference with natural rivers, and to main- 
tain the same undeviating, level to the greatest possible extent. 
On this principle his designs invariably move, in bold defiance 
of every obstruction which nature had thrown in his way. It 
is a curious fact, and not unworthy of remark, that this man 
planned and executed the most complicated mechanism with- 
out the assistance of either drawing or model. When em- 
ployed on any new undertaking, or when -difficulties obtruded 
upon him, he would lie in bed for several successive days and 
nights, until he clearly comprehended the whole detail of his 
operations, and his mind had become familiarized to the most 
minute parts and the most complex movements. He then 
commenced his work with all the confidence of success, and 
he was but rarely disappointed in his calculations. The little 
village of Tunstead was the birth-place of Brindley: he was 
born in the year 1716, and died in 1772, in the fifty-sixth 
year of his age. 

From this place a short walk brought us into a narrow 
dale, that became gradually wider, deeper, and more pic- 
turesque, as we proceeded through it in our way to Wormhill. 
The lower part of this dale opens to the river Wye. Where 
it terminates, two beautiful streams emerge fi'om under a lime- 
stone rock, about twenty yards apart, and, meandering amongst 
the long tufl:s of grass, form a thousand little rivulets, that 
flow into the Wye near the foot of Chee Tor. The course of 
one of the principal branches of these streams is extremely 
precipitous, and the water is divided into many currents by 
rocky fragments, covered over with mosses and lichens, and 
the banks are adorned with every flower that haunts the brook 
or dips the leaf in water. The brilliant hues here displayed 


were as harmoniously combined, and as various and as beau- 
tiful, as the tints of the rainbow; amongst these the water 
rushing and bounding along, and leaping from one huge stone 
to another, sparkled with light: altogether this little scene 
presented one of the most richly diversified specimens of 
splendid colouring that I ever. beheld. Another season of 
the year might be less propitious ; — too much or too little 
water would injure, if not spoil, the picture. 

Before we left this dell, we again clambered to the top of 
the rocky mound that bars up the entrance into Chee-dale, 
from which we had a view down the river, ftiU of beauty and 
agreeably diversified. Chee-dale, and its magnificent Tor, 
combined with the romantic scenery with which it is adorned, 
so entirely abstract the attention of the traveller from other 
objects, that the dale of Wormhill is frequently passed un- 
noticed : yet how abundant is it in materials, and how hap- 
pily disposed are all the parts J The foliage that covers one 
side of the dale, under whose branches the river, rich with 
reflected hues, sweeps gracefully along, presents a picturesque 
contrast to the grey rock and heathy verdure, which are the 
distinguishing features of the other. In the off-scape, a rude 
wooden bridge spans the river ; and where the sides of the 
dale approximate in distahce, they are well wooded, and the 
direction of the Wye, which is now no longer seen, is dis- 
tinctly marked by the different character and colour of the 
trees ' that decorate its banks. It was our intention to follow 
the course of the river through all its windings, and therefore 
leaving the sublime Chee Tor with regret, we passed, by a 
fisherman's path, through the contracted part of Wormhill- 
dale. The right bank of the Wye, which is made up of rock 
and wood, rises almost perpendicularly from the water's edge 
to a considerable height. The left affords a difficult passage 
amongst trees and underwood, brambles, and colt's foot, 
which is continued to within a few hundred yards of the 
bridge in Miller's-dale. At this bridge we crossed the river, 
for the purpose of exploring a contracted dell which leads 
from Diamond-hill to the village of BlackweU. 

While my companion was employed in sketching, from a 
jutting eminence at the base of PriestclifF, one of the- finest 
scenes on the banks of the Wye, 1 amused myself in search- 
ing, amongst a stratum of loose toad-stone, near the road side, 
. for Derbyshire diamonds. These crystals are here found in 

1 10 miller's-dale. 

abundance, and they sometimes glitter in the pathway of the 
traveller and attract his attention : they are often defective in 
fiyrm,. and generally they are of a dirty colour, slightly tinged 
with yellow, red, and purple. The dell that had allured us 
from the margin of the river below, is full of studies for the 
artist ; every where the rocks are finely broken, and their sides 
are adorned with coppice wood, elm, ash, and hazel. On our 
return into Miller*s-dale we again stopped to look at the 
lovely scene with which my companion had just enriched his 
sketch-book. ITie river Wye rushing through the dell be- 
neath — the lofty hills that form its cnannel — the luxuriant 
foliage with which they are covered — the craggy knolls that 
crest their summits — the glimpse of verdant pasturage be* 
tween — the shadowy outline of the distant mountains — all 
unite to form a landscape exquisitely beautiful in all its parts 
and combinations. 

In Miller's-dale, the river, which had been pent up within 
a narrow chasm, appears to rejoice at its release, as it quietly 
spreads into a more ample stream and glides leisurely away. 
This is a delightftil dale, and it abounds with scenes, that, as 
they are beheld, sooth and tranquillize the mind. Tlie stream 
is never turbulent — never still ; and though in some places 
the huge branch of a gnarled oek or a weather-beaten elm 
shoots from a cleft or fissure in the rock above, in a manner 
that suggests a recollection of the pictures rf Salvator, yet 
the light and elegant foliage with which it is accompanied, 
subdues every feature of wildness, and softens down the whole 
to beauty: the mills — the leapkigs that are thrown across the 
river — the cottages embosomed in trees, or oveAung wWi 
rock — every object in the dale is fraught with beauty. 

Passing the lower mill the rocks on the left assume a bolder 
feature, and progressively rise to a considerable altitude. 
Neither tree nor shrub flourishes at their base, and their sides 
«nd their summits are naked and unadorned, and yet, with 
the exception of Raven Tor, they are so broken into deep re- 
cesses and jutting crags, that they have more of a romantic 
than a wild or a savage character. The incumbent stratum of 
this range of rocks is calcareous, and it rests onr a bed of 
toad-stone of a deep brown colour, which is intermixed with 
particles of spar, and has the appearance of volcanic lava. 
This intimation is only useftil so far as it may direct the at- 
trition of the traveller to some of the best specimens of i3ms 

whitehubst's description of toad-stone. Ill 

mirious material, which Whitehurst^ in his Enquiry into the 
Formation of the Earth, thus describes : — 

^* Toad-stone, a blackish substance, rery hard ; contains bladdelr 
holes, like the scoria of metals or Iceland /ava, and has the same 
chymical property of resisting acids. Some of its bladder holes 
are filled with spar, others only in part, and others again are quite 
empty. This stratum is not l^iminated, but consists of one entire 
solid mass, and breaks alike in all directions. It does not produce 
any minerals, or figured stones, representing any part of the ani- 
mal or vegetable creation, nor are any adventitious bodies enve- 
loped in it ; but it is as much an uniform mass as any vitrified 
substance whatever can be supposed to be : neither does it uni- 
versally prevail, as the limestone strata, nor is it like them equally 
thick ; but in some instances varies in thickness from six feet to 
six hundred, as will be shown hereafter. It is likewise attended 
with other circumstances which leave no room to doubt of its 
being as much a la'oa as that which flows from Hecla, Vesuvius, 
« Etna." 

From Raven Tor to Litton-Mill, the dale is less picturesque 
and interesting ; yet the river still maintains its beauty, and 
every where exhibits the same cheerful character. Some of 
the springs in this dale have a petrifying quality, and many of 
the stones are covered with calcareous incrustations. We 
were now arrived at a narrow part of the dale, and were com- 
pelled to abandon the immediate brink of the river by the 
near approximation of the rocks that form its channel. From 
Lkton-Mill (for even in this secluded spot the hitherto pure 
stream of the Wye is contaminated by the erection of machin- 
ery for the spinning of cotton) a steep and toilsome path led 
us to the top of an airy and commanding eminence which 
displays an extensive view of the surrounding country, where 
the mountains and hills of this part of the Peak are seen 
beautifully intersecting, meeting, and receding from each other 
to the moat remote part of distance. 

** My soul this vast homon fills, 

^ Widiin wfaose undulated line 
" Thick stand the multitiide of hUls, 

" And clear the waters shine." 

Montgomery's Peak MoutdcAnt, 

Prom this elevation the view into the gulpb below is terrific : 
<a long descending bank, too abrupt and steep for human foot 
to travearse, shelves lo the brink of a cbaam of rifted rock, 
through which the river flows. Each side of this nari!Ow pas3 


is a perpendicular height, varying from two to three or four 
hundred feet The Wye is here a considerable stream, but 
seen from this lofty station, it appears only a narrow stripe 
winding between the grey rocks that form its channel. 

" The murmuring surge 

^* That on the unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, 
•* Cannot be heard so high." 

" I'll look no more, 

" Lest my brain turn, and my deficient sight 

** Topple down headlong." SnAKSPiftAaE. 

The descent from this place to Cressbrook presents a view 
into Monsal-dale, which forcibly suggests the idea of " Beauty 
resting in the lap of horror." The bleak hills that surround 
this sequestered spot, form an apparently impassable barrier, 
and seem to close it on every side : tranquilly embosomed 
within the limits they prescribe, lies as lovely a scene as ever 
eye reposed on with delight : picturesque cottages half hid 
amongst surrounding trees — fields that " laugh with plenty" 
— a busy and beautiful river, now dark with shadow and now 
sparkling with light, meandering through them, constitute the 
peculiar charm of Monsal-dale. 

At the head of this dale, where Cressbrook joins the Wye, 
a Cottdn-Mill has been recently erected, which finds employ- 
ment for a great number of exotics of both sexes, who are 
periodically imported from their native soil to fade or flourish 
among the hills of the Peak. Mr, William Newton, Miss 
Seward's " Peak Minstrel," resides near this factory, and if I 
am not mistaken, he has the superintendence of those children 
who are incarcerated from the world within it. Once, when 
passing down this dale, 1 heard him remark, that he had that 
day had a considerable increase to his family — upwards of 
thirty boys and girls from London. What a train of ideas 
did this observation create ! " Thirty boys and girls, de- 
serted by their natural protectors, and thrown, like waifs, upon 
the world's wide waste, without a single being to show them 
kindness — not one to love or be beloved by them ; no parent 
with a kindly feeling to pat them on the cheek, and pray, 
* God bless them.' " One pleasant consideration, however, 
mingled itself with my reflections ; I felt assured that these 
friendless children were confided to the care of an indulgent 
master, who would take an interest in softening the rigour of 
their situation, by kindness and attention. 


The scenery about Cressbrook miU is strikingly picturesque: 
the buildings are backed with rock, and wood, and lofty hills, 
and the water plays delightfully about them ; yet they seem 
strangely out of place. The residence of the " Peak Min- 
strel," the sequestered beauties of M onsal-dale, and the mur- 
murs of the river Wye, are combinations that do not harmonize 
with the rattling of the various machinery and the noise and 
bustle of a Cotton Mill. 

Wm. Newton, whose productions in early life attracted the 
attention of Miss Seward and the poet Hayley, and who oc- 
cupies the house under the hill that overlooks Cressbrook, 
was born at Abney, a small village in the vicinity of Tides- 
well. His father was a carpenter, and the son at an early 
period of life was employed at the same trade, in which he^ 
was soon distinguished as an ingenious and skilful workman. 
Few indeed were the opportunities he had for the culture and 
improvement of his mind; when, however, any occurred, 
they were laid hold of with avidity and used with advantage. 
Being occasionally employed in tne best houses in the neigh- 
bourhood of Tideswell, books would sometimes casually fall 
in his way; these, whenever the opportunity occurred, he 
never failed to peruse, and thus an attachment to literary stu- 
dies was originally produced in his mind. He entirely ab-^ 
stracted himself from the common amusements and pursuits 
of the young men around him ; of course, he had but few 
companions, and was comparatively but little known ; for in 
reading he had no associates. He married earlv in life, but 
being industrious, and using his little means with economy, 
before he was thirty years old he had accumulated a little li- 
brary of well-selected books ; and his leisure hours were de- 
voted to the study of poetry, history, and philosophy. About 
this period of time the Rev. P. Cunninghame, curate of Eyam, 
by accident discovered this Minstrel of the Peak Mountains, 
whom he soon afterwards introduced to Miss Seward, and we 
have her testimony that he had then read with considerable 
improvement and advantage. She says, " he conversed with 
perspicuity and taste upon the authors he had read, the strik-» 
ing scenery of the few counties he had beheld, and the nature 
of his own destiny, perceptions, and acquirements." The 
same authority says, " the elegance and harmony of Mr. 
Newton's language, both in prose and verse, are miraculous,^ 
when it is remembered that till Mr. Cunninghame kindly dis-i 
tinguished him, he had associated only with the unlettered 


and inelegant vulgar.'* Mr. Newton appears to have been 
highly sensible of the value of Cunninghame's acq\iaM:itance : 
in one of his letters, dated from Monsal-dale, he saysy " last 
week Mr. Cunninghame found me in this lovely valley sur- 
rounded by wheels, springs, and various mechanical opera- 
tions; to his creative fancy they appeared as the effect of 
m^ic, and he called me * Prospero.' " 

To this self-taught bard. Miss Seward inscribed a poem, 
which was originally published in the Gentleman's Magazine. 
This copy of verses may be found in the third volume of her 
poems, and they are highly complimentary to the genius of 
Newton. In her correspondence with her literary friends he 
is frequently mentioned in the same strain of eulogy, and some 
of her letters are addressed to him. In one to Mr. Saville, 
dated from Buxton, she says, " that being of true integrity, 
that prodigy of self-taught genius, Newton, the minstrel of 
ray native Itiountaiins, walks over them from Tideswell, his 
humble home, to pass the day with me to-morrow. To pre- 
clude wonder and comments upon my attentions to such an 
apparent rustic at the public table, I have shown two charm- 
ing little poenis of his, which are deservedly admired here." 

The poet Hayley appears to have entertained an opinion 
not less elevated of the poetic attainments and the genius of 
Newton. Writing to Miss Seward, who had asked his 
opinion of Burns, he replies, " I admire the Scotch peasant, 
but do not think him superior to your poetical carpenter." 
It may appear presumptuous to arraign the taste and judg- 
ment of Hayley on this occasion ; but, supposing him to have 
expressed an honest and undisguised opinion, this can hardly 
be avoided, ungracious as the task may be. The poetic com- 
positions of Newton are certainly very creditable to his talents^ 
but they are not of a character and description to justify the 
exalted commendation here expressed. Did Hayley regard 
Bums merely as a writer of verse, and was he insensible to 
those electric flashes of genius and feeling which eminendy 
distinguish the productions of the Ayrshire bard ? The pas- 
sage here quoted from his letter to Miss Seward, renders it 
difficult to suppose otherwise. Or perhaps Hayley had him- 
self formed but an erroneous estimate of the qualities essential 
to true poetry. However this may be, his commendations of 
Newton are somewhat too extravagant, even when every al- 
. loi^^able justice is done to his compositions ; and I know that 
at this time.his good sense and modesty so regard them, for 


he is but little in the habit of formhig an erroneous estimate 
of his own qualifications. The manner in which Miss Seward 
has mentioned the subject of this short biographical sketch, 
mid the prodigal panegyrics of Hayley, who inscribed to him 
a highly complimentary sonnet, less imbued with the spirit of 
poetry than the spirit of praise, will, it is presumed, justify 
this notice of a worthy man. 

The margin of the river between Litton Mill and Cress-* 
l^rook, is but rarely visited by human £[x>tsteps : sometimes 
a solitary angler, when in the pursuit of his &vourite arouse^ 
ment, will p^ietrate the dell, and pursue the course of th« 
i^tream ; ai»i occasionally an adventurous tourist, in searoh eS 
the hidd^ beauties of the Wye, will pass throiq^ it. Thi% . 
however, seldom occurs, as the attempt is ardueus, Md ciamiot 
be accomplished without some difficulty, and, perhaps^ daaf/at* 
The river here flows through a deep deft of perpeodieulilr 
roeks, which, to the man who traverses their base, have dM^ 
appearimee of impending masses, that threstten M below witik 

•* So high the clilfe of limestone grey, 

** Hang beetting o*er the torrent's way, 

'' Yielding along their rugged hase, 

" A flinty footpath's niggard space, 

" Where he wno winds 'twixt rock and wave, 

" May hear the headlong torrents rave ; 

'^ And like a steed in frantic fit, 

<' That flings the froth from curb and bit, 

** May view her chase her waves to spray, 

" O'er every rock that bars her way, 

** Till foam-clobes on her eddies ride 

^ Thick as the schemes of human pride, 

*' That down life's current drive atndn, 

*' As frail, as frothy, and as vain." 

Walter Scott. — Rokeby, Canto 2. 

A man whom I well knew, and who was but little influenced 
by imaginary fears, visited Cressbrook a few years ago, and 
seduced by the wildness of the scenery, he had an inclination 
to penetrate the channel of the Wye, and explore its beau»* 
ties. He entered the dell near the mill, and pursued his 
route upwards, but the high rocks with which he soon found 
himself surrounded, appeared to him so terrific and full of 
horror, that he felt anxious to retrace his steps before he had 
proceeded more than a hundred yards ; and when he had 
happily emerged from the dreadful chasm, as he terihed it^ 
and was safe trom the peril in whidh he in^agioed he had be^i» 

I 2 


involved, his mind did not recover its accustomed serenity for 
some hours afterwards. 

The whole of this dell, with the exception of one single place, 
which, includes a space of about twenty yards, may be passed 
with safety, though perhaps not without apprehension. I once 
made the experiment, and have no wish to repeat it. From 
Litton Mill I took the right of the river, along a narrow path- 
way which had been made by fishermen close upon its brink, 
until a projecting rock, that partly overhung the stream, pre- 
sented an apparently insuperable barrier to my ferther progress. 
I hesitated for a moment, and the question, " shall I recede 
or go on ?" was soon determined by the anxious solicitude I 
felt to pass along the margin of the stream from Litton to 
Cressbrook. I therefore resolved at all hazards to persevere. 
Something like a sheep-track, not broad enough in any 
place to aSmit more than one foot at a time, was carried along 
the extreme verge of a narrow shelving of rock which overhung 
the river, that at the depth of many yards below appeared to 
sleep at its base. A thin slippery verdure covered the peri- 
lous path, and though I felt it dangerous to proceed, as a single 
unsafe tread would inevitably have precipitated me into the 
deep waters of the Wye, I soon found I had gone too far to 
recede. " Returning were as tedious as go o'er ;" I therefore, 
with a wary step and a little unpleasant feeling, moved, or 
rather crept, cautiously along, until I had attained a place of 
safety. I now looked back upon the path I had passed, and 
trembled at my own temerity. Impending rock, to the height 
of several hundred feet, rose over my head : far beneath the 
narrow jutting crag where I had stood, flowed the Wye, which 
being dammed up at the mill below, is here a deep, silent, and 
apparently an immoveable stream, that is black with shadow. 
My mind, however, soon recovered its usual tone, and I felt 
myself amply repaid for the little inconvenience I had encoun- 
tered. The scene that now lay before me was of the most mag- 
nificent description. The rocks on each side of the river form 
an immense portal, through these the stream, the foliage near, 
and the distant mountains, are seen most happily combined, 
and appear like a lovely picture in a massy frame. The right 
of the river looking towards Cressbrook is naked rock; the 
opposite bank is covered with trees, which overhang the 
stream. To this thickly wooded spot there is no access for 
either horse or carriage, and I observed that a number of 
^ees had been recently cut down and thrown into the river ^ for 


the purpose of being floated out of this narrow chasm, when- 
ever the Wye became flooded with heavy rains. 

Approaching Cressbrook Mill, anoUier fine view occurs : 
some houses in the rock, amidst the trees — the river and the 
buildings on its banks — ^form an assemblage of objects which 
lie embosomed within the capacious hollow of a mi^ty hill, 
that constitutes a noble back-ground to the picture. This. hill 
rises with a steep acclivity to a great height, and sometimes in 
winter it is one of the grandest objects in the mountainous 
districts in Derbyshire. At this season of the year, when the 
** wintry winds" sweep over the top of this lofty eminence, 
and the driven snow is accumulated upon its brow, where it 
hangs like a projecting cornice, and ornaments .the immense 
curve of this vast natural crescent, it presents one of the most 
magnificent scenes that the lover of mountain landscape can 

1 5 



Chteadmah-Dale. — Bright Pool. — fVatej^bU.^^Monsal-IktIe, 
r^ Bummer Bomings Scene. — ^ Moonlight view of Monsal^ 

i^T*R «>epdl«\g » pteft^ut hour with Mr. Newton, we pro- 
ceed to ^i^lQ¥^ the hidden beauties of Cre^shrook-oale. 
The entrance into this narrow dell, near the mill, is marked 
by some lovely scenery, which is reflected from the surface of 
as pure and lucid a current as ever adorned a mountain land- 
scape. This sparkling brook abounds with water-cresses ; in 
some places they float upon the stream ; in others, the stream 
flowing over them gives to their leaves a fresher and a brighter 
green. As we loitered along the brink of this lovely rivulet, 
we observed the trout, as they lay quietly on the water \ but 
they were only seen for a moment ; suddenly they darted into 
the deeps wim an astonishing rapidity, scarcely stirring the 
surface with their motion. A part of this brook had once the 
name of Bright Pool, and it was much resorted to as a fa- 
vourite place for bathing : the water was then considered salu- 
tary, but it has since lost its reputation, and has gradually sunk 
from neglect into total disuse. 

I once passed along the whole line of Cressbrook, from 
near the toll-bar at Wardlow-Mears, where this little rivulet 
takes its rise. At its source, I remarked its beauty, and loit- 
ered on its margin with delight: but, proceeding onward 
through the dale, I observed, that, instead of an increasing 
stream, its progress could only be traced by the freshness of 
the verdure through which it strayed : shortly, it was lost, not 
only to the eye but the ear, and I now conjectured that it 
had probably entered one of those rocky chasms that fre- 
quently occur in the limestone districts of Derbyshire. In 
Cressbrook-dale, about half way between the mill and the 
water-fall, the same current, after having traversed a subterra- 
neous passage of a mile and a half, emerges with great violence 


from out a cavern in the rock, and rushing over its craggy bed^ 
tumbles into the brook below. 

Nearly half a mile from the entrance into this sequestered 
glen, the little river by which it is watered is precipitated 
through a narrow cleft, and falls into a capacious basin about 
fifty or sixty feet below. The naked rocks on the Idl beetle 
over their base ; on the right they are clothed with trees, some 
hanging on their brow, and others shooting upwards from out 
the dell. The water is here so perfectly lucid, that the small- 
est objects are clearly distinguishable at the greatest depth : 
even the agitation produced by the fall of water from above, 
scarcely amcts its transparency: I have no recollection of 
having seen at any time, or in any place, so clear and brilliant 
a stream. The hills that embosom this romantic glen are 
some of the loftiest in this part of the Peak : on every side 
they rise to an immense height, and denying to this retired 
spot the cheering rays of the sun, they involve all the lower 
part in continual shadow. 

This dell has been called Dove-dale in miniature ; but the 
name has no propriety. Rock, wood, and water may be found 
in both ; so far they are aHke ; but their general character is 
extremely dissimilar : Dove-dale is in fact " itself alone :** there 
is nothing like it in any other part of Derbyshire ; and for 
confined scenery of a peculiar description, Cressbrook-dale is 
equally unique. Some beautiful combinations of rock and 
wood occur within it, and fi*om a projecting crag near the cas- 
cade, a scene is present^ which towctrds the close of a fine 
sunny day, assumes considerable grandeur. We placed our* 
selves on this jutting eminence, and looking up the dale, a 
perpendicular rock crowned widi light foliage lay on our left : 
our right was an immense crescent hill, turreted with rugged 
crags, that appeared to rise out of the vast fragments of stone 
which formed their base : far below, the waterfiJl was seen 
through the trees that overhung its banks : a mass of shadow 
covered this part of the scene, wnile all above was glowing with 
the most brilliant light, which derived an additional force from 
the dark and sombre tone of undisturbed colouring that 
rested on all below. The stillness that prevailed increased the 
impressions produced by this delightful picture — nothing was 
heard except the hum of the bee, as he strayed among the 
flowers — the noise of thie waterfall, or the lapse of the stream, 
as it babbled unseen among the branches. 

1 4 


The clothing of some of the rocks in this glen gives them a 
peculiar character : in many places they are covered with ivy, 
the stems of which form a beautiful interlaced trellis work ; 
from these the lighter branches depend. Through this en- 
twined texture the rock occasionally protrudes^ and on its 
jutting cliffs the wild rose and heath-bell blossom, and fern and 
foxglove grow. Leaving this romantic dell, and emerging 
from twilight into day, the sun, which had already set upon 
us while rambling on the brink of Cressbrook, again saluted 
us with his closing splendour on our return to the top of 

In this dale the course of the Wye, which had hitherto 
flowed through a close rocky channel, assumes a new appear- 
ance : its wild and rugged features are here softened into 
beauty, and sterility is succeeded by cultivation. From Cress- 
brook Mill, the dale expands, and meadows and corn-fields and 
luxuriant trees mark the windings of the river from thence to 
the village of Ashford. To this place the high hills continue 
to connect with each other, when they gradually subside, and 
a more open country succeeds. Monsal-dale has been the 
theme of admiration for all tourists, by whom it has been hi- 
therto visited : its various beauties have been repeatedly enu- 
merated, and I would rather join in its commendation than 
dwell on that disappointed feeling which I experienced when 
I first beheld it — a disappointment that was perhaps attri- 
butable to my exploring the banks of the Wye downwards, 
which had the effect of an anti-climax. The magnificence of 
Chee Tor, and the rocky scenery between that place and Cress- 
brook, so fill the mind which expands to receive the impres- 
sion, that all afterwards appears little in comparison. I would 
therefore suggest to the traveller who visits these dales, to com- 
mei>ce his excursion at Rowsley, where the river Wye flows 
into the Derwent, and proceed upwards by Haddon, Bake- 
well, Asliford, and the dales that occur between thence and 
Chee Tor : in so doing, he will pass by easy gradations from 
beauty to grandeur and sublimity -^though perhaps Chee Tor 
itself may suffer by the experiment. 

Many pleasing pictures arrested our attention as we passed 
(lirough Monsal-dale. About half a mile from Cressbrook a 

* Siaee these observatibns were first published, Cressbrook-Dale has been 
despoiled of its finest features j many of the trees have disappeared from it; 
it has been robbed of its most picturesque accompaniments ; and it is now, 
comparatively, a tame and insipid sc&ne. 

SUMMER evening's SCENE. 121 

group of cottages finely embosomed with trees, that lie within a 
rocky recess, and are backed with lofty hills, presents a view of 
great beauty. The river flows in the front of the houses, and 
a long bridge of huge stones, which from its peculiar construc- 
tion is here denominated leapingSj crosses the stream, interrupts 
its process, and divides it into a thousand eddies. Lower 
down the dale a farm-house, with its rustic bridge and its pic- 
turesque appendages of wood and water, constitute another 
lovely scene. From this place, a narrow road, which is carried 
along the steep side of the hill, leads out of the dale, and com- 
municates with the high road firom Bakewell to Tideswell ; 
another crosses the wooden bridge near the farm-house, and 
passes along the margin of the river to Ashford. 

Monsal-dale has been so oflen, and in some instances so 
well described, that nothing new can be said upon the subject. 
The lofiy hills by which it is surrounded — the beautiful mea- 
dows that repose within their deep recess — the busy, sparkling 
stream that wanders through them — now gliding smoothly, 
though rapidly, along — now rushing, and foaming, and eddying 
into circles, as it passes by some projecting knoll, or bounds 
over its rugged bed — these, the leading features of this dale, 
have always had the same character, possessed the same 
beauty, and produced on all who have beheld this exquisite 
scene the same delightful sensations. Monsal-dale may with 
peculiar propriety be termed the Arcadia of Derbyshire : at 
least the picture which Monsal-dale presented to us at this 
particular time was truly Arcadian. The sun had just sunk 
below the hills, and the day had began to close upon us ; yet 
a sofl light still lingered in the valley. Though the year was 
in the wane, yet the haymaking season had not entirely passed 
away, and the happy rustics were welcoming home the last 
fruits of the harvest with mirth and music. On a grassy bank, 
near a group of straw-roofed cottages that were overhung 
with ash and sycamore of the most luxuriant growth, some 
rosy-cheeked milk-maids had collected their kine, and as they 
carolled forth their artless ditties, the blackbird and the thrush 
joined in the hymn to departing day, while myriads of insects 
that filled the air with life were sporting away a short exist- 
ence in the felicitous enjoyment of a summer evening's sweet 
serenity. Night was rapidly approaching, and as we pro- 
ceeded onward through the dale, it became progressively more 
imposing. Nothing was now distinctly seen, tor the eye had 
lost the power of discriminating objects and measuring dimen- 


sions. Darkness succeeded — the hills became mountains, and 
the whole scene assumed a character of grandeur. A fine 
moonlight night produces a similar effect, and more beauty, 
though certainly less grandeur, than at this peculiar time per- 
vaded this sequestered dale. 

It was now our object to take the shortest route to Bakewell: 
we therefore left the margin of the Wye at the farm-hou^ 
which is situated nearest the foot of Great Finn, and, ascending 
the side of the hill, we joined the Ashford road at Edge-stone 
house. Monsal-dale is more frequently seen by strangers from 
this point of view than from any other, and nearly all the de» 
scriptions which its beauties have inspired, have a reference 
to this particular situation. Travellers, after passing over a 
barren moor from Tideswell and Wardlow, come upon this 
cheering and retired scene not. only suddenly but often un- 
awares ; rapid transition and forcible contrast then unite to en- 
hance the beauties and increase the effect of this sweet dale. 
Hence it is that this particular landscape makes a more lasting 
impression upon the mind than perhaps any other in Derby- 
shire. I once beheld it from this place by moonlight, when 
travelling along the road from Tideswell to Ashtord : the 
moon had only just arisen ; her softened light rested on the 
tops of the hills, but a darkness which the eye could not pe- 
netrate, filled up the space that was included within them. 
No object could be distinguished at the short distance of a few 
yards below the spot of ground on which I stood, and for some 
moments I ima^ned myself on the verge of a gulph immea* 
surably deep. It was not the first time I had been at this 
particular place, but having never approached it by the same 
road — never seen it but by day — some time passed before I 
discovered that I was in the vicinity of Edge-stone House, and 
on the brink of Monsal-dale. I now heard, though faintly, 
the murmurs of the Wye, and imagined that I could trace the 
glitter of the stream through the thick darkness that hung oa 
all below. 



MeccUections of a former Excursion. — Edge-stone House. ^^ 
Unfortunate Female. — Morning View from Great Finn, — 
HoVs House. — Cascade in MonsaUDale, — L^ass of Tad- 
ditigton-Dale. — Ashford. — Black Marble, — Eotten-stone. 

We had left Buxton early in the morning, and our day of 
sixte^i hours, which we supposed might have lighted us to 
Bakewell, ended in night at the top of the hill near Edge-stone 
House. It was here, seated on the jutting point of a marble 
rock, after a loitering and solitary ramble, that I first learned 
to relish the charms of Monsal-dale. In this my second ex«- 
cursion to this delightftil place I had no companion, and I felt 
what it was to be alone. My sensations, it is true, were of a 
pleasurable nature, as I contemplated the scene before me, and 
they partook but little of any thing earthly ; yet I sincerely 
regi*etted the absence of those I hold dear to an extent that - 
abridged the felicity I enjoyed: so anxious is the heart to share 
its most intense and exquisite pleasures with those it piost 
esteems: Being now alone, I felt my happiness incomplete, 
and I wished for some one to lean upon my ai*m, mingle 
dioughts with mine, participate my feelings, ana share my ex- 
istence in this moment of enjoyment We cannot be wholly 
happy in this sublunary worm : the possession of what we most 
prise is almost invariaDlyaccompanied with a feeling that all is 
fleeting and uncertain here, and the pleasure which is derived 
fro«i the most beautiful scenery of nature, is sometimes either 
lessened in its duration or impaired in its' quality, by the con- 
sideration that it cannot be long enjoyed, or because the heart 
wants and wishes for some one to partake of its felicity. A 
sequestered and solitary scene, through which we love to 
ramble alone, is more exquisitely felt in the absence of a com- 
panion than when attended even with the dearest friend ; but 
a landscape like Monsal-dale excites a more active and lively 
pleasure — a js^nsation that derives its best and most powerful 
effect from that communion of feeling which is only to be en- 
joyed in the presence of a friend. 


Within one hundred paces of the station I now occupied, 
stands a small dwelling called Edge-stone House; a place that 
for many years has been the abode of one who often 

'* The dreary waste ; there spends the live-long day ; 
** And there, unless when Charity forbids, 
" The live-long night." 

In early life, when the heart was warm and confiding, she 
felt the influence of that insidious passion which has robbed 
many a female bosom of repose : she lost her lover, whether 
by accident or caprice I have not learnt; but her mind still 
hung on the cherished object of her afiections until her 
reason was overthrown by the intensity of her feelings. Many 
years passed without in the least ameliorating her condition. 
Sometimes she would ramble over the neighbouring hills for 
days together ; or, seated on the point of rock where I reposed, 
she would listen to the howling of the storm that often sweeps 
over these bleak eminences, or watch the moon struggling with 
the clouds, and lighting up the scenery of Monsal-daie, until 
the blast had chilled her almost unclad form, and she had be- 
come insensible to all around her. In this account of the habits 
of this poor girl there is neither fancy nor exaggeration ; such 
was her practice for years. She yet lives ; her malady has 
subsided, but it has left behind the traces of the mental de- 
vastation it has made. A few years ago, during a thunder 
storm, the lightning penetrated the roof of the abode of poor 
Crazy Kate; passed through the room in which she and her 
remaining parent were seated; dashed the clock to pieces, and 
broke some dishes ; but left every other object in .the house 

From Edge-stone House an unfrequented footpath leads to 
the topmost Feak of Great Finn, an eminence that tradition 
has marked out as the sight of a Roman encampment, indica- 
tions of which, as some imagine, may still be distinguished on 
its summit. Some years ago an interesting barrow was opened 
on this hill, in which an urn, containing human ashes, and 
several skeletons, were found. From this place, how noble is 
the prospect ! The variety of hill seen fi*om this lofty station 
— the beautiful dale below, studded with cottages, embosomed 
in trees of the finest foliage — and the rocky scenery near 
Cressbrook, constitute an assemblage of objects, which though 
not strikingly picturesque, are weU combined, and fiimish a 
magnificent landscape. That heart must be cold indeed which 


can contemplate the finely diversified view which nature here 
presents, witfiout experiencing sensations that, for a moment at 
least, exalt the soul above the considerations of this sublunary 
sphere, and all the petty cares and interests it involves. In 
the morning, when the misty vapours of night have just left 
the valley and hang in clouds on the adjacent hills, while all 
below is gleaming with light, this scene is eminently interest- 
ing; but its sublimity can only be felt when the sun has sunk 
behind the mountains, and the detail of forms and objects is 
either indistinctly seen or lost in the shadowy and magnificent 
outline which then prevails. Dr. Young emphatically ex- 

" The undevout astronomer is mad !'* 

a sentiment that almost every man must feel as he beholds the 
heavens ** fretted with golden fires," and full of splendour; 
and who can look abroad upon the world that we inhabit, and 
all the loveliness that it contains — its winding streams and ver- 
dant meadows — rocks, trees, hills, dales, and shadowy moun- 
tains — and all the rich varieties of nature, without a feeling 
as entirely and as purely religious as ever warmed the heart of 
the most ardent devotee that ever worshipped in an " earthly 
tabernacle ?" God of all things ! thou hast spread before me a 
world of beauty, " where all save the spirit of man is divine," 
and hast enabled me to perceive and feel the excellence of thy 
creation, and the wisdom and order and harmony displayed 
throughout the whole. 

The river Wye washes the base of Great Finn : it is here a 
stream of considerable depth, and moves less rapidly along the 
dale until it reaches a huge rocky shelving, that runs across the 
river; here the agitated current leaps the barrier, and dashed 
into foam, rushes turbulently down its channel. The cascade 
which the Wye here displays has always been regarded as one 
of the finest objects in Monsal-dale. 

On the steep side of Great Finn, an insulated rock .that is 
split and rent into parts rises like the ruins of a castle fi'om out 
the thick underwood with which the hill is covered : this 
shapeless mass is called Hob^s House^ and tradition states, that 
it was inhabited by a being of a gigantic stature, who was pos- 
sessed of great and mysterious powers, and who was known by 
tliie name of Hob, This extraordinary personage never ap- 
peared by day ; but when the inhabitants were asleep in their 
beds, he traversed the vales, entered their houses, thrashed 


their corn, and in one single night did the work of ten day* 
labourers, unseen and unheard, for which service he was re^ 
compensed with a bowl of cream, that was duly placed upon 
the hearth, to be quaffed on the completion of the task he had 
voluntarily imposed upon himself. This is a tradition by no 
means confined to the neighbourhood of Monsal-Dale ; a si-> 
milar one prevails in many parts of the kingdom, and parti-* 
cularly in the northern districts, of which Milton has happily 
availed himself, in one of the most exquisite descriptive poems 
in the English language, 

" Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 

** To earn his cream bowl duly set, 

" When in one ni^t, ere glimpse of mom, 

*' His shadowy flail had thrashed the com 

'* That ten day labourers could not end : 

'' Then lies hiro down the lubbard fiend, 

*' And stretched out all the chimney's length, . 

" Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 

** And crop full out of door he fiings 

*' Ere the first cock his matin rings.'* L' Allegbo. 

From the cascade in M onsal-Dale to Ashford in the Water, 
the Wye continues the same busy and sparkling stream which 
had so much and so often delighted us during our walk from 
Buxton. From the open dale dirough which it runs, others of 
minor importance branch out, which possess considerable 
beauty ; particularly the narrow dell which leads to Tadding- 
ton, through whose various windings the road to Buxton is 
carried. A summer evening's walk along this road from Bux- 
ton to Bakewell, is among some of my pleasantest recollections. 
Leaving the river Wye at the foot of Topley Pike, and scaling 
the rocky side of that immense hill, from whpse terrific peak 
the eye trembles to look into the depths below, we passed 
along two miles of road of comparatively but little interest. 
On our right, at a short distance, was Chelmerton Thorn — 
a single tree which for centuries has served as a land-mark to 
travellers when the whole of this district was an unenclosed 
wild waste. On our left was the village of Wormhill : before 
us the lofty hill called PriestclifF reared its head in proud pre- 
eminence o'er all surrounding objects, and in distance a num- 
ber of lesser mountains mingled their misty summits with the 
light, thin clouds that rested on the horizon. As we entered 
l^ddington, which is one of the meanest villages in Derby- 
shire, we visited the church-yard, or rather the open grass 


field where the church stands : here we observed an old stone 
cross, the shaft of which is ornamented with various devices on 
every side, but all inferior in execution to those at Eyam and 
Bakewell, and altogether different in form, manner, and cha» 
racier. If long life may be regarded as a blessing, the inha- 
bitants of Taddington appear to have been peculiarly blessed: 
the grave stones in the church-yard are not numerous, yet we 
observed more than an usual proportion that were inscribed to 
the memory of those who had died at a good old age. From 
eighty to one hundred years seems here the common term of 
existence. The parish-clerk showed us the new register, 
which commences with the year 1813. In the first page only, 
in the short space of six months, are recorded the deaths of 
four individuals, ^hose united ages amount to three hundred 
and seventy-nine years : the oldest of these venerable person- 
ages attained the age of one hundred and seven, and one of 
the four has a sister now living in Taddington who is ninety- 
eight years old. These instances of longevity are extraor- 
dinary in so small a village, and they shew that the reputation 
Taddington has obtained for the healthfulness of its situation 
and the salubrity of its air, rests on a good foundation. Well 
might the old woman at Ashford, when she had weathered 
seventy-eight years of existence, and found the infirmities of 
old age approaching express an anxiety to remove her resi- 
dence and live at Taddington, observing, at the same time, 
" Folk do no' die there bo young as I am." 

From this humble village we pursued our route to Bakewell. 
It was a fine sunny evening, and we frequently paused, as we 
loitered through Taddington-Dale, to contemplate the various 
little pictures with which it abounds. In one of the closest 
parts of this deep ravine, where some jutting rock rose high 
above the surrounding foliage, a young female suddenly 
emerged from the bosom of a thicket near the summit of the 
mountain, and with a light and elastic step, she passed securely 
along, where to all appearance a human foot could find no 
place to rest on. From the spot where we first saw her to 
the bottom of the hill, she moved with astonishing rapidity, 
and we trembled with apprehension as we saw her skip from 
the point of one jutting rock to another, as fearless and as 
playful as a mountain kid. Her figure was gracefully formed; 
her face was fair ; and the freshness of her cheek rivalled the 
roses that breathed and bloomed around her : her hair hung 
about her face and neck in loose ringlets, and as she sportively 


put her tresses aside, she displayed a beautifully formed fore- 
head, and her eyes sparkled the while with a coquettish play- 
fulness, which showed that she was not unconscious of her 
beauty. Her manners were without restraint, and she entered 
into conversation with as little embarrassment as if she had 
been educated in fashionable society. One of my companions, 
who had more gallantry than myself, paid her some personal 
compliments, which she received as if she felt they were merited, 
even though at the same time she cautioned him against the 
use of what she called " that vile thing, flattery," which she 
playfully remarked had sometimes a very pernicious effect on 
young minds. She again stroked back her curls from her 
fair brow ; adjusted her disordered tresses with a slight motion 
of her head ; and, bidding us good bye with a wave of her 
hand, she, with a step as light and as agile as a startled fawn, 
bounded amongst the trees and was soon out of sight, 

** She was the spirit of the place, 

** With eye so wild and cheek so fair, 
** Her form so playful in its grace, 
** Mock'd her own mountain air." 

My companions and myself now looked at each other as if 
we doubted the reality of what we had seen : a few minutes 
only had passed, and the vision that sported before our eyes 
had disappeared and was gone for ever. Beauteous stranger ! 
May the days of thy youth be guileless and happy, and may 
the hopes that play round thine heart, and the roses that 
bloom on thy cheek, never be blighted by any touch but that 
of Time ! 

Another half hour's walk brought us to Ashford, a little 
village pleasantly situated by the side of the river Wye. 
" Here," says Gilpin, " we fall into a beautiful vale, fringed 
with wood, and watered by a brilliant stream, which recalled 
to our memory the pleasing scenes of this kind we had met 
with amongst the mountains of Cumberland.*' Every where 
the water sparkles with light, as it ripples over its pebbled 
bed or plays round the base of some lofty tree, whose involved 
and knotty roots are washed and laid bare by the current. 
The surrounding hills rise high above the village, and the 
cold bleak winds that chill their summits are scarcely felt in 
the sweet vale below. Edward Plantagenet of Woodstock, 
Earl of Kent, had a residence here, of which every vestige is 
now obliterated, excepting only a part of the moat that sur- 
rounded his castle. 


Asbferd has been lon^ celebrated for its marbles, which are 
obtained from the hills that afford it shelter, and are cut into 
form and polished at the mills originally erected by the late 
Mr. Henry Watson of Bakewell, who obtained a patent to 
secure U^ himself the advantages of his mechanical skill and 
ingenuity. The grey marbles dug from the quarries of Der- 
byshire are less esteemed than formerly, and the works where 
they are sawn into slabs and polished, are sinking into disuse 
and decay. This may be regretted, as the numerous shells 
and the great variety of figures- they contain, when cut trans- 
versely, exhibit an infinite variety of vegetable and animal 
remains, that are not less curious than beautiful. The black 
marble of Ashford is not surpassed, perhaps not equalled, in 
any part of the world; its deep unvaried colour, and the 
compactness of its texture, fit it to receive the highest polish ; 
a mkror can hardly present a clearer or a more beautiful sur- 
face : hence it is highly esteemed, but being difficult to work» 
it is too expensive for common occasions. — In Chatsworth 
House there are some columns of this marble, which are used 
as pedestals for busts, and some ornamented vases of exquisite 
beauty. Mr. White Watson, in his Delineation of the Strata 
of Derbyshire, mentions this material under the denomination 
of Bituminous Fetid Limestone^ and he intimates "that its 
colour is owing to Petroleum^ with which it abounds." He 
farther observes, " this limestone is subject to decompose^ in 
which operation the calcareous particles are disengaged and 
escape, and their interstices are occupied by water, the same 
still occupying the same space, bulk for bulk, as before ; but 
on being squeezed, the water comes out as from a sponge. 
On being exposed to the air, by laying it in the grass (which 
it destroys, and sweeter herbage springs up in its place) till 
perfectly dry, the water evaporating leaves a very light im- 
palpable substance, called Rotten Stone, much esteemed for 
polishing metals, &c." To those who are acquainted with the 
peculiar use of this substance, I need offer no apology for 
this short extract from Mr. Watson's account of its formation. 
The subject is treated more largely in pages 45 and 46 of his 
work, and I gladly refer to his interesting detail of that 
curious operation of nature by which Rotten &one is pro- 
duced, and I do this more freely as I understand the correct- 
ness of his theory has been disputed. — Dirtlow Moor, near 
Bakewell, where the surface is very wet, has the reputatioa 
of furnishing the best specimens of this useful article. 



BakewelL — 'New Bath. — Bakewell Church Yard. — Ancient 
Stone Cross. — Epitaphs. — Chantry at Bakewell. — Anti- 
quity of BakewelL — Castle Hill. — Interview with a poor 

r ROM Ashford, we pursued our route to Bakewell, which 
lies at the entrance into an open valley, about two miles 
lower down the river. The principal carriage road crosses 
the bridge on the right; we however preferred a footpath that 
led us over the fields, on the contrary side of the Wye, which 
we found a pleasant walk, and full of beauty. This road has 
been recently closed. Near Bakewell, the valley contracts : 
a broken rock marks one side of the road, and a steep wooded 
' hill rises on the other ; the intervening space is occupied by 
the river and a cotton-mill, that belongs to the Arkwrights. 
The scenery about this mill, when seen from the elevated 
' bank at the bottom of which the footpath from Ashford is 
carried, is extremely beautiful. The foreground on the left, 
particularly about Holme-hall, is rich with foliage, and the 
river below the bridge, and die road on the right, winding 
round a craggy projecting rock, beyond which the spire of 
the church and a small part of the town appears, are fine fea- 
tures in the landscape. The vale of Haddon is seen in dis- 
tance, through the opening, and fills up the coup dUceU of this 
pleasing picture. 

Bakewell is pleasantly situated on a rising ground on the 

right bank of the river Wye. The Duke of Rutland, to 

whom nearly the whole place belongs, is progressively extend- 

"ing the many accommodations it affords to travellers, and in- 

' creasing the respectability of its appearance. The old "houses 

•are gradually giving way to neat modern erections, and the 

i.whole is intended to be built with stone obtained in the 

neighbourhood, and on a regular and uniform plan. During 


the summer months many people resort to this little town to 
enjoy the various pleasures it aifords. - The Wye is well 
stocked with trout and grayling, and those visitors who take 
up their residence at the llutland Arms, a noble inn hulk by 
the Duke, have the privilege of angling in this part of the 
river. When fatigued with the sport of the day, they can 
tonsole themselves with the pleasant anticipations of retiring 
to one of the best imis in the county of Derby, and of bemg 
regaled with the choicest viands and the best wines. The 
Rutland Arms, under the excellent management of its present 
h(>stess, is richly entitled to the liberal support which it now 
so generally receives. 

The improvements already made in Bakewell, and others 
still more important, that are now in progress, are highly ere* 
ditable to the good taste and liberal spirit of the Duke of 
Rutland. Situated as the town is in a beautifut^ valley, at 
nearly equal distances between Buxton and Madock, and 
watered by one of the most busy and brilliant streams in tbia 
part of the kingdom) it can hardly fail to become a more* 
general and delightful resort than it has hitherto been. The 
capacious Bath recently established, and now under the super- 
intendence of Mr. White Watson, F. L. S. furnishes an add!-- 
tional accommodation to visitors. The temperature of the 
water is 60^ of Fahrenheit's, and according to Mr. Charles 
Sylvester's analysis, ten wine quarts contain. 


Sulphate of lime - ^ 75 

Sulphate of magnesia — - - - 22 

Muriate of magnesia * 1 . 6, 

Super carbonate of lime - - - 20 
Super carbonate of iron ---3.1 

Since the Bath was first opened to the publicj two Sho^i^^f 
Baths of difierent powers, have been added, and more i:ecently 
a News Room has beep estabUshed op the same premises, 
where the London papers and some of the magazines aiid re* 
views are regularly taken in. A good coUectipn pf mijaerals 
and fossils may be found in Mr. White Watsfpn's rooms ; and 
his garden, in connection with the walk from the Rutland 
Arms Inn to the Bath, furnishes a delightful promenade. 
This Uttle town, .whep; the plans for. its improvenient are 
matured, is Ukely to become one of the most attrft^tave places 
in the Peak of Derbyshire. Mr. White Watsw h^ heen 

K 2 


long a collector of the minerals and fossils of his native coun- 
ty : he has attentively studied its various, and in some places 
strangely disordered, strata, and published several works on 
the subject, that are highly creditable to his talents. He was 
originally associated with Mr. Martin of Macclesfield, in the 
projected publication of a complete series of the minerals and 
fossils of Derbyshire. One volume only of this work has ap- 
peared, in which the specimens are drawn and coloured with 
great fidelity, delicacy, and beauty. It may be sincerely regretted 
that either the death of Mr. Martin, or any other circumstance, 
should have intervened to arrest the progress and prevent the 
publication of the remaining parts of this highly interesting 
and splendid work. Under the active patronage of the Dukes 
of Devonshire and Rutland, this production might perhaps be 
resumed, and completed agreeably to its original design^ — 
otherwise it would probably be a ruinous speculation. I hope 
yet to see it revived under better auspices and a more cheering 

The church at Bakewell is built in the fonn of a cross, with 
an octagonal tower, surmounted with a lofty handsome spire 
in the centre, and is a fine structure. It is situated on the side 
of a hill above the principal part of the town, and when seen 
from the meadows in Haddon-vale, it is a good object in the 
landscape. At the west end of the church, there is an orna- 
mented Saxon arch, apparently of a much older date than* the 
edifice itself, and within, near the same arch, there is a slone 
font of great antiquity. The different compartments of this 
font are sculptured over with figures rudely carved, the forms 
of which are now nearly obliterated. In one of the chancels 
there are several alabaster monuments, with full-length figures 
as large as life. Originally they were painted and gilt in the 
fashion of the times, and though but very indifferent as works 
of sculpture, they had once a very splendid effect. A re- 
cumbent figure, in an adjoining chancel, is in a better style : 
the drapery about it has been happily imagined, and well exe- 
cuted.- This monument was erected to the memory of Sir 
Thomas Wednesley, who received his death-wound in the 
battle of Shrewsbury — a battle which Shakespeare has ren- 
dered memorable by the bravery of young Harry, the son of 
Henry the Fourth, and the humorous cowardice of FalstafF. 

On the east side of the church stands an ancient Stone 
Cross, which is conjectured to be about eight hundred years 
old : the ornaments, and the various devides sculptured on the 

bakewell: cross. 1.35: 

four sides of this memorial of a people's faith, are in many 
places so worn and defaced, that they cannot be accurately 
understood or clearly defined : Bray, in his Sketch of a Tour 
into Derbyshire, has given three rudely executed etchings of 
this Cross, in which the figures it contains appear to have been 
correctly copied ; but though this intelligent traveller was fond 
of antiquarian researches, he has evidently not regarded either 
its origin or history of sufficient consequence to engage his at- 
tention. The Cross at Eyam is similar in the style and manner 
of its workmanship, but it is much richer in its carving, and 
superior in form. 

The Cross, which is now so much reverenced as a sacred 
symbol, was once regarded with horror and detestation : it was 
used as an instrument of the most disgracefut punishment, and 
the vilest of criminals only were subject to its ignominy. 
Constantine first abolished this use of it among the Komans : 
he rescued it from an appropriation to purposes which ren- 
dered it an object of aversion, and he made it reverenced and 
beloved. It was carved on his military standards, emblazoned 
on his banners, and he esteemed it as the noblest ornament of 
his diadem. His veneration for this sacred trophy is said to 
had a miraculous origin : he was himself the historian of the 
appearance by which it was produced, and he sanctioned the 
truth of his narrative with the solemnity of an oath. About 
niid-day he saw in the heavens a luminous representation of 
the Cross placed above the sun, and accompanied with an in- 
scription By this Conquer: a legend which held out the 
promise of victory to Constantine. That this was a mere fic- 
tion — a political device — can scarcely be doubted: he it was, 
however, who first made the figure of the Cross an object of 
veneration, and succeeding Christians have reverenced this 
memorial of their faith. 

In Bakewell church-yard some epitaphs are to be found not 
unworthy a place in the port-folio of the tourist : some are se- 
rious lessons of mortality — some are of a mixed character — and 
others are sufficiently ludicrous to excite a smile ; yet but very 
few indeed have either poetic merit or whimsicality enough to 
preserve them from that oblivion in which all human produc- 
tions must, sooner or later, be involved^ The following stanzas 
may be estimated as the best which this church-yard affi3rds : 
they are inscribed on a humble stone near the old Cross, and, 
if I mistake not, they are the production of Mr. C. Wesley, a 
brother of the great founder of the methodists. 

K S 


" Beneath this stone an in&nt iies^ 

** To earth whose body lent, 
** Hereafter shall more glorious rise, 

" But not more innocent. 
" When the archangel's trump shall blow, 

" And souls to bodies join, 
" Thousands shall wish their lives below 

** Had been as short as thine." 

On a black marble tablet, inserted on a grave-stone near t^e 
east end of the church, there is the following inscription to the 
memory of a child aged two years and eight months. As a 
specimen of country church-yard poetry it has a claim to more 
than common consideration. 

** Header ! beneath this marble lies 
** The sacred dust of Innocence ; 
" Two years he blest his parents' eyes, 
" The third an angel took him hence: 
. " The sparkling eyes, the lisping tongue, 
*' Complaisance sweet and manners mil<^ 
*' And all that pleases in the young, 
** Were all united in this child. 
** Wouldst thou his happier state explore? 
** To thee the bliss is freely given; 
'* Gro, gentle reader I sin no more, 
** And thou shalt see this flower in heaven." 

Near the same place, on the contrary side of the pathway, 
there is an epitaph of a different character, in which the writer 
has eulogized the very extraordinary vocal powers of the pa- 
rish-clerk. Some of the rhymes are managed with a Hudi- 
brastic felicity, and on reading the inscription I was induced, 
to give it a place in my note-book. This person's name was 
Roe ; his father filled the situation of parish-clerk before him, 
and, if his grave-stone flatters not, with equal ability ; it tells 
us in humble prose, that " the natural powers of his voice in 
clearness, strength, and sweetness, were altogether unequalled;" 
a commendation which is reiterated in verse on the neighbour- 
ing tomb-stone. 

** 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 !* 
** Nyho now with halleluyah's sound, 
" Like him can make the roofs rebound ? 
" The choir lament his choral- tones, 
'* The town so soon here lie his bones." 


At the west end of the church, on a table monument, 
another inscription occurs, still more amusing, if I may be 
permitted to use a phrase so little in harmony with those 
feelings which generally accompany a contemplation of the 
last resting-place of those who have gone before us to " that 
bourne from whence no traveller returns." An old man and 
his two wives occupy this tomb, where, undisturbed by the 
jealous cares of life, they sleep together lovingly, so says the 
legend, which nearly covers one side of the tomb : — 

** Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, in the year of Grace 1757, the 
** rambling remains of the above said John Dale were in the 86th year 
** of his pilgrimage lud with his two wives* 

*' This thing in life might cause some jealousy, 

" Here all three sleep together lovingly, 

" Here Sarah*s chiding John no longer hears, 

" And old John's ramblide Sarah no more fears; 

" A period's come to all their toilsome lives, 

** The goodman's quiet — stid are both his wives,** 

Early in the fourteenth century, in conformity with n. 
notion that then prevailed, that the dead miirht be benefited . 
by the prayers of the living, a number of chantries were 
established in various parts of the kingdom, and endowed 
with more or less liberality according to the wealth of the 
founder, for the purpose of performing so pious and salutary 
a duty. Sometime about this period Sir Godfrey Foljambe, 
Knight, who then resided at Hassop, assisted by the guild or 
fraternity of the Holy Cross at Bakewell, erected and founded 
a chantry near the north end of the church, of which structure 
not a vestige now remains. Having obtained a royal licence^ 
and endowed this establishment with lands and tenements, he. 
then prescribed for \X» future government, " that Roger de 
Typeshelf be the first Chantry Priest, and he and his suc- 
cessors enjoy the lands." In another deed, by the king's, 
licence, it is settled, that he " pray for the healthful estate of. 
Sir Godfrey Foljambe, and Ann his wife, and their children, 
while they live, and after their decease for their sotds, and the 
souls of their parents, and the brotherhood of the guild of the 
Holy Cross in Bakewell, and all the £dthfiil living ai^d dead, 
at the altar of the Holy Cross, in the nave of the parish church, 
built by the said Cross ; and that the said Roger and his sue* 
cessors be called Keepers of the Altar, and he or they cele- 
brate mass in no other place, unless there be lawfiil impedi- 
ment* And if the Chaplain^ without lawful cause, abstain. 

K 4 


from celebrating mass, that another fit Chaplain be admitted, 
at the pleasure of the Vicar of Bakewell : the Chaplain not 
to be three days away without licence from the Lord of 
Hassop for the time being, if the lord reside there, otherwise 
without the leave of the Vicar/' 

Bakewell is a very ancient town, and yet but few traces now 
remain to indicate its former consequence. According to 
Gibson, Turner, and others, it was particularly distinguished 
in the time of the Saxons, by Edward the Elder, who is said 
to have hemmed it round with fortifications, and made it one 
of his strong places of defence. A fortified town at this early 
period does not necessarily ipnply what we now understand by 
the term ; and Bakewell, I apprehend, was at that time only 
one of the many military positions which were established by 
Edward and his heroic sister, for the defence of the Mercian 
Frontier from Chester to Northumbria. Leaving this town, 
and taking the road to Chatsworth, there is a lofty •eminence 
on the right, called Castle Hill, which derives its name from a 
building that once occupied this elevated station, and which 
was erected by Edward the Elder so early as the year 924. 
This structure is represented to have been originally of great 
extent, and very formidable, as a defensive position; but time, 
the destroyer of all things, has crumbled it into dust, the 
plough has passed over the place where it stood, and, with the 
e'xception of a few yards of the foundation walls, which are 
now nearly covered with turf and verdure, and the evident 
marks of a trench that once environed a part of the building, 
nothing now remains on Castle Hill to indicate its former con- 
sequence ; yet the names by which the fields on its summit 
0re still known can hardly mil to excite recollections and as- 
sociations that are intimately connected with the existence of 
.a CastJe <m this lofty eminence. One of the pastures is called 
Castle Fiddj and others are kfiown by tfie name of Warden 
Fields Cotiri Yard^ and Garland's Close, 

Toilsome as it may be to reach the top of this eminence,, 
yet the diversified prospect it commands, and the rich as- 
semblage of mountain, hill, and dale, that are included within 
its wide horieon, will amply compensate for all the labour and 
fatigue with which it may be accompanied. The serpentine 
direction of the Wye, as it winds through the meadows below, 
is a singular and beautiful feature in the picture. This hill, on 
.l^e side next 'Bakewell, rises precipitously from the valley^ 
^nd the Duke of |lutland, to whom it belongs, has planted its 


rugged and steep acclivity with larch, fir, beech, sycamore, and a 
great variety of trees, that appear to flourish on this rocky soil ; 
and near the summit, he has carried along the whole range of 
the hill an extensive terrace, which opens a series of fine views 
of the surrounding country, and forms a most delightful sum- 
mer evening's walk. 

Among the records that have been kept at Derby of the 
important and interesting events which have taken place there, 
is a memorandum that, " in this year, 1608, the Witches of 
BakeweU were hanged." At this period of our eventful history, 
to l>e poor, old, and ugly, must have been regarded as a 
dreadful crime, punishable with the severest inflictions of the 
law. This silly and cruel spirit has happily subsided, and age 
and infirmity, even if accompanied with poverty, may now 
sink quietly into the grave, unterrified by the stake 'or the 

Travelling a few years ago in this part of Dei^sfaiA^ in 
company with a stranger whom I had casually met HjfljftBt an 
inn, we observed on the road before us a man clothed in an 
English great-coat, with a white turban on his head : his gait 
and appearance^ even at a distance, bespoke him the native of 
another country. My companion, as soon as he observed him, 
requested permission to stop the carriage. The stranger ap- 
proached, and on being asked in his own language if he was 
a native of Hindostan, a mingled sensation of pleasure and 
surprise illumined his countenance: he lifted up his hands, 
and with a rapturous ejaculation, he exclaimed, " the language 
of my mother!" and in a tone of voice so exquisitely touching, 
so full of feeling, and so true to nature, that it came upon the 
heart with a force and effect that even apathy itself could not 
have resisted. He was wild with joy, and danced and sung, 
and talked, and laughed, and cried alternately. He had not 
heard a single being utter the " language of his mother'^ since 
he left his native country, and, incapable of speaking any 
other, he had had no verbal communication with any human 
being for many months, nor had a friendly voice, during the 
whole of that period, greeted his ear or touched upon his 
heart : and the volubility with which he now gave utterance 
to the variety of feeling that agitated his frame, seemed as if 
he had treasured up the ideas and the speeches of days gone 
by, to be poured out on this occasion. On being interrogated, 
he stated, that he had left his native country in a vessel bound 
for Hull : when* he arrived there he was no longer useftil, and 


was therefore discarded : that he was at this time in search of 
another^ to convey him once more to his home. What a train 
of recollections and interesting associations did that word hpme 
revive ! poor, hapless stranger, no home remained for him ! 
In this search, when he quitted a town or a village, he took 
any road that presented itself, and travelled he knew not, and 
apparently he cared not, where. His distressed and desolate 
situation afflicted him bitterly, and as the tears flowed down 
his face, he earnestly wished that he could die — for in this 
world he said nobody loved him, nor had he any body to 
love' — here he was unknown — he had nothing to eat — no 
money to purchase food withal; he must therefore die." And 
he added, " if he returned to his home, his &ther, his mother, 
his sister, and his brother, would never see him, never speak 
to him again, for he had eaten and had drank with Christians, 
and had lost his Caste." Such, and so dreadful, were the pri- 
vations-consequent on his departure from the established rites 
and religious customs and dogmas of his fathers. 

It is hardly possible to conceive a human being in a more 
forlorn condition : he was now in a country where the only 
language he knew was not known — where no Kjommunication 
of thought — no interchange of sentiment could possibly take 
place, unless by one of those fortuitous occurrences which had 
this day brought us together. He was an outcast from the 
place of his birth, where, if he returned, he would be only as 
an alien — no hand would be extended to receive him — no 
eye would gladden him with a smile — no voice of affection, 
greet him, — where even his mother, influenced by the bar- 
barous superstitions of the country, would forget the common 
sympathies of nature, and instead of rejoicing at the return of 
her long-lost son, would either survey him with the cold in- 
difference of a stranger, or turn away with horror at his 

Afler affording him a temporary relief, my companion di- 
rected him on his way to Ashbourne, from whence he was not 
far distant, giving him, on a card, the name of a gentleman 
there, who had for many years resided at Calcutta, and who, 
as he informed him, would take an interest in restoring him 
to his native country. We bade him adieu, and proceeded on 
our journey ; but having shortly afterwards to ascend a rising 
ground, he once more overtook the carriage, anxious to renew 
a conversation which had proved so interesting to his feelings, 
for he knew not when he might again hear the " language of 


his mother." He now told my companion, with a touching ex- 
pression of countenance, and a vehement earnestness of sup- 
plication, that he could not leave him, and that he would 
attend him to his home, who replied, Jthat was impossible, as 
he was then more than two hundred miles from it. The poor 
Hindoo, however, estimated distance as nothing, and he cheer- 
fully declared he could run after the carriage all the way. 

We regretted to leave this Child of Nature so situated, but 
there was no alternative : he was again recommended to attend 
to the direction previously given him by my companion, and 
to act as before instructed, which he was assured would be to 
him an effectual relief: he, however, continued to follow us, 
but the rapid motion of our post-chaise soon left him far 

The language used in this interview being unknown to me 
necessarily lessened its interest : the gesture and action, how- 
ever, with which it was accompanied, were suflSciently intelli- 
gible to excite a more than ordinary degree of sympathy ; but 
It was not until we had far outstripped this poor pedestrian 
on the road, that I was made acquainted with the whole of his 
story. Seated in the inn at Derby, where we passed the night, 
my companion, at my request, detailed as circumstantially and 
as correctly as he could all* that had passed between the 
stranger and himself — carefully preserving, and literally trans- 
lating, the expressions he had used. Regret that we had left 
this poor Hindoo so far behind, was now unavailing, and I 
endeavoured to console myself with the consideration, that 
during his presence I was but very imperfectly acquainted with 
the particular circumstances that had occasioned his distress. 
I have since endeavoured to ascertain the result of his appli- 
cation to the gentleman at Ashbourne, but without success. 



Haddon Valley. — Haddon Hall. — The Vemoft Family. — 
Chapel at Haddon. — Roman Altar. — Ancient Tapestry. — 
Gallery at Haddon, — Reflections on Haddon. — Lime Trees. 
— Farewell to the River Wye. 

T OLLOWING the course of the Wye, we entered near Bake- 
well, the sweet Vale of Haddon. An old baronial edifice, how 
the distinguishing ornament of this part of Derbyshire, and 
in earlier times the seat of feudal splendour and festive hospi- 
tality, gires both name and dignity to this delightful valley. 
Fuller, in his History of the Worthies of England, ob- 
serves, with his usual quaintness, that " the north part of 
Derbyshire called the Peak is poor above and rich beneath the 
ground : yet," he addsj " are there some exceptions therein ; 
witness the fair pastures nigh Ha4don, belonging to the Duke 
of Rutland, so incredibly battling of cattle that one proffered 
to surround it with shillings to purchase it, wliich because to 
be set Sideways, not edgeways, were refused." Page 229. 
' On a rocky knoll near the river Wye, about two miles 
south of Bakewell, stands Haddon Hall. The magnitude 
df this venerable pile of buildings — its castellated form -^ 
and its embattled turrets rising above the trees that adorn and 
encompass it, have a magnificent effect, especially when seen 
from the vale between Haddon and Rowsley, where the best 
and the most imposing view of this fine old mansion is ob- 
tained. From this situation its richest and most ample front 
is displayed, its towers rise more majestically, and its groves 
assume a considerable portion of grandeur. When the sketch 
which accompanies this description was made, the Wye, 
swollen by heavy rains^ had overflowed ks banks, and its 
windings round the base of the woody eminence on which 
Haddon stands, presented the appearance of a formidable 
river, which happily harmonized with the surrounding objects, 
and completed the composition of one of the sweetest pictures 


in the Peak of Derbyshire. The day was gloomy, and the 
sombre effect of the sky, together with the dark unvaried tone 
that prevailed, increased the solemnity of the scene. A tran- 
sient ray of sunny light moved gently over Haddon as we 
beheld it, and gradually unfoldea its architectural detail : it 
was a momentary gleam, at whose bright touch the landscape 
glowed with beauty ; too soon it passed away ! a thicker 
gloom succeeded, and again involved the whole in shadow. 

Haddon Hall has evidently been erected at various and 
remote periods of time. The old tower which surmounts the 
gateway, that once formed the principal entrance into Haddon, 
is said by Gilpin to have had its origin anterior to the Conquest 
and he intimates that though this structure was never for- 
midable as a place of defence, it had then a military character, 
which it gradually exchanged for that of a mere domestic 
dwelling. Gilpin, I apprehend, has fixed the building of 
Haddon at too early a period : there is no testimony, eithei 
written or otherwise, that any portion of it was erected many 
years before the reign of King Stephen, when one of the 
descendants of William Peveril resided here : however this 
may be, it is abundantly evident, both from its design and 
structure, that it was never intended to have a military 
character. Early in the reign of Richard I. Haddon came 
into the possession of the Vernons, with whom it remained 
through a period of nearly four centuries, during which time 
it was invariably regarded not only as the seat of feudal 
splendour, but of the most sumptuous and munificent hospi- 
tality. Sir George Vernon, who died in the seventh year of 
the reign of Elizabeth, was distinguished by the appellation 
of the " Ki7ig of the PeakP His wealth, and his influence 
in the neighbourhood where he resided, were alike unbounded: 
he was the lord of thirty manors, which at his death descended 
to his two daughters, Margaret and Dorothy, the latter of 
whom was married to Sir John Manners : thus Haddon passed 
to the noble house of Rutland, and was the family residence 
until the beginning of the last century, when it was deserted 
for the more splendid castle and palace of Bel voir. 

How changed are the fortunes of this once hospitable 
mansion ! the festive board at which thousands were regaled 
is no longer spread within its halls, nor are the sounds of 
; mirth and gladness heard in its gates. A gloomy and solemn 
silence pervades its neglected apartments, and the bat and 
the owl are alone the inmates of its remaining splendour. 


Grand and imposing as Haddon is without, but little attention 
has been paid to convenience in its interior construction: with 
"the en^ception of the kitchen, the cellar, the dining-hall, and 
the gallery, it is a discordant mass of small and uncomfortable 
apartments, crowded together without order. The style of 
architecture that prevailed in England previous to the reign 
of Elizabeth, when it experienced considerable improvement, 
was but little adapted to domestic convenience, and some of 
its defects are exemplified at Haddon. Those portions of this 
old mansion which were appropriated to the purposes of good 
living, and essential to that princely hospitality by which it 
was distinguished, when in the days of the first Duke of Rut- 
land upwards of seven score servants were maintained within 
it, are sufficiently ample to justify all that tradition has told of 
the ancient festivities of the place. The veiy limited capacity 
of the chapel, when contrasted with the magnitude of those 
apartments, shows, that though tlie good people of this esta- 
blishment took up a large space in which to manage their 
temporal affairs, they contrived to arrange their spiritual 
concerns within very modest dimensions. 

The chapel, which occupies a part of the south and west 
fironts of Haddon, is enriched with painted windows. One of 
the subjects represented is the Crucifixion, and another the 
Twelve Apostles, disposed in different compartments. The 
date, milessimo CCCCXXVII appears on the stained glass, 
but it does not refer to the time when this part of the building 
was erected, which was at a much earlier period, and probably 
very soon after the Conquest, when William Peveril, who 
was the natural son of William the Conqueror, was Lord and 
Governor of the counties of Nottingham and Derby. He had 
several houses or castles in Derbyshire, where he resided in a 

. magnificent and princely style. 

In the anti-room to the chapel was a Roman Altar, un- 
couth in workmanship, and by no means an imposing object ; 
it is nevertheless preserved with that care and attention which 
such a relique of antiquity requires; and has been lately 
removed to the central gateway that forms the communication 
between the two quadrangular courts of Haddon. The in- 
scription it contains is now much injured, and the letters are 
so far effaced by time that not great difficulty only, but even 
an uncertainty, occurs in copying them : hence a considerable 
difference appears in the transcriptions of those travellers who 

' have honoured this monument with their notice. The three 



following profess to have been copied with equal fidelity : the 
first is fromtCambden, page 498, edit 1695 ; the second was 
taken by a stranger who visited Haddon a few years ago ; 
arid the third was made with great care in the year 1818, by 
a gentlemen from Sheffield, who endeavoured accurately to 
trace out the form of each letter, as it now appears. 

' From Cambden. 

As copied by a late Traveller 

In 1818 .; 

























We leisurely survejred the exterior of Haddon, as seen from 
the upper and the lower courts before we explored its nu- 
merous apartments, and I know not that I ever beheld a 
mansion that afforded shelter and accommodation to so great 
a number of swallows : every projecting fiieze overshadowed 
their nests, round which the busy flutterers played with in- 
effable delight. It was impossible to witness such a scene 
without calling to recollection the following beautiful passage 
in Shakespeare, which Sir Joshua Reynolds has so happuy 
introduced in illustration of his remarks on what may properly 
be denominated repose in painting : — 

** This castle has a pleasant site; the air 
** Nimbly and sweetly recommefids itself 
** Unto our general sense." 

'• *» This guest of summer, 

" The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 

" By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath 

** Smells wooingly here. No jutting frieze, 

" Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 

'' Hath made his pendant bed and procreant cradle : 

" Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed 

** The air is delicate." 


Many of the rooms in this ancient residence of the noble 
family of Rutland are hung with loose tapestry, behind which 
:the doors are concealed. Occasionally, for the admissicm of 
company, it was folded back with large iron hooks, some of 
which still remain : their form, and the uses they are here 
applied to, may probably have suggested the manufacture 
of that modern and ornamental article now made of gilt and 
lackered brass, and lately much used for similar purposes, in 
many elegant apartments. 

Tapestry may certainly be classed among the finest orna- 
ments of ancient halls and castles : there is a cumbrous mag- 
nificence about it that no other decoration possesses, and 
which in connection with the structure it is intended to adorn 
assimilates with our ideas of former times, creates a species of 
delusion, cheats the mind of its realities, and prepares it for 
the reception of those visionary and sublime impressions, that 
constitute a part of its felicity. The entire covering of the 
walls with loose arras was less essential to the splendour than 
the comfort of Haddon ; the inner doors are so rudely 
fashioned, and in point of workmanship so ill made, that any 
other mode could hardly have been adopted to render the 
place tolerable as a winter residence ; hence the tapestry with 
which the principal rooms were hung, served a more useful 
and important purpose than that of show. 

In the dining-room, amongst a profusion of rude carving in 
wood, are tlie portraits of King Henry the Seventh and his 
Queen, to whose son and heir Sir Henry Vernon was Governor 
and Treasurer — the crest of Edward the Black Prince, on a 
shield— the arms of the Vernon family — and the royal arms 
inscribed underneath, " Dread God and honor the king." 
The inscription might pass without particular notice, were it 
not that it is carvea in fine old English characters, and the 
word " honor^* spelt in the modern way. 

The gallery, which occupies nearly the whole of the south 
part of Haddon, is a noble apartment ; its style of architecture 
fixes the date of its erection in the time of Elizabeth, in whose 
reign this venerable sti'ucture passed from the Vemons to Sir 
John Manners, who was the second son of the first Earl of 
Rutland. In the windows of the gallery are the arms of both 
families in stained glass; and the boar's head and the peacock, 
their respective crests, liberally ornament this part of the 
house. This room is one hundred and ten feet long and 


seventeen wide, and the whole of the floor is daid to have been 
cut out of one oak tree, that grew in the park. In the dining-* 
hall there is an elevated platform, a general construction m 
ancient halls, and still retained in many colleges, whereon 
the high table is placed at which the lord of the mansion pre- 
sided at the head of his household and his guests. A gallery^ 
which on festive occasions was appropriated to mirth and 
minstrelsy, occupies two sides of this apartment On the 
wainscot, near the principal entrance, we observed an iron 
fastening of a peculiar structure, large enough to admit the 
wrist of a man's hand, and which yre were informed had been 
placed there for the pqrpo^e of punishing trivial offences. It 
had likewise another use, and served to enforce the laws and 
regulations adopted amongst the servants of this establishment* 
The man who refused duly to take his horn of ale, or neglect- 
ed to perform the duties of his office, had his hand locked to 
the wainscot somewhat higher than his head, by this iron 
fastening, when cold water was poured down the sleeve of his 
doublet as a punishment for his offence. One ' of the old 
servants of the family, who attended upon strangers when I 
first visited Haddon, while pointing out the uses to which this 
curious relique of former times was applied, facetiously re- 
marked " that it grew rusty for want of use." 

Some old pictures, of but little consequence, have lately been 
sent from the lumber-rooms at Belvoir Cai^e to decorate the 
walls of Haddon, but, independently of their want of merits 
they seem strangely out of place. These, together with the 
clean white-wash with which they have covered every wall> 
have materially impaired the effect of this ancient edifice. It 
has thus lost something of its former character within. These 
tricks, however well intended, have absorbed a century or two 
of its age, and nearly obliterated the venerable appearance of 
its interior, but its external grandeur remains undisturbed 
and imposing. Cleanliness is certainly a very commendable 
quality; it may nevertheless be misapplied, and I confess I 
would rather see the walls of Haddon stained with the marks 
of age, and the ceilings festooned by the spider, than thus 
adorned with modern white-wash. 

Haddon Hall, fipom its great antiquity — from its being 
almost the only baronial residence now remaining entire and 
iintouched by modern improvement to tell the t^e of what it 
was-:- is a place ^^^^ excites considerable curiosity, and will 
amply repay the traveller for the hours he may loiter away iu 


its precincts. Thoogh desolate and cheerless within, it will 
long remain the ornament and attraction of this part of the 
Peak. ... 

A venerable edjfice, or a dilapidated ruin, is an object of 
great and powerful interest, exciting an association of ideas 
from which some of our most pleasurable sensations are de* 
duced* Whether it is because we regard with reverence what- 
ever has been touched by the hand of iTime, and rendered 
sacred from his impression being stamped upon it — or from 
an attachment to whatever is picturesque in form and colour^ 
the force and beauty of which almost every mind can feel and 
appreciate — or whether it is that in the contemplation of an** 
cient halls and castles the tales of other times take possession 
of the soul) and the scenes of centuries gone by are again pre- 
sented to the imagination, passing with a rapidity and an in- 
distinctness like figures in a dream, not intimately known, and 
yet recognized — whatever be the cause of that subdued and 
hallowed feeling which almost every man has experienced from, 
beholding such objects, it ranks amongst the purest pleasures- 
of reflection, and enriches existence. This mysterious sensa- 
tion of undefinable delight is no doubt attributable to that 
subde quality of the mind which we denominate imagination, 
and Haddon is admirably calculated to aJSbrd incentives to 
the exercise of this active and excursive faculty : its towers and 
turrets — its massy walls and gloomy apartments — its loose 
hanging tapestry, and dark carved ceilings, ridb with crests 
and armorial bearings — its painted windows, admitting only 
a dubious light — these, the remaining fragments of its grand- 
eur, all conspire to exalt the mind of the spectator — to im- 
press him with solemn and soothing emotions, and to fix his 
attention on objects and scenes of a remoter date, in the con- 
templation of which all considerations of self are lost: to him, 
Haddon is a link in the chain by which he is more intimately 
connected with a period of time and a race of beings loqg since 
passed away. Dr. Jolmson observes, that " whatever with- 
draws us from the power of our senses — whatever makes the 
past, the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, 
advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me 
and from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct 
us, indifferent and unmoved, over any ground which has been 
dignified by wisdom, bravery, and virtue : that man is little to 
be envied whose patriotism would not ^in force upon the plain 



of Maratium, or whose piety woukl not grow \^nner among 
the ruins of lona." 

. Mrs. Ana Raddiffe, who was a native of Derbyshire, often 
visited Haddon Hall, for the purpose of storing her imagina* 
tion with those romantic ideas, and impressing upon it those 
sublime and awful pictures which she so much delighted to 
pourtray: some of the most gloomy scenery of her " Mysteries 
of Udolpho*' was studied within the walls of this ancient 

The rising grounds behind Haddon are covered with a re- 
gular plantation of oak, lime, ash, and sycamore of the most 
luxuriant growth, which forms a capacious avenue, that com- 
municates with an excellent garden and a summer-house of 
modern construction : passing along this avenue, my mind oc- 
cupied with the scenes of other times, and filled with those ideas 
which a contemplation of Haddon is peculiarly calculated to 
inspire, and thus previously prepared to be imposed upon, I 
felt myself the momentary inhabitant of an enchanted grove, 
that almost realized some of the fanciful pictures of Tasso : a 
rich profusion of blossom covered the lime trees, and filled the 
air with fragrance — ten thousand bees were feeding on the 
treasures they contained — the bell of every flower was in- 
habited and in motion, and the lighter branches, agitated by 
these little marauders, seemed every where imbued with animal 
life, while all around, their hum of felicity and enjoyment kept 
up a perpetual concert of native melody. The summer-house, 
which is approached by this grove of limes, is pleasantly si- 
tuated on the summit of the hill, and commands a very exten- 
sive view of the mountain scenery of Derbyshire. In this 
really charming place the late Duke of Rutland established a 
bowune-green, ibr the accommodation of the gentlemen of Bake- 
well and the neighbourhood, who are chiefly his tenantry ; some 
years ago during the summer months, it was occasionally well 
attended, but in the year 1816, when I last beheld it, it was 
totally neglected, and had a very desolate appearance ; the rank 
grass ©very where prevailed. 

Lower down the vale, about a mile and a half from Haddon, 
is the village of Rowsley, near which the Wye loses itself in 
the bosom of the Derwent. How reluctantly the mind quits 
its hold of objects that have produced a portion of its felicity ! 
with what regret it lingers round scenes on which it has dwelt 
with delight, and as it pauses to recal sensations originally 
excited by objects no longer present, it feels a softer glow of 

L 2 


pleasure as it beholds them through the medium of recollection^ 
Such were the feelings with which I quitted the borders of the 
Wye. Adieu, thou lovely river ! I have traversed thy ro- 
mantic banks from thy source in the vicinity of Buxton, to 
where thy clear and silvery stream mingles with the yellower 
waters of the Derwent, and feel gratdul to that Being who has 
intimately connected some of our most refined and purest 
pleasures with the contemplation of those works in the midst 
of which he has placed our habitation. 



Edensor. — Monument to the Earl of Devonshire in the Church. 
— Inscription to the Memory of John Beton, — Chatswarth 
Park and House. — Cascade in the Garden^ — Fountain, in 
the Court. — Figure ofArion^ 

Havino rained the course of the Derwent, after quitting 
it near Stoke, we returned up the valley from Rowsley to 
Edensor, a little village about two miles distant, which is si- 
tuated upon the verge of Chatsworth Park, where we passed 
the night at a comfortable iim, built for the acconunodation of 
travellers by the late Duke of Devonshire. The church at 
Edensor stands on the side of a hill, in the upper part of the 
village, and it is surrounded with a spacious burial-ground r 
within it is clean and neat, and its appearance altogether in- 
timates its proximity to the residence of a noble ramily. In 
the chancel there is a verv costly and splendid alabaster mo- 
nument to the memory of the first earl of Devonshire, which 
contains several figures as large as lifey sculptured in relief, and 
elaborately finished : this monument is divided into different 
con^artments, the whole of which are profusely ornamented, 
gilt, and coloured. A tabular monument is placed at the foot 
of the large one, on which are two recumbent figures ; one is 
completely draped from head to foot — the other is a fleshless 
skeleton. There is something strikingly impressive in this, 
representation of a man who appears to have just passed from 
time intoeternity, with all the habiliments of lite about him, and 
the bare-ribbed image of death, which lies at his side, awfully - 
intimating the transition that must soon be made. The sculptor 
has here " bodied forth" a lesson of mortality which is ex- 
tremely simple, yet full of pathos and instruction. 

Near this monument we observed a brass tablet with a long 
latin inscription upon it, to the memory of John Beton, a coa^ 

L 3 


fidential servant of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots; he 
appears to have entered into the service of his royal mistress 
early in life, and he was one of the principal agents in her de- 
liverance from the castle of Loch Levin : afterwards he was 
employed by the Queen in an embassy to Charles the Ninth, 
King of France, and likewise to Elizabeth : he died at Chats- 
worm in the year 1570, at the age of thirty-two. Situated as 
Mary then was, she could ill bear the loss of such a servaut ; 
though a Queen, she was yet a prisoner, and with the excep- 
tion of the little circle of domestics who attended upon her per- 
son at Chatsworth, she had none to do her homage. 

^* Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 

" With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, 

"Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty; 

** For you have but mistook me all this while : 

** I live on bread like you — feel want, taste grief, 

" Need friends — subjected thus, 

" How can you say to me, I am a king ?" Shakspeabe, Rich. II. 

Poor Mary ! " she both needed friends and tasted grieij" 
and the death of one who had always served her with zeal and 
fidelity, was a calamity she most severely felt, and a loss she 
could not easily repair. To the Rev. R. Smith, the Rector of 
Edensor, I am indebted for a correct copy of the elaborate in- 
scription which records the death of this faithful servant of the 
unfortunate and cruelly persecuted Queen of Scotland. 


Deo. Opt. Max. et Posteritati sacrum Johanni Betonio Scoto nobilis et 
optimi Viri Johannis Betonii ab Anthmwty filio Davidis Betonii iUustriss. 
S. R. E. Car dinalis Nepoti, Jacob!] Betonii Reverendiss. 8. Andres Arch- 
iepiscopi et Regni Scotise Cancellarii digniss. pronepoti. ab ineunte state 
in humanioribus disciplinis et philosophia quo facilior ad jus Romanum 
(cujus ipse consultiss. fuit) aditus patet, ab optimis quibusqz praBceptoribus 
et liberaliter et ingenu^ educato : omnibus morum facilitate, fide, pnidentia 
et coDstantia charo : unde a Sereniss. Principe Maria Scotonim Gallo- 
rumqz Regin4 in prsgustatoris primum mox (Economi munus sufiecto^ 
ejusdemqz Sereniss. Reginae un& cum aliis e vinculis truculentiss. Tiranni 
apud levmi lacus castrum liberatori fortiss. quem ]x>8t varias legationes et ad 
Carolum 9 Galliarum Regem Christianiss. et ad Eiizabetham sereniss. Aa- 
glonim Re^nam fceliciter et non sine laude tusceptas : fatis properantibus 
in suee aetatis flore sors aspera immani dysenterias Morbo 6 numero viven- 
tium exemit. Jacobus Reverendiss. Glasguensis Archiepiscopus et Andreas 
Betonii ejusdem sereniss. Reginae ille apud Regem Christiamss. legatus, hie 
vero oeconomus in perpetuam rei memoriam ex voluntate, et pro imperio 
sereniss. Reginae herae clementiss. f " moestiss. posuerunt. 

Obiit anno salutis 1570. vixit aanos 52. menses 7. et diem dm expectat 
apud Cbathworth in Anglia. 



Immaturia tibi Iterant fiia Sorores 

Betoni, ut summum ingenium suinmumqz periret 

Judicium, et nobis jucundum nil foret ultra' 


Near the New Inn, et Edensor, stands the Porter's Lodges 
which commands one of the entrances into Chatsworth Park : 
it is a neat stone building, but certainly not sufficiently elegant 
or ornamented to be an appropriate introduction to so magnifi* 
cent a mansion. From this entrance into the park the road 
ascends to a high point of ground, from whence Chatsworth 
and its surrounding scenery are first beheld. Descending 
from this elevated situation, and approaching the river Der« 
went, the house appears to great advantage, and the noble 
amphitheatre c^ wood by which this richly ornamented man-* 
sion is accompanied, has a grand and magnificent effect. The 
lofty foliage near the house is well connected with the remote 
faills by a succession of delightful woody scenery, which is 
terminated in distance with the barren mountains of the Peak. 
About a quarter of a mile from the house a stone bridge of 
three arches crosses the river r this elegant structure wa& 
built by Pedn^ and is reported to be from a design by 
Michad Angelo : the niches between the arches are adorned 
with four marble figures by Gibber, of but indifferent work- 
manship : as ornaments to the bridge^ they have a pleasing 
effect, but they cannot be highly commended as works of art. 

Few noble mansions have been more lavishlv praised and 
indiscriminately censured than Chatsworth, which was once 
the pride and boast of Derbyshire, *^ when," as Gilpin ex- 
presses it, " trim parterres and formal water-works were in 
fashion ;** but now, fallen from its high estate, it has become 
a butt for every pretender to taste to snoot an arrow at. 

Chatsworth House was built by William Talman, a native 
of Wiltshire, who was Comptroller of the Works in the reign 
of William the Third, and notwithstanding the defects of its 

Cund plan, which is certainly not unobjectionable, it will 
g remain a splendid monument of the architectural talent 
of its builder. It is composed of four nearly equal sides, 
with an open quadrangular court within, and the principal 
front is highly ornamented : it is rich without being tawdry, 
well proportioned and light, and elegant in appearance. Tlie 
other sides, though not equally admirable in design, conspire 

L 4 


to produce an impression favourable to the abilities of Talmail^ 
who from this specimen of his skill was evidendy a man of 
superior attainments in his profession. Denham House in 
Gloucestershire, and old Thoresby House, in Nottingham- 
shire, were by the same architect. I once heard an eminent 
artist remark that the principal fault in Chatsworth was an 
apparent want of apartments suited for the accommodation of 
the domestics of so princely a mansion^ It is a palace to the 
eye, where every part seems alike fitted for the noble owner 
and his guests only, and on beholding it the spectator is na- 
turally led toi enquire where the servants of such an establish- 
ment are to abide.* 

In Chatsworth Park many delightful views occur, which 
are chiefly terminated by the Moorland scenery of Derby- 
shire, and about half a mile below the bridge we noticed one 
eminently adapted to the purposes of the pencil. Immediately 
before us lay the river, across whose stream a stone butment 
or weir has been erected, which damming up the water, ex- 
pands it into breadth ; it is thence precipitated over this inter- 
ruption to its progress, where it forms a magnificent cascade. 
On a gently ascending ground, about half a mile higher Up 
the river, stands Chatsworth, finely embosomed in 

** Majestic woods of every vigorous green ; 

^ Stage above stage high waving o'er the hills.'* Thomson. 

A little on the left is the bridge backed with broad and ample 
foliage : cattle reposing in groups on the brink of the river, or 
cooling themselves in the stream adorned the foreground ; and 
the middle and remote distances, which are ornamented with 
a palace, a bridge, and towers and temples, disclose a scene 
as rich and as lovely as the fancy pf Claude Lorraine ever 
portrayed when under the influence of his happiest inspir- 
ations. Yet the foreground had more of Berghem than 
Claude about it : the respective features which constitute the 
peculiar charm and excellence of these great masters, were 
most harmoniously combined; every part was in character, 
and the whole was faithful to natufe. In this view the inter- 
vention of a faw trees hides the cascade in the garden, near 
the house, which is a very formal object. A long and narrow 
stripe of regular stone steps, down which the water is some- 
times made to descend for the amusement of visitors without 

* This objection no longer exists. Chatsworth has been greatly enlarged 
and improved under the direction of J. Wyatt, Esq. .^ 


any winding, break, or interruption, has at any rate ad tin- 
picturesque appearance, particularly when the fountains above 
are not in motion. Entirely to remove this scar on the fair 
face of Beauty may very properly be objected to, as it would 
obliterate one of the distinguishing features of Chatsworth ; 
it may nevertheless be so far improved as to become a very 
pleasing object. Bed the channel of the cascade with rugged 
and unequal stones,-plant part of its brink with shrubs, and if 
practicable, give to its course a winding direction ; thus the 
water will occasionally be lost and seen as it descends, and by 
damming up this artificial stream in its progress down the 
hill, narrowing its dimensions in one place and opening it in 
another, it will assume a more natural appearance : the cas- 
cade at Chatsworth may thus deviate into beauty, and instead 
of being suddenly absorbed into the earth, it may apparently 
retire behind the house or lose itself amongst the bushes, con- 
veying to the spectator the pleasing idea of a continued 
stream, withdrawn from his sight by tlie intervention only, of 
oth^ objects. 

Having leisurely surveyed the exterior of Chatsworth, we 
were anxious to be admitted to a contemplation of the trea- 
sures it contained, and we already dwelt with ecstasy on the 
rich stores of art — the legacies of genius — with which im- 
agination had decorated this palace of the Peak. It is a trite 
remark, that highly-excited anticipation often ends in dis- 
appointment: the observation has been made a thousand 
times without abatmg the unreasonableness of expectation, 
and will be a thousand times repeated before mankind grow 
wiser by the use of it. The interior of Chatsworth will gratify 
those who do not expect too much, and if any man return 
from such a place either chagrined or disappointed, let him 
recollect that the fault is principally, if not entirely, his own. 
Shortly after passing the Porter's Lodge we entered an 
open quadrangular court, formed by the four sides of Chats- 
worth, which in general style and richness of ornament 
corresponds with the pruicipal fronts of the building. Two 
sides of this court have open balconies, guarded by stone 
balustrades, which are divided into different sections by 
twenty-two intervening parts, that form the pedestals to the 
same number of busts. The busts are well carved in stone, 
and represent some of the most distinguished personages in 
the reign of Queen Anne. In this court there are some 
military trophies, which are said to have been executed from 


designs by G. Gibbons, the celebrated Carver on wood: they 
are formed into four dii!erent subjects, and they embellish 
the east and west sides of the court. They are the workman- 
ship of Mr. Samuel Watson, a native of me Peak of Derby- 
shire, a man who attained to uncommon excellence in his pro^ 
fession, and who sculptured figures and ornaments in stone in 
bas relief with great skill and ability : nearly the whole of the 
rich and exquisite carving that adorns the exterior of this 
noble mansion, is the work of this artist. The middle of th6 
court is occupied with a marble statue of Arion seated on the 
back of a Dolphin, and surrounded with the clear living 
waters of a fountain, which fall into a capacious basin, com- 
posed of the marble of the Peak of Derbyshire. This figure^ 
by some strange propensity to blundering, is generally called 
Orpheus, probably from the circumstance of his playing on a 
hrre, and the well known classical fable of Arion is forgotten* 
He was a musician and a poet of Lesbos, at a time when 
those characters, though now distinct from each other, were 
intimately connected. Having acquired great fame in his 
own country, he travelled into Italy, and became rich by the 
exercise of his professional excellence : returning homewards^ 
full of the hope of enjoying in his own country the wealth he 
had amassed in another, the mariners who accompanied him 
were tempted to throw him into the sea, that they might 
possess themselves of his riches. In this extremity he re- 

auested permission once more to play upon his harp before he 
led: the request was granted: he struck the chords, and 
amidst a stream of music that astonished the mariners, he 
leaped intb the sea : a dolphin, charmed with the strains of 
his Jiarp, caught him on its back, and in return for the sweet 
music it had made, bore him safely through the waves to his 
home, where he arrived long before the vessel in which hfe 
had embarked, when he told the story of his danger and 
escape. The mariners, on their examination, acknowledged 
their murderous intention, and as far as they were concerned 
in the transaction, they confirmed the tale of the miraculous 
escape of Arion on the back of a Dolphin. 



InteiicT of Ckatsnoorth* — Paintings. — Verrio and Laguerre. 
— Gallery of Dtawings, — ChapeL — Library. — Tapestry. 
Sculpture. — Portraits. — Closterman. — Sir James ThomktlL 
Carvijig in Wood. — Gibbons. — Samuel Watson. — Cibber. 

We now entered the hall, the first apartment that strangers 
are introduced into at Chatsworth : it is a spacious and nobl^ 
room, and the flight of steps which connects it with the grand 
stair-case, passing between two rocks of variegated alabaster, 
and ornamented with rich gilt balustrades, has a grand effect. 
This apartment exhibits the first specimen of the kind oS 
painting that most prevails at Chatsworth. Verrio, Laguerre, 
and Sir James Thornhill, were the principal artists who der 
corated the walls and ceilings of this splendid mansion, and in 
the hall, Verrio has attempted the assassination of Cassar at 
the foot of Pompey's statue — 

** when Brutus rose, 
** Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, 
** Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm 
** Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
" When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 
** On Tufiv's name, and shook his crimson sted, 
" And bade the Father of his Country hail ! 
" For, lo 1 the tyrant prostrate in the dust, 
" And Rome again is free." Ak£nsid£« 

The subject of this picture was too mighty for the grasp of such 
a mind as Verrio's. His Brutus has none of the dignity with 
which Akenside has clothed his noble Roman, and his conspir- 
ators are altogether a miserable set. of common-place ruflBans, 
who seem in the act of butchering one of their associates, who 
had threatened to turn informer. I am aware that this paintr 
ing^ has been attributed to Louis Laguerre ; but as this artist 
was only employed by Verrio as an assistant in his labours, I 
have chosen to characterise their joint productions here as the 
works of the master. Pope has associated these artists toge-r 
ther, and his verse will probably perpetuate the remembrance 
of their names when their works are forgotten. 


" And now the chapel's silver* bell you hear, 

** That summons you, to all the pride of prayer, 

<< Light quarks of music, broken and uneven, 

** Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven, 

** On painted ceilings you devoutly stare, 

" Where tprawl the Saints of Verrio and Leiguerre*'^ Pope. 

The pencil of Verrio indeed lias freely expatiated over the 
walls of the staircases, and the ceilings of the rooms in every 
part of Chatsworth, and gods and goddesses, and allegorical 
personages, in which he unrestrainedly indulged, are intro- 
duced into the humble company of mortals, without any great 
portion of either taste or feeling, and splendid colouring is made 
to supply the place of elevated design and grandeur of con- 
ception. This artist, in one of his most important and elaborate 
productions, has introduced Sir Godfrey Kneller and himself 
in long periwigs, as spectators of Christ healing the Sick. 
Even Sir Joshua Reynolds, a man whose very name ought to 
be mentioned with reverence, in one of his designs, has fallen 
into this absurd error — absurd, because it has a tendency to 
defeat the intention of the artist, by abstracting the niind of the 
spectator from the action exhibited before him, and fixing it on 
a period of time and a series of personages that have no con- 
nexion with the events which the canvass represents. Verrio 
and Sir Godfrey Kneller attending to one of Christ's miracles 
is hardly more absurd than Sir Joshua Reynolds and his coad- 
jutor Jervais appearing in the character of shepherds at the 
nativity of Jesus, in the great window at New College, Oxfords 
Sir Joshua's fine picture on this subject is now in the posses- 
sion of Earl Fitzwilliam, at W^entworth House. 

Verrio, though deficient in design arid composition, had a 
free and ready pencil, and he was in great favour with King 
Charles the Second. From 1676 to 1681 he received nearly 
seven thousand pounds for paintings done at^ Windsor only — 
so munificently were the arts pati^onised during the reign of 
this remarkable prince. The following anecdote is abridged 
from Horace Walpole, and detailed on his authority, and it 
exhibits so much of the character of both Verrio and his royal 
patron, that I cannot resist the introduction of it, where per- 
haps it may be regarded as oat of place. Verrio, in his style 
and manner of living, was very expensive : he kept a splendid 
tible, and often pressed the king for money with great freedom, 
which his Majesty good-naturedly indulged. Once, at Hamp- 
ton Court, when he had but lately received an advance of one 


thousand pounds, he found the kin^ in such a circle that he could 
not conveniently approach him. He called out, " Sire, I de- 
sire the favour of speaking to your Majesty." " Well, Vcrrio," 
said the king, " what is your request?" " Money, Sir; I am 
so short of cash that I am not able to pay my workmen, and 
your Majesty and I have learnt that pedlars and painters cannot 
give credit long." The king smiled, and said he had but lately 
ordered him a thousand pounds. Yes, Sire," replied he, " but 
that was soon paid away, and I have no gold left." " At that 
rate," said the king, "you would spend more than I do to main- 
tain my family." " True," answered Verrio, " but does your 
Majesty keep an open table as I do ?" 

Verrio, influenced by feelings that did honour to his nature, 
retained his attachment to his royal master long after the latter 
had descended into the grave, and at the revolution of 1688, 
he relin(|uished the place he held at court, and contemning the 
offers of new regal favours, he refused to employ his pencil in 
the service of King William : at this time he quitted the ca- 
pital and retired into the country, where he executed the paint- 
^ ings at Chatsworth and at Burleigh, the princely mansion of 
the Marquis ol Exeter, where his works are equaJly numerous 
and of the same character. With such feelings it is perhaps 
extraordinaiy that Verrio should have been induced to spend 
so much of his time in ornamenting the mansion of the first 
Duke of Devonshire, who, it is well known, was a principal 
agent in the production of that event which Verrio appears so 
much to have deplored. 

From the entrance-hall we passed onward through a long 
narrow gallery, and one of the most attractive and interesting 
apartments in Chatsworth* We entered it with delight and 
left it with re^et. Nearly one thousand original sketches, by 
the most eminent Flemish, Venetian, Spanish, and Itfdian 
masters, cover its walls, forming altogether an assemblage of 
drawings which for number and excellence cdn hardly be sur- 
passed in any part of the kingdom. An arrangement which 
would throw the works of the different artists into distinct 
classes, would greatly improve this fine collection. 

On entering the chapel we felt the delightful fragrance of 
the cedar wood, of which it is almost entirely composed : it is a 
richly ornamented place, and carving, painting, and sculpture, 
have all contributed to its decoration: •the ceiling, and every 
part of it which is not otherwise appropriated, have been em- 
bellished by the pencils of Verrio and Laguerre. The oma- 


ments in wobd are represented to be the work of Gibbons, and 
the altar is the sculpture of Gibber. It is ccmiposed of the 
iluors and marbles of Derbyshire, and enriched with the figures 
of Faith and Hope in full relief : they are ssid to be of exqui- 
site workmanship, but they want simplicity, and the drapery, 
which has been highly spoken of, is heavy, even to loading 
what it should only cover. As statues intended for ornament 
only, they are tolerable, but as works of art they are but in- 
difierent productions. I observed that a niche, apparently 
intended for a third figure, foi*ms a part of the design of this 
sculptured altar. Charity, as a proper companion to the Faith 
and Hope of Cibber, might be introduced into this vacant 
niche, and thus fill up what appears to have been the original 
intention of the sculptor. 

One of the best and most successful efiforts of Verrio's pencil 
is in this chapel ; the subject is the incredulity of Saint Thomas. 
The visitors to Chatsworth are generally told by their attendant 
that this painting is by Laguerre. I nave before represented 
this artist as an assistant only in works that were undertaken 
by Verrio, and it is highly probable that Laguerre was em- 
ployed on this picture. Pilkipgton, in his Dictionary of 
Painters, when speaking of Verrio, says, ^' That performance 
which is accounted his best, is the altar-piece in the chapel at 
Chatsworth, representing the Incredulity of Saint Thomas." 
On this authority, and that of Horace Walpole, I have taken 
firom Laguerre tike honour of painting this picture, notwith- 
standing the share that he probably had in its production. He 
had a free pencil, and executed with great facility those com- 
mon-place combinaticHis with which his mind was stored; To 
this artist Sir James Thornhill is reported to have b^en greatly 
indebted for the formation of his style and manner. L^uerre 
had only one son, who was on the stage in the capacity of a 
siziger. On his benefit night his father attended to witness his 
pemirmance, but before the drawing up of the curtain he was 
seized with a fit of apoplexy, and expired in the pit of Old 
Drury. Such, and so sudden, was the death of Laguerre. 

It is not necessary to enumerate the dijBPerent apartments, as 
they are passed over in succession by those who visit this pa- 
lace of the Peak : they are generally spacious and lofly, but 
npt particularly magnificent: some of them are hung with 
tapestry, and tne whole are elegantly, but not sumptuously, 
furnished. The new library, however, is a splendid room, and 
has been lately fitted up in a style of magoificence every way 


voTtky of its noble owner. The paintings by Louis Charon, 
which formerly disgraced its walls, have been removed, and 
an extensive and valuable library of books now occupies their 
place. Everv thing in this apartment is elegant, and bespeaks 
the taste of the present Duke, under whose direction it has 
been sp essentially improved. Two porphyry vases, from the 
quarries at Elfdalen in Sweden, have been lately introduced 
into it, and they are now placed on pedestals of black marble, 
from the Duke's mills at Ashford, which are exquisite spe- 
cimens of this fine production of the Peak. In this truly 
noble library, an honourable statioa has been allotted to two 
eminently beautiful fossil productions ; the one a specimen of 
Fel-spar, from Labrador, the other Dog-tooth-spar, enshrin-' 
ing copper pyrites, from the Duke of Devonshire's copper 
mine at Acton, near the river Dove. 

The cabinet of fossils and minerals which was collected and 
formed by the late Duchess of Devonshire, and classed and 
arranged by Mr. White Watson, F. L. S. of Bakewell, has 
been lately removed from a public to a private apartment, and 
it is now not shewn to strangers. That any consideration 
dbould induce the Duke of Devonshire to exclude the casual 
visitors to Chatsworth, from beholding this collection, may be 
regretted, and particularly so as it contains many choice and 
beautifid specimens.*^ 

I have before intimated, that several apartments in this 
ducal mansion are hung with tapestry, some of which exhibits 
great richness of colouring,, and appears to have been origin- 
ally of considerable excellence. The copies of the Cartoons 
of Raphael merit a better fortune than they have here expe- 
rienced : the di£ferent subjects have been cut to suit the dimen- 
sions of the rooms, and then put together again in a way that 
has disunited them most absurdly : thus about two-thirds of 
the cartoon of the Lame Man healed by Peter and John, ** at 
the gate of the Temple called Beautiful," has been connected 
with the Sacrifice at Lystra, and in such a manner as to form 
one subject: again, the two parts that have been excluded 
fix)m the places they had previously occupied, have been either 
separately disposed of or joined to others, without either care 
or consideration. The whole, therefore, presents a heter- 
ogeneous assemblage of groups of figures having no connec- 

• This collection is intmded to form part of the adornments of the new 
rooms at Chatsworth. 

160 sei'tPTUhti. 

tion with each other. The d^th of Ananias his been so 
divided as to make both parts equally unintelligible : the shears 
have been passed exactly through the middle of the subject : 
the fallen Ananias, therefore, occupies a corner in the fore- 
ground of one picture, and the kneeling figure, who is .pene- 
trated with .awe and horror at the event, has a situation equally 
conspicuous in the other. It is difficult to imagine how such a 
thing as this should have occured in such a house, where the 
value of these productions must be well understood. 

Chatsworth is not rich in sculpture. Passing through the 
different apartments, a few busts were seen, which are chiefly 
modern : amongst these Charles James Fox, and the late 
Duke of Devonshire, by Nolekens, are decidedly the best. 
There is likewise an antique Alexander, part of which, by the 
bye, is modern, but the head is very fine, and has great gran- 
deur of expression. A few other heads of minor impoitance 
complete the Chatsworth catalogue, in this elevated depart- 
ment of art.* fci painting, the collection is more numerous, 
yet but few pictures are to be found of a very superior cha^ 
racter : the late Duchess of Devonshire, with her in&nt 
daughter, the present Lady Morpeth, on her knee, is one of 
tbe best : one cannot see it without feeling its excellence. The 
graceful turn of the head of the principal figure — the happy 
expression of countenance — the smiling face, and the up* . 
lii^ out-spread hands of the infant — are exquisitely beautifiil 
and true to nature. This picture is entirely and essentially all 
that it professes to be — a mother and a child mutually delight^ 
ing and delighted with each other : it is painted in a full and 
brilliant tone of colour, and altc^ether it may be classed 
amongst the best pictures of Sir Joshua Reynolds. The Duke 
of Cumberland, by the same master, which occupies a con- 
spicuous situation in the same apartment, is a dignified portrait: 
it was evidendy painted at an earlier period, and it exhibits 
more attention to detail, and more of laborious finish, than 
distinguished the later productions of Sir Joshua's pencil. 
Perhaps after all the finest picture in the house, is the whole- 
length of the first Earl of Devonshire in his state robes, which 
is painted in a style but little inferior to the best works of Van- 
dyke. If I mistake not, this figure has been ascribed to 

* The reader is requested to recollect, that these observations were made 
in 1818, since which time the Diike of Devonshire has added some fine 
works in sculpture to his collection at Chatsworth. 

l>ORTRAITS. 161 

Mytems, but Horace Walpole is of opinion that it was painted 
by Paul Vansomer, a native of Antwerp, who came into this 
country in the reign of James the First, and who was deserv- 
edly esteemed as a very superior artist : he was accustomed to 
paint his whole-length figures on a mat. Mytems generally 
used a carpet, a distinction by which the respective works of 
these artists are presumed to be generally known» 

In my memorandums, made on a visit to Chatsworth some 
years ago, a notice occurs of a picture containing whole- 
length portraits of Henry the Seventh and Henry the Eighth, 
by Holbein, which I then thought a very masterly performance. 
It appeared to have been painted in distemper, in black and 
white, the hands and face heightened with a slight tinge of 
colour, like some of Edridge's pencil-portraits : the effect was 
powerful, and the natural ease and manly dignity of Henry 
the Eighth conveyed an excellent idea of that haughty and 
overbearing monarch. This painting has been removed to 
enrich the Duke of Devonshire's coUection at Chiswick.— -I 
have likewise noticed with a mark of approbation a iull-lengt}i 
portrait of the first Duke of Rutland ; which I have not ob- 
served on my late excursions to Chatsworth : it was painted 
by Clostej-man^ a native of Osnaburgh, an artist who was 
liberally patronized by several noble families in the reign of 
Queen Anne. The large picture at Blenheim, in which the 
Duke of Marlborough on horseback is a conspicuous figure, is 
by this artist, who is reported to have had many disputes with 
the Duchess during its progress 2 one day the Duk6 observed 
to him, "It has given me more trouble to reconcile my wife 
and vou than to fight a battle." Closterman w&s very suc- 
cessful in his profession, and might have lived in affluence, but 
for a foolish fondness for a young woman who kept his house; 
she, however, robbed him of a great part of his property, and 
fled the kingdom. The loss of his money and his mistress 
preyed upon his spirits, and soon brought him to the grave. 
He died at the age of fifly-seven. 

Sir James Thomhill, whose taste was evidently influenced 
by the works of Verrio and Laguerre, found ample employ- 
ment for his pencil at Chatsworth : in the back staircase he 
has exhibited the Fall of Phaeton, and in the painted anti- 
chamber adjoining, he has represented on the ceiling, the 
Assembly of the Gods, in which he has successfiilly imitated 
.the style and manner of his masters: his large picture of the 
Bape of the Sabine Women nearly covers one side of the 



same apartment. By what fatality of blundering Sir James 
was directed when he composed and painted Uiis picture, 
it is difficult to determine : how he, in so early a period of the 
history of Rome, found his dome-crowned palaces, rich-por- 
ticoed temples, and splendid amphitheatres, one can hardly 
imagine. This is a species of anachronism in which painters 
should not indulge ; it distracts the mind between one period 
of time and another, gives a false feature to the interesting 
events of earlier ages, and destroys the locality of history. But 
Sir James was not at all times very nice in his ideas of pro- 
priety ; he appears not to have hesitated long between what 
was admissible in historical composition and what incongruous; 
he decided in haste, and therefore he . occasionally decided 
wrong. When he painted the large picture in Greenwich 
Hospital, which represents King William and Queen Mary, 
surrounded by the proper officers and personages of their 
court, he contrived to introduce himself, clad in a rich em- 
broidered suit, and ornamented with a deep flowing periwig, 
like one of Sir Godfrey Kneller's portraits ; where he occupies 
an important station in the groupe. In the architectural part of 
his picture of the Rape of the Sabme Women, there is some 
good painting, but the figures are indifferently drawn, and the 
tone of colouring is not pleasing. Perseus and Andromeda, a 
large painting which occupies a place in the anti-chamber to 
the Duke's dressing-room, is another of Sir James Thomhill's 
unsuccessful efforts : if in the figure of Andromeda he has 
embodied his idea of female beauty, but few artists, not even 
Rubens or Fuseli, less understood in what it consisted. 

Chatsworth abounds with a great variety of exquisite carv- 
ing in wood ; — the dead game — the fish — the flowers — the 
shells — and the minor ornaments by which they are accom- 
panied — have all the charm of excellence about them : the 
feathery appearance of the birds is inimitable. What Horace 
Walpole has observed, every man feels as he contemplates 
these beautiful productions. ^^ There is no instance," he says, 
^< of a man before Gibbons who gave to wood the loose and 
airy lightness of flowers, and chained together the various pro- 
ductions of the elements with a free disorder, natural to each 
species." This is a high compliment, but those who visit this 
noble mansion will not r^ard it as overstrained. Davies, in 
his "View of Derbyshire," published about 1810, says diat 
this eminent artist met his death by a fall from the scaflbld, 
when employed in the chapel here : the accuracy of this ac* 


count is very doubt&l. According to Walpole, whose author- 
ity is but rarely disputable, he died, August 3. 1721, at his 
house in Bow-Street, Covent-Garden, twelve or fourteen years 
after the principal part of the chapel at Chatsworth was 
finished, and I have understood that his finest work, and the 
most superb monument of his skill, which is at Petworth, in 
Sussex, was executed subsequently to the carving at Chats- 
worth. That the life of Gibbons was a life of industry, is 
evident from the many works he left behind him; some of 
which, said to be of great excellence, were unfortunately 
destroyed by fire at Cniswick. The foliage in the choir of 
St, Paul's — the font in St. James's church — the chimney- 
pieces, door-cases, and many of the picture<-fi*ames at Burleigh, 
are the work of Gibbons : in what he did at Chatsworth he 
was greatly assisted by others, and particularly by a native of 
Derbyshire, whom it would be injustice not to mention here. 
Mr. Samuel Watson, the grandfather of the present Mr. 
White Watson, of BakeweU, had no inconsiderable share both 
in the exterior and interior decorations of this noble mansion ; 
and it is highly probable that many parts of that beautiftil 
carving, which has excited the admiration of Horace Wal- 
pole, and all who have beheld it, were executed by this 
unremembered artist. The urns — the medallions — the 
coats of arms — the wreaths and the roses that ornament the 
four fi-onts of Chatsworth — the military trophies in the court 
— and some of those exquisite specimens of carving in wood, 
which have hitherto been attributed solely to Gibbons, are 
either wholly, or in part, the workmanship of Watson. Study- 
ing under Gibbons, whose works were the constant object of 
his imitation, he attained great excellence in his profession, 
and was highly esteemed both for his integrity and talents. 
He was the firiend and associate of Sir James Inonihill, who 
painted his portrait, which is now at BakeweU, and who re- 
garded him as worthy of a regular correspondence when they 
were many miles apart The very liberal prices he received 
for his works sufficiently evince the estimation in which he was 
held. In his papers, with a perusal of which I have been fa- 
voured, amongst many items of a similar nature, I noted the 
following: — 

£. s. d. 
Carving in wood in the upper story of the west front, 
and in the lowe^ dining-room in stone, - - - - 67 8 9 

Carving in stone in the stair-case 12176 

M 2 

11(4 GIBBER. 

£. s. d. 

Work done in the altar-piece of the chapel - - . - 3 7 

Urn on the altar - 2 15 

Bill for carving on the north side of Chatsworth - - 94 9 4 

The coats of arms on the west front 55 00 

Another bill for sundry carving, chiefly in tvoody dated 

September 24. 1704 342 5 5 

Bill, dated 1707, carving north front windows, medal- 
lions, and roses, ^on stone, and ditto in wood, - - 69 12 

Many other memorandums might be quoted from these 
papers, all tending to shew how liberally Mr. Samuel Watson 
was employed at Chatsworth, and how Wgely he contributed, 
by the exercise of his professional talents, to its decorations. 
He died at Heanor, in Derbyshire, of which he was a native, 
and was buried in the chancel of the church, where, there is a 
richly-ornamented monument to his memory, which I contains 
an inscription that refers to his works at Chatsworth : — 

" Watson is gone, whose skilful art display'd, 

** To the very life whatever nature maae: 

** View but his wond^rous works in Chatsworth hall, 

<' Which are so gazed at and admired by all, 

" You'll say 'tis gity he should hidden lie, 

*< And nothing said to revive his memory," 

Another artist who contributed to embellish this resident 
of the Dukes of Devonshire, was Gibber, who, besides the altar 
in the chapel, executed the four marble statutes on the bridge 
— the two sphinxes on the pedestals ui the front of the house 
— and a figure of Neptune that was formerly in the garden, 
but which I havQ not lately noticed. ITiis work is said to have 
been a very fine production, and but little if any inferior to his 
celebrated figures of Melancholy and Madness before the front 
of Bedlam Hospital. Several door-cases at Chatsworth are 
by the same hand : they are made of the alabaster of the Peak 
of Derbyshire, and are richly .ornamented with foliage and 
flowers, beautifully disposed and finely executed. This artist 
was a native of the duchy of Holstein, and the father of Colley 
Cibber, once poet-laureate> whose name is identified with the 
history of die English stage. 



jRe/lectians on leaving Chatsfworth. — Projected Improvement of 
ChatstxKjTth House. ^^Mary Queen of Scots imprisoned there. 

— Marshal Tallard. — Hobbes. — St. Evremond to Waller. 

— Recollections ofajbrmer Visit to Chatsmofiih. 

Frebuently as I have visited Chatsworth-house, . J have 
never left it without regret; yet it contains but few of those 
exquisite productions of the pencil which the mind naturally 
associates with such a mansion. The works of art that adorn 
the houses of the wealthy and the great are the best ornaments 
they possess ; and though they cannot be regarded as exhibit- 
ing an equitable criterion, either of the riches or the taste of 
their possessors, they are honourable testimonies in their fa- 
vour ; they throw round their persons an additional lustre — 
they give them a more exalted place in the estimation of society 
— and invest their mansions with a higher character than that 
of mere dwellings. So enriched, they are the depositories of the 
works of genius — the honoured receptacles of the labour of 
ages that have passed away; and he who reverences the arts, 
has an abiding interest in the treasures they contain ; he visits 
them with a*^ fastened feeling, and treads even their precincts 
with veneration, for genius has hallowed the place that he ap- 
proaches : contemplating their stores, he lives in other times 
— he holds communion with those who were • — becomes an 
inmate of their minds — participates the sublime conceptions 
of Raphael, Titian, Poussin, Rubens, Salvator, and Claude^ 
and he. traces in their works the nature and the character of 
those energetic feelings by which they were embodied and 
produced. So precious is the deposit they contain ! 

Yet with all my enthusiasm for the productions of these 
men — however I may venerate their names — and with what- 
ever portion of elevated feeling I may dwell on those periods 
in the history of the arts when they were produced, I cannot 
but regret that the works of British artists should so rarely 

M S 


be associated in honourable competition in the collections of 
the great, with these splendid emanations of other times. In 
Portrait, History, and Landscape, we have talent that might 
confer distinction on patronage, and perhaps it is not too 
presuming to say, that a gallery of the best works of British 
artists would be but little inferior to any in the world. Do 
the productions of Stothard's pencil, at Burleigh, sink in 
comparison with the works of Verrio and Laguerre, who were 
employed to decorate its ceilings ? rather do they not in sub- 
ject, composition, colouring, execution, and mind — in all that 
constitutes excellence in painting — rise incompigrably su- 

The present Duke of Devonshire has for several years past 
spent much of his time on the Continent, and during his 
temporary residence in France and Italy he has obtained 
some fine specimens of modern sculpture, which are intended 
to enrich the collection of works of art at Chatsworth-house. 
A statue, by Canova, is amongst the number, which is said to 
be a chef-cTceuore of that celebrated artist. This statue has 
already arrived, but it is not intended to be opened for public 
inspection imtil the D>uke's return from his travels. Some 
very magnificent plans are now in contemplation for the im- 
provement of Chatsworth ; and it is understood to be the Duke 
of Devonshire's intention to render it one of the noblest and 
most attractive mansions in the kingdom, and more worthy 
the notice of travellers'. When the Archdukes Nicholas and 
Michael, of Russia, were there, they each of them planted a 
tree in the west front of the house, which are carefiilly pro- 
tected from injury, and are intended to be known by the re- 
spective names of tlie noble planters, for the purpose of per- 
petuating the remembrance of their visit to Derbyshire. 

Chatsworth, as I have before intimated, was for some time 
the residence, or rather the prison, of Mary Queen of Scots, 
in remembrance of which a suit of apartments are still known 
by her name; and near the bridge, by the side of the Derwent, 
are the remains of an old building, called the Bower of Mary 
Queen of Scots. A deep moat encompasses the area where 
this tower stands, and a garden once occupied its smnmit, 
wherein that unfortunate princess, shorn of every semblance 
of royalty, was wont to spend the solitary hours of confine- 
ment Her second letter to Pope Pius is dated fix)m Chats- 
worth-house, October 31. 1570, nearly seventeen years before 
the sanguinary mandate of Elizabeth had sent her to the block. 

HOBBES. 167 

The murderous cruelty of this measure could only be equalled 
by the detestable hypocrisy with which it was succeeded: when 
Elizabeth heard that the unfortunate Mary was no more, she 
stood for some time mute with horror, and then burst into 
expressions of sorrow and resentment : she clothed herself in 
mourning, and largely indulged in the luxury of grief and 
lamentation; her ministers and counsellors were denied her 
presence, and she charged upon them the crime of putting to 
death her dear sister contrary to her wishes and intentions. 
Infamous dissimulation ! Many years after this event, Mar- 
shal Tallard, a French general, who was taken prisoner by 
the Duke of Marlborough at the battle of Blenheim, spent a 
part of the days of his captivity in England at Ch^tsworth- 
house, where he appears to have been treated with a kindness 
and attention that he most forcibly felt : on taking leave of 
the Duke of Devonshire he is reported to have said, with true 
French politeness, " When I return to France, and reckon up 
the days of my captivity in England, I shall leave out all 
those I have spent at Chatsworth." 

Of all the personages connected with the local history of 
Chatsworth, who may have been rendered conspicuous either 
by their situation or their talents, perhaps no one has a more 
powerful claim to notice than the once celebrated Latin poet 
and philosopher, Hdbbes : his connexion with the Devonshire 
family began early in life, and Chatsworth, in consequence, 
became his occasional residence : he was a man originally of 
a weak constitution, and he is said to have been subject through 
life to imaginary and unnecessary personal fears, that con- 
tinually preyed upon and agitated his spirits : yet by a' strict 
and uniform attention to diet and exercise, he lived to die age 
of 92. He was a very early riser, and as soon as' he had 
quitted his bed he walked, or rather ran to the tops of some 
of the hills about Chatsworth, that he might enjoy a fresher 
and a purer breeze than circulated through the valley. This 
practice he continued until he was compeUed to relinquish it 
by the infirmities of age. After breakfast he visited the Earl 
and the Countess of Devonshire and their children, imtil about 
twelve o'clock, when he dined in a private apartment by him- 
self: he then retired to his own room, where ten or twelve 
pipes, filled with tobacco, were ranged in a row on his table 
ready to be used in succession : he then commenced his usual 
aflemoon's employment of smoking, thinking, and writing, 
which he continued for several hours. When thus engaged 

M 4 


he was frequently visited by foreigners of distinction, who 
were attracted to Chatsworth chiefly by the celebrity that 
Hobbes had acquired amongst the learned and the great. 
St Evremond, in one of his letters to Waller, dated from 
Chatsworth, details some interesting particulars of this extra-' 
ordinary man, whom he found, as he expresses it, " like 
Jupiter, involved in clouds of his own raising." He says, 

" I now write to you from the Earl of Devonshire's, where I 
have been this fortnight past, paying my devotions to ^e Genius 
of Nature. Nothing can be more romantic than this country 
except the region about Valois, and nothing can equal this place 
in beauty but the borders of^the lake. 

" It was not, however, so much the desire of seeing natural 
curiosities that drew me hither : there is a certain moral curiosity 
under this roof which I have long wished to see, and my Lord 
Devonshire had the goodness to indulge me by a very kind in- 
vitation: I need not tell you that I mean the great philosopher 
Mr. Hobbes, so distinguished for the singularity of his sentiments 
and disposition. I arrived a little before dinner, notwithstanding 
which the Earl told- me he believed I was too late to see Mr. 
Hobbes tliat day. < As he does not think like other men/ said his 
Lordship, ^ it is his opinion that he should not live like other men ; I 
suppose he dined about two hours ago, and he is]now shut up for the 
rest of the day: your only time to see him is in the morning, but then 
he walks so fast up those hills that unless you are mounted on one of 
ray ablest hunters you will not keep pace with him.' It was not long 
before I obtained an audience extraordinary of this literary po- 
tentate, whom I found like Jupiter involvea in clouds of his own 
raising* He was entrenched behind a battery of ten or twelve 
guns, charged with a stinking combustible called tobacco. Two 
or three of these he had fired off, and replaced them in the same 
order. A fourth he levelled so mathematically against me, that I 
was hardly able to maintain my post, though I assumed the cha- 
racter and dignity of embassador from the republic of letters. 
* I am sorry for your republic,* said Hobbes, * for if they send 
you to me m that capacity, they either want me or are afraid of 
me : men have but two motives for their applications — interest 
and fe^r ) but the totter is in my opinion most predominant.' I 
told him that my commission extended no farther .than to make 
him their compfiments, and to enquire after his health. ' If that 
be all,' -said he, « vour republic does nothing more than negociate 
by the maxims of other states, that is, by hypocrisy : all men are 
necessarily in a state of war, but all authors hate each other 
upon principle : for my part, I am at enmity with the whole corps, 
from the Bishop of Salisbury down to the bell-man : nay, I hate 
their writings as much as I do themselves : there is nothing so 

HOBBES. 1^9 

perntcious as reading; it destroys all briginality of sentiment. 
My Lord Devonshire has more than ten thousand volumes in his 
house : I entreated his Lordship to lodge me as far as possible from 
that pestilential corner : I have but one book and that is Euclid, 
but I beein to be tired of him ; I believe he has done more harm 
than good; he has set fools a reasoning.' — < There is one thing in 
Mr. Hobbes's conduct,' said Lord Devonshire, * that I am unable 
to account for : he is always railing at books, yet always adding 
to their number.' — < I write, my Lord,' answered Hobbes, * to'shew 
the folly of writing. Were all the books in the world on board one 
vessel, I should feel a ^f eater pleasure than that Lucretius speaks 
of in seeing the wreck; — ' But' should you feel no tenderness for 
your own productions?' — * I twre for nothing,' added he, ' but 
the Leviathan, and that might possibly escape by swimming.' 

** As he had frequently changed his political principles, I did 
Hot think it of consequence to enquire into his ideas of govern- 
ment ; but kx the course of conversation I found that he looked 
upon the principal engine of administration to be Fear. * All 
government,' said he, ' is- in itself an evil : it is nothing but the 
continual imposition of terror and inflictions of punishment : it 
must be owned that it is an evil which the natural depravity of 
men has rendered necessary to the existence of society ; but still, 
it cannot in itself be looked i^>on with any other sensations than 
such as are excited by the view of its several instruments — the 
scourge, the gibbet, and the jail — the sight of Majesty inspires 
rae with no other ideas than such as arise when I see tne lowest 
executioner of the civil power.' — * That is,' said Lord Devonshire, 
' you have the same respect for the king as the hangman.'—- 

* Pardon me, my Lord,' returned Hobbes, recollecting himself,. 

* Uie^king is a very worthy gentleman: you know I had the 
honour of teaching him philosophy at Paris. —^< Oh, Mr. Hobbes,' 
replied his Lordship, < m that respect your royid pupil does you 
much honour.' ** 

Hobbes remained at Chatsworth until a very short time be- 
fore his death. The Earl of Devonshire and his family were 
removing to Hardwick Hall in the same county, and Hobbes, 
who felt his days were fast drawing to a close, was anxious to 
be near them in his last moments : his journey, though short, 
was accompanied with both pam and inconvenience : he tra^ 
veiled on a feather-bed ; and in a few days after his arrival at 
Hardwick, a, paralysis terminated his existence on the 4th of 
December, 1679. 

My last visit to Chatsworth was in the autumn of 1818, and 
it revived the recollection of one of the most delightful days 
1 ever passed within the precincts of the Peak of JDerbyshire. 


' The morning was cheerless and unpropidous, and the whole 
of the landscape on both sides of die road was obscured by 
a thm sprinkling of rain, which was continued without the 
least intermission from the town of Sheffield to the village of 
Edensor, where, on our arrival, the sun broke out with un- 
usual splendour; the clouds suddenly dispersed, and the 
moisture spread on all around us was soon dissipated by the 
warm rays of the sun. The shower had fallen with a dewy 
softness, and the leaves of the trees and the grass in the mea^ 
dows were every where gemmed widi lucid drops, that sparkled 
with light As these disappeared,, the foliage had a brighter 
glow, and the verdure assumed a fresher ana a livelier green ; 
the air had an additional sweetness, and every breeze that 
blew, loaded with the fragrance of a thousand flowers, came 
upon the senses with a delicious softness. As we strolled 
through the park every object we beheld appeared to feel the 
influence of so delightftil a transidon : the deer, and the vari* 
ous- groups of catde which every where adorned the scene — 
the birds that sported amongst the branches of the trees — the 
swallows as they skimmed the air or dipt the wing in water, 
seemed all inspired with new life and actuated by a more 
elastic impulse. The myriads of insects that but a few hours 
before had no evident existence, were sporting in the beams of 
die sun, richly enjoying a state of beine, which, though brief, 
was full of happiness. We participatea in the general felicity, 
and gladly resigned ourselves to that luxury ot feeling — that 
fulness of enjoyment — which pervaded all around us : we 
rambled through the house, the park, and the gardens, in diat 
frame of mind which pecidiarly fitted us to derive pleasure 
from every thing we saw. Some groups of well-dressed fe- 
males, who were perambulating the grounds, apparendy as 
happy as ourselves, imparted animation and elegance to the 
sweet scenery of Chatsworth Park : I know not that I ever 
beheld the fair forms of nature under a more lovely and cheer- 
ing effect. On our return from the top of the cascade, where 
a water-temple stands, which might with peculiar propriety be 
dedicated to the God of Mischief we seated ourselves beneath 
some tall spreading limes, by the side of a litde lake of water 
as clear and as unruffled as a mirror, from whose polished 
surface the surrounding objects were reflected with a fresher 
and a brighter colouring than nature herself had on. Sud- 
denly the lake became partially agitated, an eflect evidendy 
produced by an impulse from beneath: shortly there burst 


from the surrounding bubbles a pillar of water^ that rapidly 
ascended to the height of more than ninety feet : this column, 
as it left its parent^bed, was white as the foam of the ocean ; 
upwards, it became one connected and transparent pillar, and 
when, at its extreme altitude, it separated into fidline particles, 
it formed a gracefully-descending line, through whidi the rays 
of the sun passed, converting every drop of water as it fell 
into a lucid gem. The motion, and the rapid play and change 
of light with which the descent was accompanied, produced an 
effect brilliant and sparkling beyond conception ; and a grace- 
ful arch of vivid colouring, clear and beauteous as the rainbow 
in the sky, was thrown upon the banks of the lake and on the 
light foliage of the trees that adorned its margin* It was in- 
deed a fairy scene of beauty and of brief delist, and like 
some lovely vision of enchantment, while we gazed upon it it 
faded and passed away. 






Excursion commeficed. — Banner Cross. — Curious JSffect of 
Clouds.— Enter Derbyshire. — Burbage Brook. — View 
from Millstone Edge, — Winter o/^ 1813. — Hathei^sage. -^ 
LitHe Johris Qrave. — Hathersage Church. — Camp Green. 

The day fixed for my Third Excursion into Derbyshire 
arrived ; but, instead of being clad in smiles and loveliness, 
*' the dawn was overcast, and heavily in clouds brought on" 
the important hour, when myself and my companion once 
more bade adieu to the sooty majesty of the town of Sheffield, 
and the thick atmosphere in which it was enveloped, for the 
purpose of participating the pleasure of another ramble 
amonffst the heathy hills of Derbyshire, and inhaling the 
fresh breeze that plays upon their summits. 

A walk of two mues brought us to Banner Cross, which 
was the first object that engaged our attention : the delightful 
mansion lately erected here, stands at the upper extremity of 
a valley, not within the boundary line of Derbyshire, but yet 
upon the very verge of the county. The new building at mis 
place was commenced by the late L.ieutenant-Greneral Murray, 
who did not live to witness the completion of the work he had 
begun. It is the design of Jeffery Wyatt, Esq., and one of the 
best specimens of modem Gothic architecture that this part 
of the county contains. The towers, the turrets, and thie 
embattled parapets, by which it is surmounted, rise gracefiUly 
from amongst the trees, and the^pper apartments command a 
view of one of the richest and best-wooded landscapes in the 
vicinity of Sheffield. Smithy Wood, and some of the most 
beautiml scenery of Abbey Dale, are included in the prospect 
From Banner Ui'oss the road continues gradually to ascend 
until it reaches the highest part of East Moor, about two 
miles from Hathersage. 


As we approached the five-mile stone, the morning mists 
hung thickly on every part of the landscape: on our right, the 
clouds, were close upon us, and entirely precluded the view of 
every distant object. The sky seemed to rest a part of its 
contracted canopy within a few fields of the place where we 
stood, so very limited was our horizon : shortly the clouds, 
which were of one unvaried cold colour, broke,, and admitted 
a glimpse of cultivated hill above, while all below was apparent 
sky : detached portions of the scene were successively dis- 
covered through the partial breaks, and the little pictures they 
displayed looked like landscapes in the heavens : the efiect 
was singular and pleasing, and we felt much interested in 
watching the progressive unfolding of the whole, for in the 
clearing away of the vapour, one part of the prospect, and 
then another, appeared to be taken from the clouds, and given 
to the earth in succession,, until the whole hill was distinctly 

As we approached Burbage Brook the hills of Derbyshire 
began to appear, and looking on our left towards the river 
Derwent, we had a noble prospect, finely diversified, spread 
before us. We stood upon a rude stone bridge thrown across 
a mountain-stream that connects the two sides of a Ae&p 
valley, through which the Burbage runs amongst huge fiiig- 
ments of stone and broken rocks. The woods of Padley and 
Stoke appeared in the oflscape, and the hills about Qiatsworth 
filled up the distance. 

Burbage Brook, though generally a scanty stream in sum- 
mer, has considerable beauty when* swollen by heavy rains, 
or the melting of the snows accumulated during a long winter : 
then its waters burst from the narrow arches of the bridge in 
streams about twenty yards apart, and foaming over rugged 
projections of rock down a precipitous descent, unite in the 
dell below. High mounds of rock mark the course of this 
rivulet to the immediate vicinity of the Derwent, which it 
enters near Grindleford Bridge. 

We had now, though only seven miles from Sheffield, come 
suddenly upon the fine scenery of the Peak, and as we pro- 
ceeded towards Hathersage, it became more and more im- 
posing. A rocky eminence on our left induced us to scramUe 
to its summit, where for a while we stood in silent admiraticm 
of the magnificent landscape which this high point of MiU-- 
stone Edge commands : here we passed a delightfiil hour of 
existence, contemplating the majesty t)£ nature, and watching 


the thin clouds withdraw their curtains from amongst the 
mountains, until their highest peaks gleamed with the bright 
effulgence of the morning sun. Far oelow, in the deep hol- 
low of the valley, lay the village of Hathersage, surrounded 
by lofty eminences; Win Hill,X.ose Hill, and Mam Tor, are 
ammigst the highest and most remote ; and when the clouds 
had melted into air, and passed away, their shadowy summits, 
every where invested with the pale hues of distance, looked 
like mountains in the skies. 

Intending to take the shortest, and, for a pedestrian, the best 
way to Hathersage, we abandoned the carriage roads, one of 
which makes a long sweep to the right, and the other to the 
left, and followed the direction of a narrow unfrequented path, 
that led us amongst heath fern and fox-glove into the dale be- 
low. As we regained the road, we had a very pleasing view 
of the village rising behind the heathy foreground on our 
right. The church is here a good object : it stands on the 
side of a steep hill, amongst gardens and cottages, at the upper 
extremity of the village ; and a fine woody eminence behind 
rises high above the spire, and makes a good middle distance 
to the picture. As we proceeded down the hill, the craggy 
summits on our left presented an imposing outline : thev are 
crested with huge piles of rock, that were opposed to a cloud- 
less sky over which a morning sun diffused unusual bright- 
ness. The different parts of these dbjointed cliffs are so 
pr<^K>rtioned and combined, that, when seen fix)m the dale 
below during an early part of the day, they have strikingly the 
appearance of an old dilapidated building : a dubious light, or 
a hazy atmosphere, sometimes increases the deception, and 
traiisfonns the rocky points and projections into towers, turrets, 
and battlemetits ; 

^ Their rocky summits, split and rent. 

Form turret, dome, and battlement. 

Or seem fantastically set 

With Cupola or Minaret." Scott's Lady of the Lake. 

In winter, when the hills above Hathersace are covered 
with snow, the approach to it from. Sheffield is not exeinpt 
from danger ; here it accumulates in immense drifts, which 
obliterating all traces of a road, render it not only dangerous, 
but sometimes impassable. In the winter of 1813, the car- 
riages, that attempted to cross this bleak part of the moors 
either return^, or were left half Buried in the snow. A young 



many a nadve of Brookfield, near Hathersage, was the means 
of saving several persons from perishing in this severe winter.: 
near Burbage Brook he found a sailor and his wife who were 
exhausted with fatigue, and unable to proceed on their jour- 
ney ; the poor man had fallen under his exertions to support 
his wife, and was nearly dead : he took him upon his back, 
and carried him to the only house he could find, which was 
nearly a mile distant ; he then returned, and in like manner 
bore the woman, who was unable to walk, to the same dwelling. 
At this time the coach from Manchester was overturned, and 
-nearly buried in snow, where it remained for several days : a 
mother, with her child about two years old, was amongst the 
passengers, the whole of whom were females : the child he 
bore to Hathersage ; the mother attempted to follow, but was 
soon unable to proceed. On his return he found her in a 
drift of snow, from which all her efforts to exti*icate herself 
were unavailing. He restored her to her child, and in the 
same way he released the two remaining ladies from their 
perilous situation. They offered him money as a compensa- 
tion for his services, which he did not decline accepting; but 
he immediately transferred it to the poor sailor and his wife, 
to solace and comfort them on their journey. Thus did this 
young man act the part of the good Samaritan, he ^^^ poured 
oil and wine into their wounds, and set them on their way 

On my last excursion to Hathersage in the early part of 
the present year, I took the new carriage road, which passing 
under a chain of rocks, makes an ample sweep to the left of 
the villajge, and enters it in the front of the family residenqe of 
the Shuttleworths. Neither myself nor my companion were 
intimately acquainted with the route we had taken. W^ 
nevertheless, anticipated a variety of pleasing prospects as we 
approached the vale that shapes the course of the Derwent, 
and our expectations were fully realized. Within a mile of 
Hathersage^t one of the finest views in the whole of Derby- 
shire burst suddenly upon us. We stood upon a rocky knoll, 
projecting from the side of a steep hill; in the deep valley far 
below roDed the rapid waters of the Derwent, which is here a 
noble river. Hazleford Bridge, a good stone structure of 
three arches, — the groups of trees and cottages near, — f the 
dells, woods, and pantations about High Low and Learn, 
were pleasing objects in the landscape directly before us.« Our 
left was a range of hills, whose summits were turretted with 

imnwEsr dale. 179 

{nDkeRcn^gs; below, their steep declivities, shelving to the 
brink of the river, were covered with miles of woody scenery, 
over which the eye passed to the bold rugged eminence called 
Froggat Edge ; beyond, in distance, appeared the woods and 
hills that form the boundaries of Chatsworth Park. The op- 
posite side of the Derwent, from Leam downwards, was scaroely 
less beautiful : the hills are lofty and extremely precipitous ; and 
they are every where clothed with the finest foliage, that be- 
comes thicker and closer in texture, and deeper m shadow, 
until it reaches the margin of tlie river, which appears in oc- 
casional glimpses as it pursues its sinuous course, amidst woods 
and waterfalls, through as picturesque a dale as nature ever 
formed. Such was the landscape that lay on our left; but the 
view on our right was still more beautiful : we looked into 
Hope Dale, a scene that has been panegyrised by all who have 
visited the Peak of Derbyshire. A lovely light rested upon 
it, and a blue transparent haze hung over me surrounding 
mountains, which rose far above the beauteous dale that they 
encircled, and presented an agreeable variety of pleasing forms 
and graceful undulations. "Hie whole of this delightful pros- 
pect was canopied with a clear azure sky, save where occasion- 
ally some light thin clouds interposed their fleecy whiteness 
** between our gaze and heaven.*' 

Hathersage contains about one hundred houses. Ashton 
Shuttleworth, Esq. who possesses considerable property in 
this place, and is lord of the adjoining manor of Padley, 
has lately erected a very handsome inn in the middle of the 
village, but the business on this road is apparently insufficient 
to support so large and expensive an establishment ; it is 
therefore at present untenanted, in which state it has remained 
for several yean. The manufacture of metal buttons was 
once prosecutecT in this place with tolerable success, but it 
has lately progressively declined, and probably may soon be 
discontinued. Steel wire and needles are likewise made here, 
under the direction of men regularly initiated into the busi- 
ness, and in other respects competent to the undertaking. 
These manufactures may therefore have a more permanent 
duration ; but establishments of this description are perhaps 
oTa nature too exotic to flourish in a place like Hathersage, 
where the farming interest prevails, and where, agricultural 
employment appears to be more congenial to the feelings and 
habits of the people. Under the influence of both pursuits 
this pleasant village may assume an equivocal character, 

N 2 


neither entirely possessing the bustle of a manu&cturing dis- 
trict, nor the quiet of a place whose inhabitants are solely 
devoted to the tillage of the fields, and the cultivation of the 
products of the earth. 

In the vicinity of Hathersage there are some excellent 
subjects for the pencil, and while my companion was sketch- 
ing in the valley belpw the village, I visited the diurchyard 
on the hill above, where, as tradition informs us, lie the bones 
oT Little John, the fiivourite companion of the celebrated 
forest-marauder, Robin Hood. His burial-place is distin- 
guished by stones placed at the head and foot of his grave ; 
they are nearly four yards apart, and are said to designate 
the stature of this gi^ntic man. However fiibulous this 
account may be, the body here interred appears to have been of 
more than ordinary size. In October, 1 784, this reputed grave 
of Little John was opened, when a thigh bone measuring two feet 
five inches was found within it. A tall man from Offerton, who 
on account of his stature had probably obtained the name of 
Robin Hood's faithful follower, was interred in this place : 
hence originated this villa^ tradition ; and that it might be 
rendered still more marvellous, when the bones were re-com- 
mitted to the grave, the stones that originally marked the 
stature of the tall man of Offerton were removed farther 

Hathersage Church has a good exterior, and within it is 
clean, light, . and well seated. In the chancel there are 
several ancient monuments belonging to the family of the 
Eyres of Highlow and Offerton, one of whom, Robert Eyre^ 
was an officer, who, according to the inscription on his tomb,t 
fought along with Falstaff's mad Harry at the batde of 
Agmcourt . . 

On a tabular monument inscribed to theroemory of one 
of this family, who died March 21, 14?59, are the effigies of 
fourteen children, engraved in brass, ten of whom were sons, 

* Hathersage is somewhat tenacious with respect to this circumstance 
in its local history, and insists upon the' validity of its claim to the burial 
place of Little John. The tracfitional authority on which this claim rests 
IS more thiyi doubtful. Mr. J. ^. Walker, in his ingenious ** Memoir on 
the Armour and Weapons of the Irish," annexed to his " Historical Essay 
on the Dress of the Ancient and Modem Irish," has given some curious 
particulars relative to the skill of Little John in archeiy, and he informs 
us that he terminated his life on the gallows, and that he was ^ executed 
for a robbery on Arbor Hill, Dublin." If this author be correct, it ii 
not Ukely that Little John was buried at Hathersage. 


and four daughters. A place that appears to have been 
once filled by another figure is vacant ; a daughter not bom 
in wedlock originally occupied it, but being deemed un- 
worthy, without any &ult others, to be associated with those 
who were, she has been cut away, and expelled fix>m the 
situation which her &ther had assigned her. 

In dtis church we observed the traces of a custom that once 
generally prevailed in various parts of the kingdom, but is 
now almost totally disused r — When unmarried women died 
they were usually attended to the grave by the companions of 
their early years, who, in performing the last sad offices of 
friendship, accompanied the bier of the deceased with gar- 
lands, tastefully composed of wreaths of flowers, and every 
emblem of youth, purity, and lovelinesi^ that imagination 
could suggest When the body was interred, the garlands 
were borne into the church, and hung up in a conspicuous 
situation, in memoiy of the departed. There is something 
extremely simple ana affecting in this village custom, and one 
cannot but regret that it is now almost entirely discontinued. 
In Hathersage Church there were several of these memo- 
rials of early dissolution, but only one of a recent date ; the 
others were covered with dust, and the hand of time had de- 
stroyed their freshness. 

At a short distance from the churchyard, and still higher 
up the hill, there is a place called Camp Green. It is a 
circular area of about fifty yards diameter, encompased with 
a high mound of earth, round which a ditch, or moat, appears 
to have been carried. In some places the ditch is nearly 
filled up, and the mound is gradually crumbling into the 
area below; it is therefore highly probable, that before the 
present generation has passed away Camp Green will be 
known only by name. 

K S 



Hope Date. — BeccUections of a former Excursion. — Approaxk 
to CcLstleton. — Fine Autumnal Evening. — Casileton Church.-^ 
Peai^s Hole. 

From Mathersage to Castleton, a distance of six miles, the 
road lies through Hope Dale. - Local attachment^ and the 
commion consent of travellers, have adorned this dale with a 
tibottsand beauties ; and those who have the good fortune to 
reside witliin it, satisfied that their lot ^^ is cast in pleasant 
places," represent it as one of the most deiightfiil spots in the 
Peak of Derbyshire. It is, indeed^ a lovely valley, and . 
though inferior in beauty to many other parts of the same 
county, it yet contains some charming scenes, which, like light 
thrown into a picture by the hand ofa master, have a magicld 
effect* The traveller whose chief object is to reach the end 
of his journey with all possible expedition beholds them with 
pleasure, and the artist loiters amongst them with sensations 
of delight. A beautiful river winds gracefully through the 
dale, watering some excellent meadow land as it moves along. 
The cottages with which the valley is studded are of a sober 
grey tone of colouring, and pleasant to the eye. The vii- 
la^s of Hope and Brouffh, half hid amongst surrounding 
trees, and half revealed, mcrease the loveliness of the scene. 
Near Malham Bridge, where the road to Castleton crosses 
the Derwent, some very beautiful views occur; and farther 
on in the dale the near approach to Hope is extremely pic- 
turesque. The little river that passes by this village is 
overhung with ash and alder, which grow luxuriantly on its 
bank§, amidst hazles, honey-suckles, and wild roses. 

My journey through this dale of Hope was rendered pecu- 
liarly interesting by tne recollection of having passed the same 
road several years before, in company with a much-esteemed 
and now-departed friend. He was then unwell, but not at 
all apprehensive that he should so soon go to the <^ home of 
his fathers." Our former friendship — his character and 


death — came forcibly upon mv mind, and absorbed for a 
time every other consideration : he had a warm, benevolent^ 
and affectionate heart ; and though somewhat hasty in temper, 
he was steady and sincere in his attachments, and his trans- 
actions with mankind were invariably regulated by principles 
of honour and integrity : he " should have died hereafter J* 
I well remember the tune we passed this dale; it was a fine 
autumnal evening, and the sun was sinking behind the high 
mountains of the Winnats, as we i^proached the village of 
Castleton. The sweet serenity of the sky ^- the hour^H the 
day — the season of the year — all were in unison, and con- 
spired to produce a mental harmony : 

*' For autumn -—solemn, tender, and serene— 
** Breathed exquisite enchantment o'er the scene." 


A little before us the river, rippling o'er its pebbled bed» 
quivered with light; a bridge, to which we were led by a 
turn in the road, was a good object in the foreground of the 
landscape; some fiill-grown and well-clothed trees hid the 
greater part of the \ula^ and made it a better subject for 
tne pencil : a few dwellmgs were partially displayed, over 
which rose the tower of the church, but not one obtrusive 
feature appeared to disturb the repose of the scene; and 
the extent of the place might be traced by the smoke from the 
cottage chimnies, as it slowly ascended above the loftiest 
branches of the intervening trees. A steep and rugged hill 
lay on our le% on whose summit stands an o]d dilapidated 
ciEtstle, venerable in ruins and hoary with years. Beyond 
the village, the view is terminated by uie high rocks and bleak, 
eiminences of the Winnats, and a little to the right. Mam 
Tor rears her majestic head above the surrounding hills. 
The space between Castleton and the mountains that bound 
the western extremity of the vale was indistinct and in sha- 
dow, whilst the last light of the settmg sun, gradually soft- 
ening until it became exquisitely tenlder, lingered on the tops 
of the adjacent hills. A combination of more favourable cir- 
cumstances could hardly occur ; and a soothing tranquillity — 
a mild and chastened glow of pleasurable feebng — took pos- 
session of the mind as we contemplated the scene before us. 
Our carriage moved slowly along as I hastily wrote the 
following impromptu to the setting sun : — 

V 4 


Oft hare I marked, bright orb ! thy opening raj 
Give the glad promise of a perfect da^; 
. ' WatchM thee slow sailing tnroueh thine azure sea^ 
Till all the glowing heaven was Full of thee ; 
Bdield the clouds of evening intervene. 
Spreading a purple radiance o'er the scene. 
Thy last fisfat lingering on the mountain's browy^ 
Deep shacK>ws resting in the vale below : 
But never saw thee med a sweeter ray. 
E'en on the loveliest close of an autumnal day. 

Shortly after our arrival at Castleton'we visited the castle, 
an ill-shapen ruin, which stands on the verge of a rocky pre- 
cipice that forms the roof of Peak's Hole. This dismantled 
fortress, though not a bad object from some parts of the daJ^ 
is utterly devoid of those picturesque appendages on which the 
eye of the artist loves to dwell, and it sinks into insignificance 
amongst the wild scenery that surrounds it 

The antiquary, however, will contemplate the ** ancient 
Castle of the Peake" with other feelings, and its dilapidated 
walls, rude and unshapely as they are, may be to him a 
source of gratification. The top of the hill where the castle 
stands is but a circumscribed plot of ground, nor can it at 
any lime have been suiSciendy ample to accommodate the nu- 
merous establishment of a great feudal chieftain ; yet the 
family of the Peverils are said to have occasionally resided 
here, and not without pomp and splendour. Mr. King, who 
has minutely described this castle in th6 sixth volume of the 
Archaeologia, is of opinion that it was a place of royal resi- 
dence during the government of the' Saxons ; others contend 
that it is a !^^rman structure, and that it was probably built 
by William Peveril, the natural son of William the Con- 
queror, to whom the traditions of the country ascribe it, and 
'^ho certainly possessed it at the time of the Doomsday Sur- 
vey, in the record of which it is denominated " the Castle of 
THE Peake." 

It has been remarked that this castle cannot at any time 
have been well calculated for defence, because, there being no 
well or reservoir of water within its walls, it could but ill 
maintain a procrastinated siege ; to this observation it has 
been replied, that the spring at the upper extremity of Cave 
Dale might, by some very simple contrivance, have been made 
to furnish the garrison with this necessary article. Another, 
and a more ample supply, lies more conveniently ; this con- 
jecture may therefore be abandoned, without injuring the re- 


putation for strength which this fortress, supposing it to have 
been one, may have had. A well has been recently disco- 
vered on the summit of the hill called Long Cliffy between 
which and the castle there is a communication, though now a 
very dan^rous one, across the narrow ridge of rock that 
overtops we entrance into Peak's Hole. This well is built of 
the same kind of stone as the castle, and it is so situated as 
easily to be made available for an abundant supply of water. 

Night was now rapidly closing in upon us; we therefore 
descended the steep side of Castle Hill, and on re-entering 
the village, we observed the church lighted up for evening 
service. TTiis we learned was a new arrangement made by the 
minister, in opposition to the wishes of the inhabitants of 
Castleton, who had been accustomed to go to church in the 
morning and afternoon, by day-light Notwithstanding this 
convenient practice, the minister refused to attend at the usual 
time, and he substituted an evening for an afternoon service. 
The churchwardens urged that the distant parishioners would 
be greatly inconvenienced by this innovation on long estab- 
lished usage, and they objected to fiimish lights ; therefore 
those who attended carried lanterns and candles from their 
houses, and placed them in the pews of the church, which was 
thus lighted when we beheld it. 

Early tlie following morning we visited Peak's Hole, one 
of the most striking and sublime objects in the mountainous 
districts of Derbyshire. This place is well known, and its 
mysterious labyrinths have been frequently described with a 
minuteness of detail that supersedes the necessity of future ob- 
servations. It is not a pleasant task to travel over ground 
tliat has been so often occupied, where nothing remains to be 
gathered except what others have on\itted or refused to nor 
tice ; yet such precisely is the situatiqn of the tourist who 
traverses a country where many have been before him, and 
whose pen has to delineate the features of scenes on which 
others have previously lavished the riches of description. 
Language is better adapted to express sentiment and feeling 
than accurately to depict the scenery of nature ; hence the 
difficulty a writer always experiences in conveying to others 
even a tolerable idea of the forms of which it is composed, 
and the character it assumes ; nor is the pencil on all occa- 
sions a more efficient instrument than the pen. In pourtray- 
ing the near approach to Peak's Hole, and the entrance into 
the first grand cavern, these powerful little agents have but 

186 APPROACH TO peak's HOLE. 

rarely been directed by able hands. Where fiulure is com- 
mon, and where, with very few exceptions, it has been almost 
uniformly the same, a want of success can hardly be attended 
with disgrace. 

Peak's HfAe is situated at the extremity of a deep and nar- 
row rocky chasm, whose craggy projections liide it from the 
traveller until he is near enough to measure with his eye the 
whole of its dimensions, and feel the full force of its emtt on 
his imagination : it then suddenly bursts upon him in all the 
wildness of its character, obscurely grand and terrific. Such 
a heavy mass of unsupported rock, 

^ By its own weight made stedfast and inimoveable,'' 

when first beheld produces an involuntary shuddering; firom 
this the mind soon recovers, and forgetting the selfish appre- 
hension of danger, reposes with an awfiil sublimity of feeling 
amidst the vastness of this stupendous cavern. The light at 
the entrance is generally favourable, and it sometimes falls 
sharply on the rocky projections in the foreground of the 
picture^ then suddenly fades away, and gradually loses itself 
in impenetrable gloom and utter darkness. 

The dubious twilight that pervades the interior of the first 
cavern of Peak's Hole, especially when viewed firom without, 
eminently serves the purposes of grandeur : dark, confused, 
and uncertain objects float before the mind, which, not limited 
in its operations by any obvious or defined boundary, gives 
, extent to space, and contemplates with profound complacency 
the indistinct and mysterious images of its own creation. This 
train of thought and tone of feeling are sometimes inter- 
rupted by a human being passing in distance athwart the 
gloom ; his haggard figure, as he stalks along, wrapped in an 
uncouth garb, and his umbered face, brightly illumined with 
the torch he bears. This is not the portraiture of imagination 
— it is what almost every day presents, and it is an appendage 
admirably in character with the scene. The banditti figures 
with which Salvator peopled his landscapes could alone make 
the picture more terrible. 

Other occurrences, still more adventitious, occasionally con- 
spire to improve the effects of this stupendous cavern, and 
exalt the imagination of the beholder, amidst the loneliness 
and horrors of a place never visited by the cheering rays of 
the sun. Here ^^ diere is a path which no fowl knowetb, and 
which the vulture's eye hath not seen." During my last ex- 


curskn to Castletcxi I observed a party of twelve or fifteen 
persons entering Peak's Hcle^ and being anxious to mark the 
appearance which the cavern presented when irradiated with 
their torches, I accompanied them to a situation fiivourable . 
for my purpose. They had prepared themselves with proper 
habiliments for the occasion— loose gowns were thrown over 
their travelling dresses, and the ladies had covered their, 
heads with a sp^es of diawl, that came over the shoulders^ 
and was fiutened across the bosom* Monks with cowls, and nuns 
with hoods, seemed to make up the whole party. They fol- 
lowed their guide ak>ne a rude path in a winding direction, 
each carrying a lighted torch* Portions of the roof of the 
cavern were Uius successively exhibited in flitting deams and 
shadows ; and as they moved onwards, the spars and stalactites 
that hung over their beads glittered with evanescent splendour. 
As they receded slovHiy through surrounding darkness, each 
individual in the procession appeared invested with a mild> 
halo of light, for the distance and the intervening gloom sub- 
dued and softened the glare of the torches, and the whole was 
solemn and impressive beyond concepdoti. The strange 
emotions of delight awakenea by this novel scene were favoured 
by the breathless silence that prevailed, which was only occa- 
sionally interrupted by a drop of water falling at intervals 
from the roof of the cave upon the floor beneath, with a dead 
and leaden sound, that was more Jelt than heard. 

Within the &r extended ribs and layers of rock which form 
the roof and sides of Peak's Hole are several huts or dwell- 
ings, humble, indeed, but yet inhabited, and men, women, and 
children, rudely clad, and employed in the manufacture of 
twine, give life and animation to this singular scene. When a 
few only of the many individuals engaged in this business are 
at work, there is something picturesque in their appearance ; 
but peopled as the place generally is, its solemnity is inter- 
rupted by noise and clamour, .and an efiect is produced not 
altogether in unison with its natural character. Those who 
wish to feel how very impressive Peak's Hole can occasionally 
be, should contrive to visit it alone, when the spinners are ab- 
sent, and silence and solitude prevail. 

At the extremity of the spacious cavern that may be re- 
garded as the vestibule of Peak's Hole, it suddenly contracts, 
and becomes, in many places, only a narrow aperture, which is 
continued, through various windings, to the extent of two 
thousand two hundred and fifty feet. In traversing this damp 


and dreary wilderness, several capacious openings or interior 
'caverns occur, which are known by the different appellations 
of the Bell House — Roger Bain's House — the Chancel — 
the DeviFs Cellar — the Hay^-Way House — and Or eat Tom 
of Lincoln^ S^c. S^c. and a current^of water is occasionally forded 
in exploring this subterranean passage. This stream buries 
itself in the earth at a place called Perry Foot^ nearly three 
miles from Castleton, on the road to Chapel-en-le-frith, and^ 
after running through Peak's Hole, re-issues into day i^ the 
entrance into, this sublime orifice. Formerly an assumed ig- 
norance threw an air of mystery over the origin of this litue 
rivulet: no one could conjecture from whence it came: its. 
source is now, however, no longer doubtful. 

An intelligent foreigner, in his Journal of a Tour and Resi- 
dence in Great Britain, observes, " that he was struck on ap- 
proaching Peak's Hole with its strong reseinblance to tho- 
i:ock of the Fontaine de Vaucluse.'* 



Cave Dale, — Vievo Jrom the Hills above, — Juvenile Beggars 
at Castleton. — Fkuor Mines, — Odin Mine, — Mam Tof\ 
— Winnats, — Speedwell Mine. — Faujas St. Fond. — 
Mawe and TVhitekurst. 

Peak's Hole is commonly the fim object of those who visit 
Castleton, and they generally proceed immediately from one 
subterranean excursion to another. We, however, preferred 
traversing for a while the surface of terra firma, before we 
again " left the. warm^ precincts of the cheerful day" to ex-- 
plore the gloomy recesses of Speedwell Mine ; passing, there-. 
fore, through a part of the village between the church and 
Castle Hill, we entered a narrow dell, called the Cave^ into 
which we were admitted through a rocky portal, about six feet 
wide. This deep ravine is closely hemmed in with rock on 
every side ; and, with one solitary exception, neither shrub nor 
tree is to be seen within it. Rude weather-beaten crags, with 
occasionally a stripe of thin mossy verdure inserted between, 
constitute the two sides of this dell, which, in some places, is 
from dghty to one hundred paces wide, and in others not 
more than twenty or thirty. About two-thirds up the dell, 
the view towards Castleton has a wildness about it that no 
other landscape in the same neighbourhood possesses. The 
castle, seated on the extreme verge of a narrow ridge of rock, 
looks fearfully tremendous, borrowing importance from the, 
situation it occupies amongst the rocks and precipices that are 
thrown around it. Near die village, where the twosides of the 
dell approximate, a pleasing view is admitted of distant hills, 
whose shadowy summits and cultivated slopes give a character, 
of loveliness to the remote parts of the scene. At the upper 
extremity of Cave Dale a contracted pass, similar in dimensions! 
and appearance to the one by which we had entered, dismissed! 
us into a more open valley. The path, though still slippery 


and ringed) became less precipitous as we proceeded, and we 
followra its windings until we attained the top of an extensive 
eminence, where we joined the road that leads from Castleton 
to Tideswell. Here we were amply rewarded for the toil we 
had sustained, by one of the most delightful landscapes in any 
part of the Pcidk. We stood on an immense sweep of hill ex- 
tending on our right beyond High-low to the river Derwent, 
where it meets that part of the East Moor called Millstone 
f^ge, in the vicinity of Hathersage ; from whence another 
chain of mountains, of greater altitude, is continued in a 
westerly direction by Wm-Hill, Lose-Hill, and Mam Tor; 
thence, turning to the south and south-east by the Winnats 
and Long-Cli^ the circuit terminates at the place where we 
stood, forming, altogether, a continued range of eighteen or 
twenty miles of lofty TiiUs, ^ithin whose capacious circle lie the 
dales of Hathersage, Brough, Hope, and Castleton, rich in 
beauteous meadows, and adorned with woods and cottages 
and winding streams. 

Following the road to'Casdeton, we re-entered the village 
nearly at the same place where we had left it : here a^n we 
were assailed by boys and girls, begging with unceasmg cla^* 
mour for halfpence, or whatever their importunity can obtain. 
This is one of the intolerable evils of Casdeton ; every visitor . 
condemns the practice, which he contributes to perpetuate, 
by rewarding the perseverance of the half-clad rogues by 
whom he is pestered. Here the child, as soon as he can 
articulate, is taught to beg ; educated in the practice, all his 
actions and feelings are mendicant, and he begs mechanically 
through life, without a sensation of either shame or meanness. 
^ Nothing but a determination not to give can ever cure this 
degrading propensity. 

we now took a short excursion along the new road to 
Mam Tor, intending to return down Ihe Winnats to Speedwdl 
Mine. This was a loitering ramble, as we were frequently 
detained by the road side, hunting for crystallized fluors and 
marine impressions. - Here we found many specimens of shells, 
beautifully and distincdy marked. The limestone strata are 
foil of them ; and they are so perfectly and accurately formed, 
that one cannot but conclude that they once existed in another 
state. The correctness of Dr. Leign's theory, " that these 
representations of creatures and their parts, and also the other 
modifications of matter which are found in Pbole's Hole and 
die mines of this country, axe purely the wanton sportings or 


bisus nahtra of the fluor stalactites, caused by different mix- 
tures of bituminous, saline, and terrene particles,'' will be 
disputed by nearly every man who visits Castleton, and 
attentively examines the rocks and the marine impressions 
they, contain. 

Midway up the hill, along whose base we were grovelling, 
are the mines of Tray-Cliff and Water-Hull — the subterra- 
neous excavations where that elegant spar, provincially called 
Blue John, is obtained. A long series of rugged steps, hewn 
in the limestone rock, leads to the principal of these caverns: 
here the fluor is found in detached pieces of from one to 
sixteen or eighteen inches thick ; but large blocks of this 
beautiful material are extremely rare. The cells of Tray- 
Cliff mine may be explored with but little inconvenience: 
their dimepsions are various, and their sides and roofs are 
adorned with spars and stalactites, which, as the light of the 
torch sports amongst them, shift their resplendent reflexions 
as rapidly as the corruscations of the northern sky. 

Odin Mine next attracted our attention : it is supposed to 
be the oldest in Derbyshire, and to have been worked by the 
Danes, as its name seems to import, nearly one thousand 
years ago. Its stock of ore is not yet exhausted, though the 
vein has been pursued through a lapse of many centuries. 
The entrance into this mine is at the base of the hill, within 
a few yards of the road. Its direction is nearly horizontal, 
and as it is tolerably spacious within, it is easy of access ; its 
interior may therefore be visited with but little inconvenience^ 
and the manager will be found to be an attentive and obliging 
man, ever ready to gratify the curiosity of strangers. A gen- 
tly-declining shaft, nearly one mile in length, l^ds to a vein 
oi ore which in some places is fifty or sixty yards below the 
level of the entrance, and in others nearly as much above it. 
The ore is of various thicknesses, from three or four inches to as 
many feet, and nearly one hundred people are employed in 
getting and preparing it for the smeltin^-milL Many beauti- 
nil crystallizations ot blende, barytes, fluor, calcareous sqpar, 
selenite, &c. &c. are found in this extensive mine, and occa* 
sionally that curious mineral called slikensides, whose myste- 
rious properties were noticed in the first part <^ this work. 
Mr. Mawc, in his Mineralogy of Derbyshire, says, << I have 
seen a man when he came out of this mine only a few minutes, 
after the explosion, who, regardless of danger, had pierced 
the sides of this substance, and was much hurt, and cut vio« 


lently, as if stabbed about the neck and other places with a 
chisel, whence he was unable to return to the mine for two 

We were now at the foot of Mam Tor, one of the seven 
wonders of the Peak^ and yet we observed nothing wonderful 
about it, for we could not persuade ourselves of me fact that 
it is incessantly shivering away without any diminution of its 
bulk. It is an immense hill composed of a very flaky sub- 
stance; and sometimes in winter, during a severe frost, the 
decomposition is so rapid, that the shivering mountain, as it 
is called, keeps a continual discharge, accompanied with a 
gentle noise, resembling the sound of a river passing over its 
pebUed bed, as it comes upon the ear softened by distance. 
I once, during the stillness of a November night, heard the 
rush of this mountain very distinctly in my bed-room in Cas- 
tleton, and I listened to the murmurs that it made, but was 
utterly unable to discover the cause. 

From the top of Mam Tor, one thousand three hundred 
feet above the level of the valley below, we had a delightful 
view into Edale, which a modern tourist has described as 
" a place in which the inhabitants, secluded in the bosom of 
the mountains from the bustle of the world, appear to enjoy 
all the quiet and security that pervaded the happy vale of 
Rasselas." The view from this eminence is not of a common 
description : the most striking features of the Peak of Derby- 
shire — its loftiest hills, and some of its loveliest dales — are 
included in the prospect. 

From thB summit of Mam Tor a walk of a mile brought us 
to the entrance into the Winnats. One of the peculiarities 
of the scenery of Derbyshire is the sudden transition from 
barrenness to cultivation, and from cheerless eminences to 
delightful and luxuriant vales. This rapid change is no where 
more strikingly exemplified thai\ in the approach to Castleton 
from Chapel-en-le-frith. The road is carried over a long 
range of bleak mountain ground until it arrives at the western 
extremity of the Winnats, or Wind-gates — poetically called 
by some writers " the portals of the winds." 

The Winnats is a deep and narrow defile, nearly one mile 
in length : through this chasm the road winds into the valley 
belowy amidst crags, and pinnacles, and piles of rock. Wild 
and savsjffe in appearance as this ravine is, it is not entirely 
devoid of beauty : a number of elegant plants are scattered 
amongpst the crags, and the mosses and lichens that chequer their 


sides blend their utiobstnisive hues with the more gaudy co- 
louring of the flowers by which they are surrounded. In 
some places the rocks are perpendicular, in others they are 
fiightfully ste^9 and difficult of ascent even for any animal 
whatever ; yet sheep are frequendy seen grazing on the tops 
and sides of the loftiest projections, where apparendy there is 
no space to stand on : . I have sometimes felt giddy at behold- 
ing them, and have trembled with apprehension lest they 
should suddenly be dislodged from their insecure and scanty 
pasturage, and precipitated amongst the stones below. These 
useful litde animals are often vei^ happily introduced in land-^ 
scape : the repose and stillness of a scene are improved by the 
presence of a flock of sheep at rest ; but here they have a con- 
trary effect : on the bleak sides of the Winnats they can only 
occupy a situation of peril, where they increase the unpression ' 
of danger, and make the place more terrible. 

Proceeding onward through the chasm, it gradually con- 
tracts; the two sides approximate nearly together, and lift 
their rent and broken summits so high into the air, that they 
appear to form an insuperable barrier to any farther progress. 
The irksome feeling of being close pent up in a narrow rift of 
rock is thus forcibly impressed upon the mind ; a turn in the 
road, however, soon dissipates the idea of confinement; the 
borders of the pass gradually recede, until the dale, in which 
the villages, of Casdeton, Hope, and Brough, tranquilly repose, 
bursts upon the sight The eye can hardly wander over a 
more delightful scene than is here displayed: such a land- 
scape, even under circumstances less &vourable, would be 
seen with pleasure, but heightened in effect by abrupt transi- 
tion and striking contrast, it powerfully arrests attention^ and 
sometimes exalts admiration into rapture. 

It was a fine sunny day as we passed through the Winnats ; 
and whilst my companion was sketching by the side of a rocky 
projection, which protected him from the strong current of 
wind that sweeps, sometimes irresistibly, through this yawning 
chasm, I took a situation in a recess amongst tne crags, high 
above the road, that afforded equal shelter. It was now mid- 
day, and all was still around us ; not a sound was heard, save 
occasionally the wild scream of the hawk as it fluttered about 
.its nest in a fissure of the rock far above us. The clamour 
of this noisy bird interrupted my meditations, and drew my 
attention upwards, when I beheld a creature ^* fashioned 
like myself" on th^ extreme verge of the highest rocky pin- 



nacle in the Winnats, but I could scarcely imagine tHe qv 
pearance real. The dark outline of a human form was alone 
distinguishable, and standing as the figure did against the sky, 
with no familiar and well-understood object near by which 
dimensions might be measured, it seemed gigantic. The il- 
lusion was momentary, but as soon as I was satisfied that a 
human creature was thus fearfully placed, an apprehension of 
danger immediately succeeded, and the whole scene became 
sublimely terrible. These impressions were evidently tran- 
sient, yet the rapidity with which they succeeded each other 
and passed away was a source of interest 

The Winnats is not without a tale of horror. About sixty 
years ago a gentleman and lady, mounted on single horses and 
unattended with servants, are said to have been murdered in 
this dreary pass. They were strangers in the country, and 
some circumstances induced the supposition that they were on 
a matrimonial excursion to the north. They were both young, 
and one of the men concerned in the murder stated the lady to 
be extremely handsome. The morning after the commission 
of this atrocious act, the horses belonging to these unfortunate 
persons were found in the neighbourfiood of Castleton, with- 
out riders, but properly caparisoned for travel. Suspicion 
pointed to the crime that had been committed, and an enquiry 
took place, when, after a few days* search, the dead bodies were 
found in one of the holes in the craggy sides of the Winnats^ 
All attempts to trace out the perpetrators of this horrid de^ 
were for a long time fruitless : they escaped the punishment of 
an earthly tribunal, but a singularly-calamitous fate attended 
them. TTiey were five in number : one only died in his bed, 
who confessed to have participated in the crime, and as he was 
the last survivor, he told who were the companicMis of his 
guilt ; two of them, working near where the murder was com- 
. mitted, were killed by the sudden falling of a part of the rock 
above them ; the other two were the victims of different ac- 
cidents, and the inhabitants of this district r^ard their pre- 
mature deaths as awfiil instances of divine vengeance. Such 
is the tale of blood connected with the local history of the 
Winnats, and it is so circumstantially related, that tfcJe names 
of the men who were concerned in the commission of the crime 
are mentioned, and the manner of their death particularly de- 
tailed. This story I have told as it exists in the vicinity of the 
place, but the enquiries I have made into the accuracy of the 
narrative induce me to suppose it fabulous. 

8P£9DW£¥.L l^INS. 195 

At the France into the Winnats, within a mile of Castleton, 
is Speedwell Mine — an artificial excavacation, that leads 
to a natural cavern, much visited by travellers, and esteemed 
one of the greatest curiosities in the Peak of Derbyshire. A 
descent of upwards of one hundred steps leads to a narrow 
canal, along which the visitor is ferried through a channel 
hewn in the heart <^ the rock, when he entei*s a terrific void, 
vast as Milton^s palace of Pandemonium, and filled with im- 
penetrable daxkness. The light of the torch, overpowered by 
impervious gioom, seems feeble in such a place, and glimmers 
like a little star surrounded by a world of night and blackness. 
Leaving the boat, we ascended a stage or platform, erected 
above the level of the canal. The nerves of that man must be 
firm and wdl-fitnu^ who in this situation can contemplate the 
space around bim without shuddering. Standin]^ in the midst 
c^a gnlph, where jail below is a dark vacuit^r of muneasurable 
depth, above a mighty cavern, wboseloftiest recesses no ligbtcan 
reach, and all around uncertain and obscure — an awful feel- 
ing takes possession of every fa^culty, and breath, and thought, 
fiiid motion, ai3e nearly suspended^ 

Hie lights that have been hitherto used to discover the ca- 
pacity of this subterraneous cavern have only illumined a por- 
tion of its vastoess, and rendered more fearful and sublime the 
impressions made upon the mind of the spectator in beholding 
them. While we listened to the dashing of the water which 
is precipitated with a tremendous noise into the abyss that 
yawned beneath jis, our guide clambered up a rocky projec- 
tion with l^hts, that gave a partial glimpse of the horrors of 
%>eQdwell Mine, but fliey only serv^ to make " darkness still 
«u»e idsible.^ Two gentlemen who visit(^d this place since 
the materials'£br this excursion were collected, took with them 
some powerfiil rockets: these they threw up in the midst of 
the cavern, when they rose uninterrupted to their greatest 
height, exploded, and spread out their brilliant sdntiUations 
BS&eeiy as if they had ascended imder the canopy of heaven. 
The grandeur of a part of this magnificent vault was thus 
exhibited, and some of its boldest projections briefly illumined, 
but its ulznost sdtitude and expansion remained unexplored. 

We now returned to Ca^eton, and as we emerged fi:om 
Speedwell. Mine, the dear light of a beauti&il evening gleamed 
on the side of the mountains, and played along the valley. I 
never saw the fair face of nature look half so lovely — never 
fisJt the invigorating influence of so sweet a breeze^ 

o 2 


As evening advanced, Mam Tor became a more imposing 
object ; the whole dale indeed seemed to contract, and the hills 
that environ it. to increase in bulk and altitude as night and 
darkness approached, and the detail of the interveniw space 
was less distinct. It is difficult at aiiv time, and under any 
light, to form an accurate opinion of tne distance of large and 
lofty mountains; the eye, unaccustomed to contemplate such 
objects, is but little aware of the illusion to which it is sub- 
jected. On my first visit to this part of Derbyshire, when 
totally unacquainted with the distance between Mam Tor and 
Castleton, I supposed it a loitering walk of ten minutes only ; 
the mountain, however, appeared to recede as I approached, 
and I was surprised to find it nearly two miles off. 

Castleton furnishes a great variety of what are termed the 
curiosities of the Peak. Brilliant spars, petri&ctions, crystals, 
ores, and stalactites in abundance. One of the spar shops is 
kept by a very intelligent man, who has long ma4e mineral- 
ogy his study, and it contains many beautifiil specimens of the 
fossils of Derbyshire, some of which are in their native state, 
others are formed into elegant ornaments, from ladies' neck- 
laces to urns, vases, and obelisks. In these shops information 
and amusement may be obtained; few travellers, therefore, 
omit to visit them, as they are alike open to those who pur- 
chase and those who do not. . 

Mr. Mawe, in the preface to his " Mineralogy of Derby- 
shire," observes, ** that for the purpose of obtaining mineralo- 
^cal information, Castleton seems to be the best situation, 
where such a variety of strata, mines, and minerals occur,- as 
perhaps no situation in this kingdom can boast." ^^ The va- 
rious mines and veins of ore," he adds, **are of the first con- 
sequence, while the mountains around present a variety of 
strata worthy the attention of the geologist" 

Castleton is in this respect of the first importance ; it is an 
epitome of all that the Peak of Derbyshire contains : hills, 
rocks, caverns, mines, fossils, and minerals are here congre- 
gated together, presenting a rich variety of materials for study 
and contemplation. Among the most extraordinary produc- 
tions of this district, the mineral Caoutchou, or elastic bitu- 
men, may be classed : Mr. Mawe ranks it amongst inflam- 
mable ores : it is of a dark brownish colour, and it is easily 
compressed ; but the same piece is not always equally elastic : 
when lighted, it emits a beautifiil white flame, similar to gas- 
light Hitherto, this curious mineral has not been discovered 


in any other part of Derbyshire, and a more singular product 
of nature is but rarely found. 

About a mile east of Castleton is Dirtlow-Mine, a place that 
was visited by Faujas de St. Fond, for the purpose of investi- 
gating the stratum of toadstone there, in t^hich lead ore is 
said to exist. It was his particlar object to disprove the theory 
of Whitehurst, and, as he observes, *^ to establish, by indis- 
putable fact, where any doubt remained on the subject, that 
the toadstone of Derbyshire is not a product of volcanic fire;" 
and he concludes his observations by triumphantly remarking, 
*^ that the exist^ice of lead ore in me trapp is a certain proof 
that it is not the product of fire." Supposing, however, the 
material in which lead ore has been found in Dirdow Mine to 
be actually toadstone, Whitehurst's theory is but littie afiected 
by it, metallic veins, as I have before observed, on the authority 
of Bakewell, having been worked even in the crater of an ex- 
tinct^ volcano. St. Fond's conclusion, therefore, appears' to 
have, been hastily drawn. Mr. Mawe indeed intimates his 
re^^t, that this scientific and intelUgent foreigner did not ex- 
amine the substance in question more minutely ; and he seems 
to be of (pinion, that the stratum of reputed toadstone is in 
fact ** a limestone strongly impregnated with pyrites, which are 
in a decomposing state. The green earthy matter," he, adds, 
*« I suspect to be chlorite." Mr. Male's opinions and sus- 
picions are as litde satisfactory as St. Fohd's. The substance 
which they admit to be toadstone, and that which is disputed 
by them, are not distinguishable from each other by any dif- 
ference tiiat can be perceived and understood by common 
observers; but geologists and mineralogists are sometimes 
inclined to make appearances bend to their peculiar theories. 

A little distance from the castie, at the upper end of the 
deep ravine called Cave Dale, the toadstone appears in a 
regular basaltic column. 

o 3 



Mid^-day View of CastUton Vale* — Mibfng and Flawing tVett^ 
— Approach to ChapeUen-le-'Frith. — Ckirdey. — The jipos" 
ite <^ the Peah — Kinderscout. — Evening at Glossop. — 
Catholic Chapel at Glossop HalL — Glossop Church. — 
Bush-Bearing. — Monument to the Memory of Joseph HagfiCf 
Esq, — Bri^ Memoir qfhim. 

My last visit to Castlefton was in the summer of I8f£0. I 
was then on my way to Glossop, a part of Derbyshire which 
I had not originally intended to mdude in my excursions, but 
I gladly extended my journey to that remote part of the county, 
where I expected to find much less of picturesque beauty thaai 
wildness and sterility j I was, however, pleasantly disappointed, 
Mid I felt myself indebted to my companion for the oppor- 
tunity afforded me of Visiting so interesting a portion of the 

We left Castleton soon after mid-day, when the sun Was 
tigh in the heavens, and took the road that had been lately 
made along the base of Tray Cliff, and the side of Mam Tor, 
for the purpose of avoiding the steep path through the Win- 
nats. As we ascended the hills, we had a fine view of the 
Valley below \ but the landscape wanted shadow. The sky 
was cloudless, and the whole horizon was fiOed with a blaze 
of light, that rendered every object, even in distance, cleaoply 
discernible; yet the scene was less lovely than when beheld 
at the close of the day, when every inequality is marked by 
the shadows of a declining sun, and the forms of objects are 
either thrown in lengthened lines, or lie in masses along the 

From this place to ChapeUen-le-Fritb, a distance of about 
five miles, the road has but little interest; even the ebbing and 
flowing well at Bar Moor Clough may be passed without 
notice, unless a fellow-traveller, previously acquainted with the 
existence of this singular phenomenon, points it out to ob- 


servation. This Derbyshire wonder lies in a fidd by the road- 
side, about four miles from Castleton, surrounded with mud 
and weeds, and made filthy with cattle. During our short 
stay near it, we neither saw it ebb nor flow. A little beyon4 
this place the road emerges from among the dales, ana the 
country about Chapel-en-le-Frith gradually presents itself. 
On our approach, to the town, a very pleasing scene lay be- 
^re us : the houses were almost lost amidst surrounding trees, 
over which the tower of the church rose with considerably 
grace and majesty; beyond, Eccles Pike reared high its 
peaked head, and the beautiful woods and grounds around 
Bank Hall, die residence of Samuel Frith, Esq. lay on our 
left. There was something formal and insipid in the fore- 
ground, but. the whole of the composition beyond was well 
arranged, and the parts excellent. 

About a mile and a half from Chapel we passed tlirough 
Chinley, where the Calvinistic dissenters have a meeting-house, 
which originally belonged to the Rev. William Bpgshaw, an 
eminent nonconformist divine, who wai^ called the " Apostle 
OF THE . Peak." He was die author of a work which hjB 
published under the title of " De Spiritualibus Pecei," — and 
pf several devotional tracts that were read with avidity through- 
out the whole of the Peak of Derbyshire, where the character 
of this truly religious minister was well known. In 4 662, he 
was ejected from the vicarage of Glossop, "which he had pos- 
sessed for many years. He had afterwards a congregation at 
Chinley ; from thence he removed to Great-Hucklow, where 
he died at an advanced age, in the fortieth year after his eject- 
ment from the vicarage. 

We found but little to interest us on our way from Chapel 
to Glossop, excepting that we had occasionally a hasty glance 
at the top of Kinderscout, which we left at a short distance 
on our right, between Hayfi^ld and Glossop. This is the 
highest mountain in the Peak of Derbyshire, and from its 
summit an extensive prospect is descried ; but its sides are so 
loose and boggy, and so frequently intersected with runlets of 
water, that but few people attempt to climb to the top of it. 
In winter the summit of this eminence is often covered with 
snow; the following poetic distich has therefore become fa- 
miliar to every individual who resides in the vicinity of this 
huge hill;— ^> ^ 

"If there be snow without, 
** It will lie o»Kindewcout,'* 

o 4 


It was evening when we approached the village of Glossop ; 
the sun was sinking below the horizon, which in the west was 
sufiused with a glow of light, that spread a warm aerial tint 
over ail the landscape, and revived the recdUection of some 
of the best sun-set pictures of Claude Lorraine : the yellow 
transparent haze that hung upon the scene softened the out- 
line and colouring of objects, which, under a clearer atmo- 
^here, might have been obtrusive to the eye, and harmonized 
the whole into beauty. 

** 'Twas Summer tide; the eve was sweet 

As mortid eye has e'er beholden ; 
The grass look'd warm with sunny heat : 
Perhaps some Fairy's glowing feet 
• Had lightly touco'd, and iSh it golden." 

I have somewhere met with an account of Glossop being 
situated in one of the deepest and wildest dales of Derbyshire; 
but I found the representation extremely incorrect : the open 
vale wherein it lies is nearly surrounded with high moorland 
wastes, some of which are covered with their native heath, 
and others newly planted, but all between is a well-cultivated 
district A series of groups of houses, scattered about an 
ample valley, constitute the village of Glossop. In the prin- 
cipal of these groups is the church, an humble edifice, but yet 
a pleasing feature in the scene. I love to see the tower or 
spire of a village church rising from the midst of trees, and 
cottages scattered irregularly around it. Such a picture is 
delightful to the eye ; and the mind insensibly associates the 
idea of orderly conduct and moral feeling with the appearance 
of these hallowed tabernacles of religious worship. However 
humble the village church may be, it gives importance and 
respectabili^ to uie habitations with which it is connected. 

Glossop is an extensive manor, including a circumference 
of nearly tiiirty miles : all within this ample circle, with a few 
trifling exceptions only, is the entire property of the present 
Duke of Norfolk ; and in eight of the ten hamlets that con- 
stitute this large parish, not an acre of freehold ground be- 
longing to any other individual intervenes. 

hi the immediate vicinity of the village great improvements 
have recentiy been made: a little rivulet, called the Shelf^ 
which takes its rise amongst the adjacent hills, meanders 
through the valley, and a number of nulls for spinning cotton 
have been erected on its banks, and are bountifuUv supplied 


widi wateir by this mountain stream. ' Olossop is therefore 
rapidly becoming a manu&cturing district ; its population is 
increasing, and a new road, which is now makinff through it 
from Shield to Manchester, will furnish a reamer commu- 
nication with the neighbouring places, and greatly fiidUtate 
its improvement. 

We arrived at Glossop too late in the evening to explore 
its scenery; and as twilight withdrew, and night closed upon 
us, all but the dim and feeble outline of objects ' became ob- 
literated — darkness crept over the &ce of the mountains, and 
th^ lay in imposing masses around us. 

We r^etted that we had not an opportunity of seeing 
Glossop Dale by moonlight : the loftv eminences by which it 
is environed, the many swelling hills that lie below, the 
dark woods that cover them, and all the variety of objects 
that it contains, when presented to the eye in uninteUigiUe 
masses, must at such a time, and under the e£fect of so be- 
witching a lig^t, be strongly impressed with grandeur. 

Our residence during our short stay in this part of Derby- 
shire was at Glossop Hall, a mansion belonmng to the Duke 
of Norfolk, and occupied by M. Ellison, Esq. his grace's 
agent. The prospect from the front of the house is singularly 
beautiful. On the right hand and on the left a thickly- 
planted screen of ash, oak, chesnut, elm, and sycamore, pre- 
vents the eye from wandering over a great variety of desultory 
parts, and confines it to the lovely scenery that lies between. 
A verdant declivity slopes from the hotise to a little grove of 
trees at the foot of the hill, where a busy rivulet is seen in 
occasional glimpses through the overhanging branches; be- 
yond another grove occurs, which is connected with some 
plantations nearer the foreground ; the distance is composed 
of magnificent eminences, clothed with wood and heath and 
intervening verdure. From the middle of the picture here 
beheld, a hill finely covered with wood rises out of the valley. 
When the whole of this eminence is included within the view, 
the outline it presents is too regularly round to be strictly 
beautlM; but from tiie front of Grossop Hall this r^ularity 
is agreeably broken by the intervention of some tall larches, 
that cut the line of the hill, and lifi their feathered branches 
and spiral tops into the sky : these graceful trees are so situ- 
ated and connected with the more massy foliage near, as to be 
objects of considerable beauty. 


A plantation entirely composed of larclies is not a pleasant 
object to contemplate : there is a tiresome moaotonv in the 
recurrence cf the same lines and forms^ a thousand and a 
thousand times repeated, where the wild plajdiilness of nature 
jshould alone prevail. A plantation is a wood of a humbler 
description. With such an object nothing absolutely forr 
mal or ccwistrained should ^be associated ; and though they, 
are generally made on too small a scale to admit of all the 
noble vmeties of a wood, the trees of which they are coxor 
posed .should nevertheless be so diversified in form, station, 
and colour, as to produce a pleasing impression ; but a con- 
trary practice too much prevails : a straight line of Scotch 
£rs, placed with geometrical precision, and so closely thrust 
tc^ether as to render all beyond impervious to the cheering 
Jsmt of die sun, generally forms the boimdary of new plant- 
ations. Larches are sometimes introduced, and at a certmn 
reason of the year they have a cheerful effect ; but the spiral- 
topped, trees should always be liberally intermixed with others. 
The beach, the oak, £uid the Spanish chesnut, should not be 
omitted, and the boundary line should be varied and* irregular. 
The light must be admitted to play freely between the trunks, 
and amongst the branches of die trees, that intelligible sha- 
dows, and not d:oom, may prevaiL 

Glossop HSI is occupied by a Catholic family, and a 
.chapel for religious worship is included within its walls. The 
neat and clean appearance of this chapel sufficiently denotes 
that it is not a neglected part of the mansion. With the 
exception of the altar, it is an unadorned apartment ; there 
it is rich and imposing. A recess, formed bv four Ionic 
columns, contains the sdtar, which is surmountea with a well- 
aculjptured figure of our Saviour on the Cross : the space 
behind is occupied with a picture of the Crucifixion, of a large 
size, and admirably painted. I could not learn the artist's 
name, but I miderstood it had been presented to this retired 
dwelling by the Duke <^ Norfolk, ftx»n his collection at Arun- 
^ Castle. 

Previously to our leaving Glossop we visited the village 
church, a plain and lowly structure, and as little ornamented in 
the interior as it is witliout. Here we observed the remains 
of45ome garlands shung up near the entrance into the chanod. 
They were die mementos of a custom of rather a singular 
nature, that lingers about this part of Derbyshire, after having 
been lost in nearly every other. It is denominated " Mus^i- 

llU«a*B£ARlNa. SOS 

heariw;^* and the ceremonies of this truly rural l%te take place 
annuaUy, on one c^ the days appropriated to the wake or vil- 
lain festival. A car or waggon is on this occasion decorated 
with rushes. A pyramid of rushes^ ornamoited with wreaths 
of flowers, and surmounted with a garland, occupies the centre 
of the car, which is usually bestrewed wilJh the choicest flowers 
that the meadows of Olossop Bale can produce, and liberally 
fiimished with flags and streamers. Thus prepared, it is 
drawn through the different parts of the village, preceded by 

S'oups of dancers and a band of music. AU die ribbons in 
e place may be said to be in requisition on this festive day, 
and he who is the greatest favourite amongst the lasses is gene- 
rally the gayest personage in the cavalcade. After parading 
the village, the car stops at the church ^tes, where it is dis- 
mantled of its honours. The rushes and flowers are then taken 
into the church, and strewed amongst the pews and along the 
floors, and the garlands are hung up near the entrance into the 
chancel, in remembrance of the dav. The ceremony ended, 
the various parties who made up the procession retire, amidst 
music and dancing, to the village inn, where they spend the 
remainder of the day in joyous festivity. 

In Olossop church there is a monument to the memory of 
Joseph Hague, Esq. a benevolent-hearted man, who resided 
at Park HsJl, near Hayfield, and who left the interest of one 
thousand pounds annually for ever towards clothing forty 
poor. men and women belonging to the township of GHossop, 
and not receiving parochial relief The monument consists of 
a white marble tablet, surmounted with a bust of the deceased, 
which was executed by Bacon^ and in his happiest style. We 
but little expected to find so good a specimen of sculpture in 
this remote part of Derbyshire. The bust alone is said to 
have cost four hundred guineas ; but its price is no doubt 
gready exaggerated, probably to increase its value in the esti- 
mation of the. vulgar, who judge of the excellence of works 
of art by what they cost, and not by what they are. 

Mr. Hague was bom of very humble parents at Chunal, a 
small village between Hayfield and Glossop, and he was 
turned upon the world at a very early period of life, to provide 
for his own subsistence. . When quite a boy he travelled 
about the country and sold small articles, which he carried 
with him in a basket; afterwards, as his stock increased, he 
purchased an ass, and finally he became a very respectable 


merchant. He had several children, who died early in life; 
but, having acquired considerable wealthy he adopted a family 
of relations ot'the name of Doxon. These he educated; 
and, that he might witness the effects of his farther benevo- 
tehee, he divided the chief part of his property amongst them 
while he was yet capable of enjoying Ufe and all the luxuries 
that wealth can purchase, and retired to Paij^ HaU> where he 
spent the remainder pf bis days-ia a frugal but happy retire- 
ment. ^ 



The fiver Etheraix). — Broad Bottom Bridge. — Compstall 
Bridge. — View from CompstaU Housei-^Ck^ton Printings 

— Junction of the Ethercnx> and the Goyt. — Marple Bridge^ 

— MeUar MiU.— SL Oldkrum, Esq. — Scenery of the Goyt^ 

We left GIossop the morning after our arrival there, in- 
tending to visit the banks of the Etherow, one of the boundary 
rivers of Derbysljire, which rises at the northern extremity of 
the county, and, aft;er running to the vicinity of Motram in a 
western direction, gradually inclines towards the south, anct 
separates Derbyshire from Cheshire. Hitherto this river has 
attracted but little attention from tourists, who have generally 
confined their observations to the Derwent, the Dove, and the 
Wye; it is, therefore, but little known. 

About three miles from GIossop we passed the village of 
Charlsworth, which is situated on the side of a steep hill : the 
houses are built with a cold grey-coloured stone; and, as there 
is scarcely a single tree amongst them, the place has altogether 
a very cheerless appearance. Near this village we had the 
first view of the Etherow, which was seen, in occasional 
glimpses, winding through a deep valley, amongst overhanging 

Lady Mary Wortley Montague has somewhere remarked, 
that the most beautiful scenery is always found along the 
channels of rivers; and, as far as the observation applies to the 
Peak of Derbyshire, it is peculiarly correct: nature indeed YMes^ 
her most romantic scenes in deep recesses and sequestered 
dells, amongst rocks and woods, and streams of living water. 

As we deviated from the road that leads to Marple Bridge,, 
we had a rich diversity of landscape before us ; and, at a shorl; 
distance on pur right, the choicest beauties of die Etherow ap- 
peared to be combined. Our path was narrow, steep, and 
rugged, and but ill adapted for travelling in a tilbury; we 
however moved cautiously, and came upon the margin of the 
river at Broad Bottom Bridge. 

206 CAT TOR. 

Man scarcely ever meddles with the scenery of nature with- 
out impairing its beauties, and at this place he has been emi- 
nently successful. Rocks have been removed, and a situation 
scooped out of the picturesque banks of the Etherow for the 
erection of mills, and the noise and clatter of machinery have 
succeeded to the solemn stillness that once pervaded this re- 
tired dell. 

The Etherow is here a broad and rapid stream; its banks 
are high and rocky, and at their nearest approximation a 
stone bridge, which is a noble structure of one immense arch^ 
crosses the river. The view from below this bridge was once 
eminently rich in scenery, but the mills of Messrs. Kelsall and 
Marsland,^ and the buildings connected with them, have 
strangely marred the prospect ; they are obtruded into the 
very middle of the stream, and are so situated as effectually to 
hid^ the river and its finely-wooded banks, at a place where 
thegreatest beauty prevails. 

Tlie perpendicular rock on the Cheshire side of the Etherow, 
at Broad Bottom Bridge, is called Cat Tor. This precipice 
is nearly one hundred feet high : its craggy summit is crested 
with trees, and the more friable soil, on which the top-clifl& 
rest, nourishes the roots of a variety of shrubs and brambles 
that grow upon its sides.-— 

^ Around its broken summit grew 
The hazel rudje and sable yew, 
A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
'. By time ortbunder rent away, 

Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn. 
Were mantled now with verdant thorn." 

Sir W. Scott. 

The bed of the river, near the bridge,'Js covered with stones 
of various dimensions, amongst which we found many speci- 
mens of quartz and granite, some of them weighing several 
hundred pounds ; but the Cornwall and the Aberdeen granite 
Are most abundant. It may here be observed, that the whole 
of this district is a micacious and SMidstone grit, and that no 
granite rock is known to exist within more than one hundred 
miles of the Etherow. 

TTie pile of buildings above the bridge so entirely int^sected 
our view, that we obtained permission of Mr. Marsland to 
pass through his premises to explore the scenery still higher 


op the valley. The Etherow is here a deep and noble streain ; 
and the trees on its banks, where nothing puny or insigni- 
ficant is to be seen, are of the most luxuriant description. A 
weir is thrown across the river in a semicircular direction, 
over which a mass of water is precipitated into an ample bason 
below, and dashed into the whitest foam« Above the weir 
the banks are, in some places, extremely steep, in others per^ 
pendicular ; and the thick foliage of the oak, and the lighter, 
branches of the ash, were reflected from the watery mirror 
below, in all the freshness of nature ; the whole presenting an 
inverted landscape, gay with a thousand intermingled hues» 
and rich with a variety of lovely objects. 

In the immediate vicinity oi Broad Bottom Bridge, within 
the rocks that form the channel of the Etherow, globes of red 
sand-stone, from twenty to fifty or sixty inches in diameter, are 
frequently found ; ana a practice prevails of covering them 
over with paint, and marking diem with the more prominent 
indicati<Mis of the human countenance; they are then placed in 
the most conspicuous situations, upon gate-posts and walls, to 
'< grin a ghastly smile" at the stranger as he paitoes along. 
Nothing can be more grotesque in appearance, or ludicrous in 
effect, Uian these shapeless heads and staring faces. 

From Broad Bottom Bridge we ascended the hill, and re- 
gained the road we had left:. During a ride of a ^w miles 
only, we had occasionally some pleasing views (^ the Etherow, 
winding through a delightftil vale that. lay on our right; and 
as we approached Marple the scenery became eminaitly beau- 
tiftil; a fine river, a rich and fertile valley, and hills 
covered with wood, made op the nearer parts of the land- 
scape ; beyond, the distance was soft and shadowy, yet suffi- 
cientlv distinct to exhibit the undulations of the ground, 
and the dim outline of the various objects with which it is 

We again descended to the margin of the Etherow, at a place 
called Compstdl Bridge, near which there is an extensive 
factory for cotton printing, belonging to G. Andrews, Esq. at 
whose hospitable mansion we spent the remaining part of the 
day, and rested for the night. The residemce of Mr. Andrews 
is situated on the declivity of a hill, with beautiful woody 
scenery rising far above, and a verdant slope below, that de- 
clines to the river. Compstall Bridge, a good modem struc- 
ture,, lies on the left of the house; above it, the banks of the 
Etherow are high and rocky ; their upper cliflfe are covered 


with trees, and the eye, as it ranges into distance, passes over 
a rich variety of landscape, terminatingin remote eminences 
that mingle with the &r-ofF horizon. The mansion is suffi- 
ciently ekvated to command a fine view of the surrounding 
country; and, from the terrace-walk, near the principal front, 
the high-wooded banks of the Goyt, every where marked with 
beauty, present a veiy rich, and iii some places a magnificent 
picture ; and where the river, after passing Marple Bridge, 
and winding through the meadows, withdraws from the scene, 
the aqueduct of the Peak -Forest Canal spans the busy stream 
that frets and foams over its rocky channel in the glen below. 
This elegant structure has the appearance of a Roman bridge 
of three arches, and it emerges from the woods with uncommon 
grace and dignity. A finer object in landscape is but seldom 
seen ; and when the mild radiance of an evening sun is playing 
amongst the trees with which it is connected, and tipping the 
topniost branches with light, whilst all below is reposing in 
shadow, the view from Ck>mpstall House is one continued 
scene of beauty. 

. On the following day we visited Mr. Andrews's manu&ctory, 
for the purpose of observing his manner of printing cottons, 
which is here done by cylindrical copper rollers, on which the 
diiFerent figures are engraved. The process of this mode of 
printing is so rapid that pieces of twenty-eight yards are thrown 
off from each set of rollers in less than two minutes. It seems, 
indeed, as if the whole operation was performed rather by 
mamc agency than by the intervention of human means. Some 
of the machines were printing with one colour only, some with 
two, but none with more than three, which is the maximum of 
the present practice. 

A new description of rollers has latdy been introduced by 
this gentleman into his manufactory, llie figures, instead of 
being engraved upon them as on a copper-plate, are cast in 
metiu, iSse printers' type, and soldei^d to the roller, pre- 
senting an elevated surface, which receives the colours and 
transmits them to the cotton. The contrivance appeared to 
us ingenious, and well calculated to save expence, but not ap-^ 
plicable to the general purposes of the trade. 

Fromi Compstall Bridge we followed the Etherow to its 
junction with the Gojrt, which takes place amongst some 
very lovely scenery, about a mile and a half from Mr. ^drews's 
house. It is remarkable that Dr. Aiken, in his History of 
the country rouiid Manchester, whenever he speaks of this 

8. OLDKNOW, ESQ. 209 

river,' calls it the Mers^, with one exception only, and where 
this occurs he says, ** The Etherow flows into the Goyt near 
Chadkirk — thence the river is continued under the name 
of the Goyt to Stockport, where it takes the name of the 

A pleasant walk of shout a mile on the banks of the Groyt 
brought us to Marple Bridge. The views about this little 
villa^ are not of a common character. The river is an ample 
and impetuous stream; its banks are lofty, rocky, and preci* 
pitous, and but a few weeks previously to our visit they were 
every where profusely wooded ; but we saw the axe employed, 
and this bouti&l river despoiled of some of its finest 
ornaments. The Derbyshire side of the stream, from 
Marple Bridge to Mellor Mill, which a short time b^re 
waved with the most luxuriant foliage, was entirely denuded. 
The proprietor, we were infcnmed, had been extending his 
purchases, and his trees were cut down to be bartered away 
for acres. As we passed along this now-naked hank, we came 
to a high point of ground, where the prospect is rich even to 
ma^i&ence. From the situation where we stood, we could 
trace the course of the river for several miles, winding amongst 
woods through a deep and narrow valley, full of picturesque 
beauty. The residence of S. ddknow, Esq. which is a neat 
but not a large mansion, is so embowered in trees as tD be 
nearly obscur^ by them; and the few buildings that are scat- 
tered over the o^r parts of this 'fine landscape, with the ex- 
cation of the mill, are almost lost in surrounding wood. 
This is one c^the noblest scenes on this romantic fiver. 

Mr. Oldk vow was one of the earliest manufecturing setders 
in this vicinity, and he is now regarded as the £ither of the 
district. He found a busy river coursing its way through a 
deep dell, and he saw the many advantages which so powerful 
a stream presented for manu&cturing purposes ; he therefore 
established himself near Mellor ; and his example and success 
in business soon procured him many neighbours, until the 
banks of the Goyt ai»i the Etherow became the busy scenes 
of industry^ and the resort of enterprising men and mechanical 

Mr. ddknow has always been an active man in puUic life, 
and many improvements made in the vicinity of his resi- 
dence have been indebted, not only to his example, but to 
his perscMial exertions. The Peak Forest Canal originated 
diiefiy with him ; and, though not hitherto a profitable spe- 


culation to the proprietors, it has been jproductive of consider- 
able advantages through the line of its operations, and 
ultimately it may be more successful. Mr. Oldknow is now 
declining into years, but he is yet fall of spirit and activity ; 
and, if he can only feel that " nothing has been done, while 
any thing remains to do," and prevail upon his neighbours 
and others to extend the Peak Porest Canal from the vicinity 
of Chapel-en-le-Frith to the eastern boundary of Derbyshire, 
he may yet be remunerated for his exertions. This gentle- 
man is at present less occupied with manufacturing than 
agricultural pursuits, and this; department is under the best 
regulated management imaginable. He keeps a great number 
of cattle, and they are housed and fed in buildings that have 
been erected at a great expence, where every possible at- 
tention is paid to their welfare and convenience. There is a 
contrivance and a neatness about the whole of Mr. Oldknow's 
- farming establishment, that are but seldom attended to where 
the accumulation of profit is a primary consideration. 

From Mellor Mill we perambulated the banks of the Goyt, 
amongst scenes as truly romantic, and as replete with beauty, 
as any in Derbyshire, until we came to a part of the valley 
where the hills and woods are thrown farther from each other, 
and some lovely meadows interpose between. Here we left 
the margin of the river, for the purpose of obtaining a more 
extended view from the elevated grounds. The landscape we 
now beheld was essentially difiPerent from what we had seen iii 
the dell below, where the eye dwelt upon die characteristic 
features of the various objects that composed the picture, and 
was delighted with the detail : here every thing was on a 
scale of magnitude, that pleased by its vastness. No part of 
the prospect was distinctly marked, with the exception of the 
foreground, and even there the subordinate parts were lost, in 
the contemplation of the whole. The river below us was a 
mirror of sunny light ; but the sparkling breaks, the inter- 
rupted rushings, and the playful eddies, which had charmed 
us while loitering on its banks, were now seen with indiffer^ 
ence. The characters and forms of trees, the graceful 
branches of the ash, and the gnarled ramifications of the 
oak, we had observed with pleasure, when they were pro- 
minent features in the circumscribed scenes that we had so 
recently lefl ; but now our horizon included a' more ample 
circumference, and individual objects were lost in the aggre- 
gate. Hills and woods, and vei^dant meadows, made up the 


picture ; and the li^ht-blue haze of a hot summer's day har« 
monized the whole mto lovelmess. 

Havmg emlored the course of the Gojrt to the vicinity of 
a pleasant village called New Mills, which is most roman- 
tically situated on one of the tributary streams of the river, 
we returned to Mellor Mill, and firom thence retraced our 
steps to Glossopi where we spent the remainder of the day. 

p 2 



Return from Glossop. — Peak Forest. — Bldon Hole. — Bag- 
shaw Cavern. — Small Dale. — Lime-kiln Fires. — Nigkt 
Scene. — Morning in Hope Dale. — Hope-Bi-ough. — The 
river Deraoent. 

Vr £ had been much gratified with our excursion to Glossop, 
and we left it with a wish to revisit it on some future occasion. 
Nine miles of tedious road, which we had travelled over only a 
few days before, lay between us and Chapel-en-le-Frith ; and, 
as we did not anticipate much pleasure in passing a second 
time over so uninteresting a district, we were secure against 
disappointment* This road, like many others both in I>erby- 
shire and elsewhere, has been made in despite of both hUl and 
dale.- Hardly any set of people commit greater blunders 
than the projectors and makers of public roads. If a valley 
interferes in the line of their operations, they shew their utter 
contempt of the accommodation it offers, and their talent at 
surmounting difficulties, by clambering up and down every hill 
that nature has interposed between them and the point of 
their destination. 

* We again passed by Chapel-en-le-Frith, and shortly afler- 
wards we made another pause at the ebbing and flowing 
well; but, during the short time we remained near it, no 
sensible alteration took place in this extraordinary pheno- 
menon ; nor were there any appearances about it which indi- 
cated that the water had very recently either ebbed or flowed. 
Some few years before I observed the rising and sinking of 
this well twice in the short space of half an hour. 

A little beyond this celebrated well we left the Castleton 
road by a sharp turn on our right, and proceeded to Peak 
Forest, a little village, surround^ by an extensive tract of 
land, to which the same name is applied. This forest was 
anciently called De alto Pecco ; and the parishes of Castleton, 
Hope, Chapel, Glossop, and Mottram in Longdendale, are 
said to have been once included in it. Within half a mile 


of the village is Eldok Hole, anodier of the reputed won- 
ders of the Peak of Derbyshire. Unassisted by fable, and 
the babUing of the credulous gossip tradition, there is no- 
thing either vast or astonishing in this fissure in the lime- 
stone strata : it is a deep yawnui^ chasm, entirely devoid of 
any pleasing appendages, and aitogelher as uninteresting as 
any hole in a rock can possibly be. 

Mttny and marvellous are the stories that have been told of 
Eldon Hole. Cotton has celebrated it in English verse, and 
Hobbes m Latin hexameters. Cotton, it appears, endea- 
voured to ascertain the depth of this Eadiomless pit; but, ac- 
cordiiKg to his own account, he did not succeed : he says, 

^ But I myBelf, with half the Peake furrotinded, . 
Eight hundred four-seore and four yards have sounded; 
And though of these four-score returned back wet. 
The plummet drew, and found no bottom yet ; 
Though when I went to mtike a new essay, 
I could not get the lead down half the way." 

Tliere is nothii^ like a tale of wonder; andihSsiremendous 
^Iph, which is about twenty vards long, seven wide, and 
sixty deep^ has often excitea both terrcMr and amazement. 
So early as the rdgn of Elizabeth, the Earl of Leicester is 
reported to have hired a man to go down into Mdon Hole to 
observe its form, and ascertain its depth. The account of 
this experiment says, ^^ He was let down about two hundred 
ells^ and after he had remained at the length of the rope 
awhile, he was pulled up again, with great expectation of 
some discoveries ; but when he came up he was senseless, 
and dyed within eight days of a phrensy." This circumstance 
is alluded to by Cotton in the following lines :— 

** Once a mercenary fool, 'tis said, exposed 

His life for gold, to find what lies inclosed 

In this obscure vacuity, and tell 

Of stranger sights than Theseus saw in hell; 

But die poor wretch paid for his thirst of gain — 

For, being craned up with a distempered brain^ 

A faultering tongue, and a wild staring look. 

He lived eight days, and then the world forsook.'* 

About forty years ago, a Mr. Loyd descended into this 
gloomy abyss, explored die depths, and the capacity of its in- 
terior recesses, and removed the mystery which until then 



had hung upon it A detail of this undertaking was pob- 
Ushed in ^^ the Philosophical Transactions,'' vol. &L p. 2S0. 
The whole of Mr. Loyd's descent was nearly sixty yards 
when he reached the bottom of the chasm, where hd found 
several cells of different dimensions, whose sides and roofs 
were every where covered with stalactites and calcareous in- 
crustations. In one part of the principal cavern he discovered 
a fissure in the rocl^ through which a strong current of air 
proceeded ; this, however, he could not examine^ as it was 
nearly filled up with huge stones, that appeared to have been 
rolled upon it. This aperture, the miners say, comn^unicates 
with a lower shaft of vast depth, with water at the bott(»n ; if so. 
Cotton, whose measurement of it to the extent of more than 
eight hundred yards, was, as he says, ^< witnessed by half the 
Peak," may still -be correct ; but Mr. Loyd's statement in- 
duces one to conclude that he actually reached the lower ex- 
tremity of Eldon Hole at less than sixty yards from his entrance 
into it. 

I must now, with all becoming courtesy, bid adieu to my 
companion to GlossOp, and resume the narrative of my pe- 
destrian excursion firom this place to Hope Dale, and fixMn 
thence to Matlock. From Peak Forest, a walk of a few 
miles, over wild moorland ground, and newly-cultivated pas- 
tures, thinly covered with verdure, brought us to the Utde 
village of BradwelL We had heard much of Bagshaw Cavern, 
and we wished tO' visit- it; but the day was now &st closing 
upon us ; and, as the entrance into it is not only uninviting, 
but absolutely repidsive, we determined to press onward to 
the place where we proposed to pass the night. We had 
previously seen enough of caverns, and we were too much 
fiitigued to be highly gratified with creeping through narrow 
apertures to look at spars and stalactites, however beautifiil. 
We nevertheless determined to visit it on some fiiture day, 
but hitherto that day has not arrived. The entrance into the 
crystallized srottos at Brad well is narrow and inconvenient; 
the passage, however, soon becomes more accommodating, and 
a man of short stature may grope his way into the caves be- 
yond witiiout much stooping. Different appellations have 
been given to these subterranean cells: one is called the 
Music Chamber ; another, the Ghrotto of Paradise; a third, 
the Grotto of Calypso ; and a fourth, I believe, is not yet 
honoured with a name. Exploring them, -a world of novel 


sceneiv is unfolded, beautifiil and flmtastic as the mind can 
possibly c<mceive : the moving lights of the torch, as they play 
amongst the transparent crystaUizations, and die numerous 
sparry icicles that depend like lustres firom the roof, have a 
very Deautiful, and even a magical effect. This place, how 
ever, is not likely to be frequently visited; the timid will 
shrink firom the undertaking with apprehension, and the 
treasures that it contains must be reserved for those who are 
not deterred by common diflSculties, and can cheerfully submit 
to the inconvenience of stooping and crawling along the rug- 

Sd and nai^ow passages that lead to the inmost recesses of 
e Peak mountains. 

Our nearest road to Hope, where we proposed spending 
the night, lay through Small Dale^ a little village that derives 
its name from a deep narrow dell, formed by masses of rock 
thrown together in abrupt knolls and lofty cra^. We 
however preferred keeping on the brow of the hill Uiat over- 
looks the dale^ where we tiad a good road; and the darkness 
of the night rendered such an accommodation desirable. The 
burning of lime is here a considerable trade'; and the kilns 
used for the purpose are situated at the bottom of the dell, 
one side of which was formed by the rocks where we stood ; 
of the other, aided by a transient light emitted from the fires 
of the lime-kilns, we caught occasionally an uncertain glimpse : 
all between was a gloomy vacuity, which the eye could not 
penetrate. The whole dale indeed was one immense cauldron 
steaming with smoke, that at intervals was partially illumined 
by momentary gleams and flashes from the nres below — then 
curling into mid-air, it rolled over our heads in murky vo- 
lumes, forming a canopy ^^ as dark as Erebus.'' The obscu- 
rity that pervaded this nocturnal scene, together with the 
short and feeble emanations of light shot from the kilns in 
the deep dale beneath, only made darkness more palpable, and 
powerfully assisted the impressions it produced. We stood 
to contemplate the picture before us, until some heavy drops 
of rain, and the hoarse murmurs of distant thunder, warned 
us to depart Bemg yet more than two miles from the end 
of our journey,, the darkness of tlie ni^ht, and the coming 
storm, induced us to alter our original intention, and spend 
one more night at Castleton, where we arrived in time to 
escape being deluged in torrents of rain. 

The following morning, as we proceeded on our way to 

p 4 


Hope, the open valley we passed through was covered with a 
thick misty vapour, that objured every object The sud, how- 
ever, ascending above thehills, soon spread his warm influence 
over it ; and the vapour, that before was a dull and inactive 
mass, soon became a source of beauty : as if instinct with life, 
it everywhere appeared in motion; and it was highly curious 
to observe the whole progressively leave the vale, and^ assum- 
ing the form of douds, pass in regular and solenm march 
across the^sides of the mountains, settling in succession on 
the summits of Winhill, Losehill, and Mam Tor. These 
phenomena are common in the Peak of Derbyshire ; and 
though not amongst the fixed and permanent features of the 
phce, they are interesting appendages to mountain scenery, 
and sometimes produce a grmd effect* 

In our Hc^ we passed the little hamlet of Brou^ 
an insignificant village, but supposed to have been once a place 
of some importance. Where the two rivulets, the Bradwell 
and the Now, meet, a Roman town formerly stood. The 
site it occupied is a field now called the Halsteads, near 
which a stone column, evidendy Roman, a bust of Apcdlo, 
and the, mutilated head of another deity, both of rude work- 
manship, were found. Near this place bricks and urns, 
impressed with Roman letters, have occasionally been turned 
up with the plough and the spade ; and at Brough Mill, a gold 
coin of the Emperor Vespasian, in a good state of preserv- 
ation, has been duff up. These circumstances all concur to 
prove the fact of the Romans having had a setdement here ; 
and the opinions of that venerable antiquarian, the late Rev^ 
Mr. Pegge of Whittington, and the northern tourist, Mr. 
Bray, fiivour the same conclusion. 

Hops, a very respectable-looking villace, was the next 
place we passed through. The church stands on an insulated 
plot of ground by the road-side, aad, in omnexion with a 
sroup of picturesque dwellings, and a double row of lime-trees, 
by which it is nearly surrounded, presents a very pleasing 
picture. From Hope we had a delightful walk down the 
valley by the side of the jiver Now, until we reached Malham 
Bridge, where we onte more regained th^ banks of th^ 

The Wrongsley and the Westend, two little rivulets, that 
rise amongst the heathy hills at the northern extremity of the 
county, are the sources of this beautiful river. These incon^ 
siderable streams, afler running a few miles among moorland 


wUds, flow'into each oth^ near- a place called Abbey HoiKei 
and diere assume the name of the Derwent, whidi, piursuing 
its way in a. southerly direction, passes the village of Derwent^ 
and shortly afterwards receives the Ashop, a river that has its 
source at the base of Kindersoout; proceeding thence to 
Malham Bridge in Hope Dale» it is joined by the united 
waters of the Bradwell and the Now. 

In the space of forty miles, which includes the whole course 
of this river, from ihe highest and wildest parts of the Peak 
to the town of Derby, scenery more richly diversified with 
beauty can hardly any where be found. Generally, its banks 
are luxuriantly wooded ; the oak, the elm, <the alder, and the 
ash, flourish abundantly along its course ; beneath the shade 
of whose united branches the Derwent is sometimes secluded 
from the eye of the traveller, and becomes a companion for 
the ear alone; then suddeidy emerging into day, it spreads 
through a more open valley, or, winding round the base of 
some nuge mountain or rocky precipice, reflects their dark 
sides as. it glides beneath. Sometimes this ever-varying and 
ever-pleasing stream precipitates its foaming waters over the 
rugged projections and rodcy fragments that interrupt its 
way ; again the ruffled waves subside, and the current steals 
smoothly and gently through the vale, clear, and almost im- 
perceptible in motion. 

Wiiat an emblem of the busy world does this river pre- 
sent, when contemplated through its various windings, from 
its source amongst the heathy hills of Derbyshire to its con- 
fluence with the Trent ! In the immense multitude that com- 
pose the aggregate of mankind, there are many who seek the 
sequestered shades of a still and retired life — who shun the 
tumult of society, and seclude themselves, not only from the 
eye of the traveller, but who pass through life equally un- 
knowing and unknown. Others rush into day, and like the 
Derwent, pouring through the more open and sunny meadows, 
court and attract the gaze of all around them, and live only 
in proportion as they become the object to which public at- 
tention is directed. There are likewise those who delight to 
mix in the agitated scenes of a troubled world, and whose 
pursuits part&e the character of the Derwent, when forcing 
an impetuous passage over the disparted fragments of rock 
that obstruct its channel and impede its course. 

Those who have perambulated the banks of the Derwent, 
and become acquainted with its beauties^ will recollect with 


delight the many exquisite scenes that it adorns, the pleasing 
m>ves of Stoke, the splendid palace and noble grounds of 
Uhatsworth, the placid Darley Dale, the romantic rocks 
and woods of Matlock, 'Willersley Castle, and the whole 
of those picturesque hills that shape its course from thence to 
iSelper, Duffield, and Derby. 



High^aao. — Learn* — Padley. — Approach to Calver. — ^ Calver 
Lame. — Morning Scene. — Hassop Hall. — Longstone. — 
Godfrey JRcnoland imprisoned in the Castle of the Peak. 

From Malhaxn Bridge we followed the margin of the Der- 
went to Hazleford, vmere we crossed the river amidst some 
very beautifiil scenery. From this place we visited the old 
mansion at High-low, and then returned by Leam into the 
valley we bad so lately left. The house at Hjgh-low was once 
a comfortable residence, but there are now many marks about 
it that indicate an alteration in its fortunes. It was formerly 
inhabited by a branch of the fiimily of the Eyres, one of the 
oldest in this part of Derbyshire, but it is now a mere farmer's 
dwelling, and scarcely worth a visit; At the back of the 
house t£ere is a high conical hill, which has the appearance bf 
being thrown up by the labour of man ; but it is so immense 
a mound that the supposition seems extravagant* Its name, 
however, implies that it was once a burial-place; if so, it us 
scarcely less mighty than the Tomb of AchiUes — 

H ^* That wide the extended Hellespont surveys." 

From High-low, a short walk brought us to Leam, the 
residence of C. M. Middleton, Esq. How beautifully situated 
is this delightful mansion ! It is surrounded with hiUs, ro<?ks , 
woods, and dales, amongst which flows the river Derwent, 
every where fringed with a variety of the finest foliage. Leam 
HlEiU occupies an elevated situation on the side of a steep hiU, 
and every view that it commands abounds with beauty. 

Regaining the brink of the Derwent, we had a leisurely 
ramble through the woods in the direction of Grindleford 
Bridge. Every person who has made the tour of the Peak 
of Derbyshire must have observed the frequent occurrence- of 


wells and troughs of water, placed by the road-side for the ac- 
commodation of travellers and their horses. This is both a 
commendable and a convenient practice; and the many 
streamlets that run down the sides of the hills .furnish the 
means of doing a good deed at a little expence* As we passed 
along the road tmrough the wood below Learn, we noticed a 
well of this descriptiohy which was really a Yety pleasing object, 
and my companion gave it a place in his sketch-book. A little 
stream rushing down a steep declivity, and leaping from one 
projection to another, amoi^t fragments of rotuc^ and the 
tangled branches of light overhanging trees, fell into a basin, 
that was placed in a woody recess at the road-side to recdve 
it ; and the picturesque appendages by which it was surrounded 
made it a good subject for the pencil. Shortly afterwards we 
came to. a more open part of the valley, where we had an un- 
obstructed view of the left bank of the river, and the dells and 
woods of Upper and Nether- Padley. 

Padley Hall, scarcely a vestige of which now remains, was once 
the most important mansion in thLs part of Derbyshire. It was 
for several centuries the family residence of the Eyres, from 
whom it passed into the possession of Sir Thomas Fitzherbert, 
who married the daughter of Sir Arthur Eyre, and occupied the 
Old Hall at Padley, in the reign of Elizabeth. G. Talbot, 
the sixth Earl of Shrewsbury, hereditary Earl Marshal of 
England, was at this time Lord Lieutenant of the county of 
Derby ; and he appears to have exercised an unbending rigour 
towards the Catholic Recusants within his jurisdiction. In a 
letter of his to Sir Thomas Knyveton, he says, « The 
Queens Majestie beinge moved by sundry occasions greatlie 
importing the Estate of this her realme, to abridge the liberty 
of sundry papists recusants^ ill members of the same, resyant 
within this County of Derby, &c. I have thought mete 
hecreby to requier you forthwith to receave into y^ charge and 
custodie the bodie of Philip Draycote, Gent, recusant, to be by 
you well saflie kept as her Mt* prisoner, upon his proper costs 
and charges, untill fiirder order, &c.** This authority the 
Earl of Shrewsbury appears to have used with some severity 
towards the family at Padley. In die year 1587, John 
Manners and Roger Columbel inform the Earl, that <* Yester- 
day being Candlemas Daye, Mr. Columble went himself 
yearly in the morning with sixteen or twenty men to Padley^ 
where he found Thomas Fitzharbert's wife, Anthony Fitzher- 
bert, two of his sisters, and about twenty persons besides, 


seeming to be of their household ; and made diligent searche 
for Mr, John Fitzharbert» but could not-find him,'' Sue In 
another part of the lett^, they add, ^ Padlaye maye be 
doubted much to be a house of evU resort, and therefore, my L. 
their wilbe no good redresse there (in our simple opinyons) in 
those matters, unless that some may be resyant there that wilbe 
oonfiMinable, and some preacher placed amongst us, here in 
the Peake, to teaehe the people better." 

Two years after the date of the preceding letter, Sir Thomas 
Fitsdierbert addressed the following to the Earl of Shrews- 
bury : — 

Very good Lorde, 
W^ all bumble dewtie, I crave leave in lowly wise to openne 
my greifes unto you. I suppose y' honor hathe knowne me above 
fi/tie yeres, and my wief^ that was daughter and heire unto 6^ 
Arthur Eyre. I trust I have bine dewtifull unto my Lords y' 
grandfisither, y' father, and y' Honor, and I have found y' Honors 
all my good Lords, till now of late y' LoPP entringe into the 
Howse of Padley, found two semynaries there, all unknowne unto 
my brother, as was tsonfessed at theire deathe, and is well approved 
since by good testimony ; sithence w*^'' tyme y' L^' also nath en- 
tred uppon my Howse of Padley, and the demeanse thereof, 
seazed all the goods of my Brothers and myne that was in that 
Howse, amongeste w*^ I had certeine evidences of a Woode and 
Meadowe under Levin Howse, called Fawltclyffe, w^^ as I ame 
enformed y' Honor hathe entred uppon, and occupieth whollie to 
y use, though I have bine possessed apd my wiefs auncestors 
thereof, tyme out of mynde. Very good Lo — , theise things are 
greater than my presente poor estate can suffer, or in any wise 
foeare, I payinge her Ma^* the statute of recusansie, beinge 
CCLX>* by yeare, w*^* is more then all m^ rents yerlie rise unto. 
Loathe lam to complaine of y Ho' any waie, wherefore I complaine 
me firste unto y' Lo^^ ; hopmge you will deale so noblie and chai^ 
ritablie w^ me as I shall be restored to my Howse, lands, and 
goods, by y^ Honor, so as I shall be fullye satisfied, and be Me 
to paie her Ma**«, and for ever bounde to praie for yo' LoPp liefe 
in all honor longe to continew. From London, this 28< of Male, 

These letters scarcely require a comment; they exhibit a 
shocking picture of the exorbitant power of the nobility, and 
the miserable situation of the Roman Catholics in the days of 
Elizabeth. Heartily congratulating ourselves that we were 
not disciples of the pope, and subjected to the mild and tole- 
rant government of " the golden days of good Queen Bess^'^ we 
left the vicinity of Padley, and proceeded on our way to 


Grindleford Bridge and Stoke. As we descended the h9I 
beyond Stoke HaU, the darkness of the night was &st ap- 
proaching. The rocky eminences about Calver had lost their 
peculiar features, and lay in masses before us. The lime-kilns 
were now become in^sing objects ; the very outline of their 
base wa^lost in shadow : jB-om their summits volumes of smoke^ 
partly illumined by unseen fires, rose in spiral folds, that be- 
came dark and heavv as thev ascended. At the top of one of 
Ihie kilns, a human ^ure, placed against the white volume of 
smoke that rolled over his he^, had a fine efl^t ; his form 
came dark upon the eye, and, being surrounded with illumina- 
ted and murky vi^urs, he seemed like a magician fi*aming his 
spells and muttering his incantations over a burning cauldron. 
The scene was essentially different firom the one we had ob- 
served the preceding evening, yet it strongly reminded us of 
the nig&t-fires of Small Dale. 

Calver is a part of one of the principal limestone districts 
of Derbyshire, and it derives considerable advantage firom its 
proximity to lands where a different soil prevails, and its pro- 
duce is in great demand. The lime obtained here is admirably 
fitted for agricultural purposes ; hence a lucrative trade has 
been.estabmhed, for the supply of which the hills of Calver 
fiurmsh abundant materials. It is much to be regretted that 
no canal communication has been opened between this and 
other parts of the same county, where lime is wanted and 
coal abounds; a mutual exchange of the productions of each 
would be highly advantageous to both. Great difficulty would 
certainly be found in thus passing the immense rampart of 
-hill by which they are divided ; but, as a canal has been lately 
. continued to Sheffield, it might easily be carried through 
Abbey Dale to East Moor, above Totley, and dience by 
Dronfield to Chesterfields With the nearest part of this 
branch a rail-road, on the principle of the one near Chapel- 
en-le-Frith, might communicate. The practicability of this 
undertaking is easily discernible, and its utility would produce 
an increase of business to the Sheffield and Ch^terfield Canals^ 
that would be of incalculable benefit to both. 

The limestone rocks of Derbyshire not only furnish excel- 
lent manure for agricultural purposes, but, when untouch- 
ed by fire, they produce the best materials in the kingdom for 
road-making, llie persons emplo;^ed here in this us^u branch 
of labour are by no means deficient in a knowledge of tlieir 
business ; on the contrary, they appear to understand the best 


principles of making and repairing roads. Tliey break die 
limestone to a circtdar gauge of firom two and a half to three 
inches in diameter, and a forfeit is incurred for every stone that 
will not pass the ring : the stone when thus broken is laid 
upon the road six or eight inches thick, and shortly it be- 
comes so hard and compact, that the carriage wheels as they 
pass over it scarcely leave a mark behind them. In the vicini^ 
of Bakewell, Basslow, Calver, Hassop, &c. &c. this system of 
road-making has loi^ prevaQed, and has. been found very be- 
neficial ; the roads are not onlv easy to travel on, but they are 
very durable, and made at little expence. 

We once more passed the night at the Moon Inn at Stoney 
Middleton, within half a mile of Calver; and the following 
morning, after sketching a picturesque waterfitll at a com-miu 
near the inn, we proceeded to Hassop, a very pleasant village, 
where Lord Kinnaird, the eldest son of the present Earl' of 
Newburgh, resides. 

As we left Calver, the morning was singularly fine and 
beautiftil ; the air was balmy and fml of fi-eshness, yet so still, 
that the smoke from the cottage chimneys was hardly disturbed 
by its breathings ; the herbage in the fields, and the leaves of 
thfe trees, were " impearled with the dew ;" and God's beau- 
teous skywas one magnificent canopy of dear and spotless 
azure. There was no contemplating the scene without ^- 
periencing sensations of delight. The dullest clod that ever 
wore the form of man couul not have been insensible to the 
influence of so much beau^; every thing around us seemed to 
feel it The hares and pheasants, which are here abundant, 
were running and playing about by the road-side, as if the worid 
and all that it contains had been theirs, and theirs alone. I 
was delighted with their gambols — with the confidence they 
displayed; and should have thought it a sacrilege against the 
happiness of nature to have broken in upon or msturbed their, 

The manor of Hassop formerly belonged to the Foljambes ; 
but, in the year 1498, it was purchased by Catherine, the 
widow of Stephen Eyre, a younger son of Ralph Eyre, Esq. 
of Padley ; since when it has continued in the possession of the 
same family. The late Earl of Newburgh died without issuej 
and the title being inheritable through heirs female, it devolv^ 
to Francis, the present earl, who is the son of Lady Mary, 
the youngest daughter and co-heiress of Charlotte, (Jountess 
of Newburgh; Prince Justiniani, the son of the eldest daug]^- 


teff beiiig incapable of inheriting the title, in consequence of 
beinff an alien. 

The Eyres, as I have before observed, is one of the oldest 
fiunilies in Derbyshire, where they have continued to reside 
throu^ the long lapse of more than seven hundred years, as 
appears from the following curious extract from an o^d pedi- 
gree^ which is still preserved at Hassop : ^^ The first of the 
Syres came in with King William the Conqueror, and his 
name was Truelove ; but, in the Battle of Hastinp (14 Oct. 
1066) this Truelove, seeing the King unhorsed, and his helmet 
beat so close to his &ce mat he could not breathe, pulled off 
hb helmet, and horsed him again. The King said, * Thou 
shalt hereafter from Truelove be called Air or Eyre^ because 
thou hast given me the air I breathe*' After the battle, the 
King calld for him, and being found with his thigh cut oS, he 
ordered him to betaken care of; and being recovered, he gave 
him lands in the county of Derbv, in reward for his services ; 
and the seat he lived at he callea Hope, because he had hope 
in the greatest extremity; and the King gave the Leg and 
Thi^ cut off in armour for his crest, and which is still the 
crest of all the Eyres in England.'' 

In the year 1643, Hassop Hall had a nulita^ character ; it 
was then garrisoned for the King by Colonel Eyre, who dis- 
tinguished himself in an eminent manner at the siege of New- 
ark. A good portrait of this gallant loyalist adorns one of the 
rooms at Hassop. The gardens around the house, though 
rather trim and formal, are kept in excellent condition, and me 
plantations are ornamented with a rich diversity of the noblest 

** Here towers erect in sable spire 

The pine-tree, scathed by lightning fire ; 

The drooping ash, and birch between. 

Hang their fair tresses o'er the green; 

Aiid all beneath at random grow 

Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 

Or, round the stems profusely twined. 

Fling summer odours on the wind." Rokehy, 

Hassop b one of the pleasantest little villages in the Peak 
of Derbyshire. A chain of hills that screen it jB-om the north 
rises high above it, and the gentle slope on which it stands de- 
clines into some well-cultivated vales, and overlooks a variety 
of rich and beautiful prospect The cottages are neat and 
clean ; and an appearance of comfort pervades the whole place. 


A walk throudi Hassop is like a walk ihroiidk a ffardea: 
libemums and laurels, roses and evergreens, adorn tae wajr- 
side ; and the air is perfumed with the fragrance of a thousand 

From this village we proceeded along « pleasant road to 
Longstone or Longsdon, where, in the fourteenth century, a 
&mify of the name Of Rbwbnd pt>8ses8^ considerable pro- 
perly: their residence was the Old riall, a place now occupied 
by Major CarleiU. In the rolls of Parliament, volume the 
thirds page 5 Id., there is a copy of a petition, dated the 4th of 
Henry we Sixth, &t)m Gowey Rowland, who there calls 
himself '< a simple Esquyer, praying for a hasty remedy agaiilst 
Sir Thomas Wendesley, John Dean, vicar of Hope, and 
otbet^ who alls stated t6 have t6me to the petkioner's house 
at LongsdoiBL with fortoe and orauf — to have carried off goods 
atMi atodc to the value of two hundred marks— to have taken 
the j^tttbmei^ prisoner^ and carried him to the Castle of the 
High Peak, where he y^aA kept in custody six davs without 
victoitls or drink^ after which diey cut off his right hand, and 
then released him." It is difficult to conceive how such a 
cruel and ihtoleraUe outrage could hate be^ committed on a 
private gentleaiai^ at a time when something like law and jus- 
tice }M%vailed ih die ooutiti^* 

iJmg^tOoc IB A sam3l but plealsant villi^ : the cottages are 
mostly elevkted ab6ve fhe <terria^road, and the lofty trees 
th^t grow near them and arotmd the hall gite the whole place 
a veiT nital appearance* At Little Longstone, about a quar- 
ter of a mile iSntfaer^ we found some charming subjects for the 
pencil; a ipreftding ehod^ which stands by the road-side^ 
amongst tarees of a %hter and more elegant foliage, that screen 
b»t do nbt hide some cottages near, is of itself a noble object^ 
and the picturesque materials that surround it form a very 
pleasing corapositton. 



idoney^Ash. — Marble Quarries. — Source of the Lathkil.^^ 
Scene near Conksbury Bridge. — Youlgrave. — Arber-Ixm. 
Bradford River. — Alport. — Tufa Rocks. 

The Marble Quarries near Money- Ash were the next objects 
6f our excursion : we therefore retraced a part of our steps, 
and leaving Longstone, took the route of a newlv-made road, 
which led us, by a very gentle descent, to Ashford ; from 
whence we clambered over some high hills, and were repaid for 
tiie toil of ascending them by the beautiful variety of land- 
scape we beheld from their summits. 

Money- Ash, though but a small place of about sixty 
houses, was raised to the dignity of a market-town in the 

irear 1S40: a grant for an annual fair for three days was 
ikewise bestowed upon it at the same time ; but both ndr and 
market have been long discontinued. Money- Ash is not 
however entirely deprived of its former consequence ; it still 
remains the seat of the mineral court for the High Peak di»- 
frict : in every other respect it is an insignificant village. 
' From Money- Ash, a ramble of about a mile brought us 
into the dell, where the principal part of the grey marble of 
Derbyshire is procured. Here we found a scene far more 
rude and sava^ than we had anticipated. We were aware 
that the rocks nad been blasted and rent 'to pieces with gun- 
powder, and their natural features defaced; but we never- 
theless supposed we should find some little spot yet unprofaned 
by avarice, where rock and folidge intermixed compose a 
beauteous picture: — we were mistaken; — neither tree nor 
shrub find a home in Ricklow Dale: naked crags fence it in 
on every side, and huge fragments torn from the clif& above 
lie in disordered masses jdong the ground, where scarce a 
blade of verdure intervenes to soften the general wildness of 
tli6 scene ; yet even in this strange place some half-starved 
sheep were scrambling amongst the rocks, and endeavouring to 


pick out a scanty subsistence from the narrow spaces between. 
The marble quarries are at the upper extremity of Ricklow 
Dale ; they appear only to be worked occasionally^ and when 
we saw them they were utterly deserted. Blocks of marble 
of differ^it dimensions had been detached from the rocks, 
and lay in heaps at their base, ready to be carted to the mills 
at Asbford and Bakewell, where they are cut into form and 
polished for use. 

In a continuation of this dale, about a mile and a half 
nearer Over Haddon, is the source of the Lathkil, one of 
•he most brilliant streams amongst the dells of Derbyshire. 
The cradle of this rivulet is pleasingly romantic: trom a 
cavern in a mass of broken rock, whose sides and summit 
are adorned with branches of trees, the Lathkil issues into 
day; and running down a gentle declivity amongst huge 
stones, by which it is divided into sq^arate currents, it is 
jsometimes an object of considerable beauty. 

We followed the margin of this little river for several 
miles, and were every where delighted with its clearness, play, 
and spirit About half a mile below the village of Over 
Haddon, where the old Ashbourne road crosses the dale, 
some very beautiful scenery occurs both above and below the 
bridge. Tlie rocks on the two sides of the stream, though 
not lofly, are broken into pleasing forms, and fringed with 
trees ; but the Lathkil is every where the finest feature in the 
scene : where it glides smoothly along it is so perfectly trans- 
lucid, that every object over which it flows is not oply dis- 
tinctly seen, but seen in fresher colours: the flowers and 
herbf^e on its banks are but &ded resemblances of those 
over which it runs. 

It was a clear sunny day, and, anxious to enjoy the beauty 
of the scene, we seated ourselves on a rocky knoll covered 
with mountain thyme, that filled the air with fragrance. Here 
we passed an hour of real happiness, and every thing that 
had life seemed equally happy around us. The trout, vrith 
which the Lathkil abounds, lay the river at our feet, 
and the bright blue dragon-fly and the kingfisher displayed 
their gaudy plumage to the sun as they flitted along the 
stream. Near the bridge we observed a number of flies rest 
awhile upon the water, and then take wing, yet none appeared 
to settle there : approaching near^, a part of the stream, 
where it was stillest, was almost covered with them; and 
their thin transparent wings trembled with many an unavailing 

8 2 


effort before they bore tliem aloft in the ftir. Iliis little insect 
was just changing its form and mode of being, and we watched 
the transition from one state of existence to another with con- 
siderable interest. Innumerable rushy tubes rose in succei^ion 
from the bottom to the surface of the water ; from these the 
fly, with a very feeble struggle, soon emerged, and then rested 
motionless for a moment on that element where it had been 
nurtured into life ; after which it tried its feeble wing — then 
with an elastic impetus sprung upwards, and flew along the 
tneadows in search of new enjoyments. 

As we ascended the hill by Conksburj^, on our way to 
YoulgraVe, we had several pleasing views of that village^ in 
which the tower of the church, environed with trees, was 
always a principal object. Youlgrave is situated on the 
side of a hill, which declines gently into an open little vale, 
that is watered by a brilliant stream, called the Bradford. 
The church is a handsome building, with a finely-propor- 
tioned tower, surmounted with eight omiunented pinna- 
cles; and it stands in the midst of a spacious burial^ 
ground, nearly surrounded with a plantation of lime-trees. 

The church contains several monuments of rather a costly 
description, one of which is dedicated to the memory of Sir 
John Rossingtoh, who was a crusader ; and another of a more 
recent date to John Eley, Esq. of Alport, major-commandant 
of the artillery in the East. India Company's service. The 
parish register contains some curious entries, amongst which 
there is " a memariall of the great snow," which began in 
jMiuary 1615, and continued, with very little intermission, 
to the 12th of March. The entry states, that " it covered 
the earth five quarters deepe upon the playne ;" that ** it was 
the fear and admiration of all the land, for it came fix)m the 
four parts of the world, so that all countrys were full, yea, 
the south parts as well as the mountaynes." We were also 
informed by the parish clerk, that the register contains tiie 
entries of the births of twenty-two children of Mrs. Thornhill, 
the grandmother of the present proprietor of Stanton ; the 
whole of whom were baptized at Youlgrave church. 

From Youlgrave, a rough and ill-made carriage road con- 
ducted us to Middleton, a small village, which, by way of 
distinction, is called Middleton hy Youlgrave. Near this 
place we found the celebrated Druidical monument oi Arher-- 
Lmo^ one of the most striking remains of antiquity in any 
part of Derbyshire. This circle includes aii arpa of from 


forty to fifty yards diameter, formed by a series of large un- 
hewn stones, not standing upright, like a part of those on 
Hartle Moor, but all laid on the ground, witli an inclination 
towards the centre: round these, the remains of a ditch, 
circumscribed by a high embankment, may be traced. Near 
the south entrance into this circle there is a mound, or burial- 
place, in which some fragments of an urn, some half-burnt 
bones, and the horns of a stag, were found. 

After spending a short time at Arber-Low, we proceeded 
to Gratton, a Uttle hamlet, which, together with the appending 
nianor, belongs to the Thornhills of Stanton. Here the Bract- 
ford rivulet first emerges into day. The whole length of this 
little stream is only about two miles ; but it is two miles of 
beauty. Approaching Alport, we came to die spot where it 
loses its name in the Lathkil. A high rock, called Bradfmd 
ToTy crested with trees and light depending branches, occupies 
the right of the river that washes its base. The left bank is 
a steep verdant slope, surmounted with a group of dwellings^ 
half hid amongst orchard trees, ash, and sycamore. !Neai' 
these, a bridge leads into the village, from whose arch the 
Lathkil rushes impetuously, and, dashing and foaming along 
its rugged channel, leaps into the Bradford, at the foot of the 
Tor. Nothing can exceed the beauty of this brilliant stream, 
as it bounds and sparkles along its rapid descent. Such are 
the principal features in the foreground of this pleasing pic- 
ture. The space beyond is composed of cottages, scattered 
amongst overhanging rocks and luxuriant trees, that display 
every variety of tint and foUage, from the light pensile branches 
of the libemum to the majestic ramifications of the oak and 
the elm. More remote, the steep bank of a narrow dell ap- 
pears, whose summit b clothed with a plantation of larch and 
pine, interspersed with beach, birch, and mountain-ash. StUl 
farther in distance, the lofty grounds and woody acclivities of 
Stanton terminate the scene. This view, it must be observed, 
can only be obtained from the rising ground in the meadows, 
on the left of the Bradford. Nearer me river, the distance is 
lost, and the village becomes a less interesting object. 

Alport is a pleasant place, and. the greater part of its in- 
habitants ^>pear to be in reputable circumstances, if the houses 
where they reside may be regarded as a fair criterion : they 
are generally good stone buudings, and sufiiciently spacious 
fpr au the purposes of comfort : a neat flower-garden, belted 
v^tb laurel) lilacs^ and libernum, lies before them» and an 


orchard well stored with fruit trees spreads behind. There 
are of course some inferior dwellings, but not the proportion 
usually found in a country village. 

The Tufa in Derbyshire is universally regarded as a watery 
deposit very rapidly produced, and it contains indisputable 
evidences of its formation. At Alport, a large mass of rock, 
from forty to sixty feet hiffh, is entirely composed of this ma- 
terial ; and being adorned with trees, that either shoot from 
its sides, or take root upon its summit, it is not only a curious, 
but a picturesque object. 

This rock appears to be a congregation of matter, chiefly 
yegetable, which has been formed into an immense petrefection 
by the continual action of water, but at what period is uncer- 
tain, as the stream that produced it has either ceased to flow^ 
or has changed its course. The limestone strata of Derby- 
shire abounds with a variety of animal and vegetable remains, 
which time has hardened into stone; but in the tufa rocks 
they are often embedded in their native state ; brancBes of 
trees are frequently found within them ; and in some places 
they appear an accumulation of sticks, straws, and weeds, 
closely enveloped in calcareous incrustations ; amongst these 
the natural snail-shell, not in the least altered in appearance, 
is often found. In one place, where the rock had been re- 
cently broken, and the trunk of a small birch tree, about six 
or eight inches diameter, taken out, we noticed the impression 
that remained, and took from it a part of the bark that was 
left behind, which was not at all affected in its nature by its 
long imprisonment. Some few years ago, the head and horns 
of a stag, now in the possession of a gentleman at Bakewell, 
were taken entire from out the tufa rocks at this place. It 
is not to the geologist only that this curious lime deposit is 
interesting : a great variety of the most beautifiil plants and 
flowers grow upon it ; it is, therefore, equally attractive to the 
botanist. Here the common thistle flourishes luxuriantly, 
and displays great beauty, the flowers being peculiarly rich 
in colour : wild marjoram, mountain thyme, ladies' bed-straw, 
and a fine variety of bright yellow stone crop — the Sedum 
of Linnaeus, are also abundant on these rocks. 

While rambling about this plea3ant village, we were di- 
rected in our i*esearches by one of the inhabitants, of whoni 
we inquired for Alport rocks. Afler examining this singular 
assemblage of matter, and looking over a smaU collection of 
the minerals and fossils of Derbyshire, some of which were 


rare and curious, we thanked our host and cicerone for his 
attentions, and the timely refreshment his hospitality had 
spread before us ; and, bidding him^ adieu, we proceeded on 
our way to Hartle Moor. Leaving Alport, we passed a mill, 
romantically situated amongst rocks and trees : the water by 
which it was supplied was spread out. into a lucid mirror, and 
the various objects that surrounded it lay pictured on its surface 
in all the vivid colouring of nature. Near the mill, the stream is 
precipitated over a high s^nicircular weir into a deep bason 
below, forming a cascade, somewhat artificial, but yet extremely 
beautiful: agitated. water is never otherwise; and when, by 
the rapidity of its motion, it is whitened into foam, or brpken 
into sparkling particles, it is one of the most pleasing objects 
that nature any where presents. 



Sianhn^ — Visit thepe in Oie numth qf November. — uAufe 
Sione. — fianiaiions on Sianton Moor. — Viem ^om the 
Mil near Cat Stone. — Stanton Lees. — Stanton House tjine 
Worh there hy Gibbons. 

Our walk to Harde Moor lay through a narrow lane sha- 
dowed with trees, that at intervals admitted a glimpse of the 
surrounding country, and opened a pleasing view of the plant- 
ations and grounds about Stanton. The park, the house, and 
the village, occupy the side of a steep hill, along which the 

eye passes over hedge-row trees, and woody eminences, to 

Ae distant scenery in the vicini^ of Chatsworth. These ob- 
jects, together with the chain of broken rock, extending from 
Stanton Park to Bradley Tor ; and the fresh foliage rising 
out of the dell, that marks the course of the Lathkil, form a 
very imposing landscape. 

Stanton was the ancient residence of the family of the Baches, 
by whom it was occupied for upwards of two centuries. 
The heiress of this family married John Thornhill, Esq. His 
grandson, the present proprietor of Stanton, not many years 
ago pulled down the old mansion, and erected an elegant 
modem structure in its place. Other improvements have 
succeeded : hundreds of acres of new plantations have been 
made, and a deer park has been added to the other delightful 
accommodations of the place. The Thomhills were ori^mally 
of Thornhill in the Peds, where they possessed consi(ferable 
property, so early as the reign of Edward the Third. 

The scenery about Stanton House is gradually improving : 
the new plantations begin to assume an imposing aspect ; and, 
«a they are spread over a large extent of hill and dale, they 
will shortly become a principal feature in a landscape, that 
even now is richly diversified and fiill of beauty. If that 
s(Hrit for plantmg trees and raising woods, where before nei- 
ther branch nor shrub grew^ which has so eminently distin- 


guished the present proprietor of Stanton, could be generally 
disseminated through the Peak of Derl^shire, it would soon 
become a scene of grandeur. 

I once visited Stanton the last week in November : a severe 
frost Jiad prevailed for several days ; and, as J left the town 
of She^eld) the effect produced by the rising sun was not 
less singular than beautiful. My road was through Abbey 
Pale. The hoar-frost lay like snow upon the ground ; and 
ev^ object by the road-side sparkled with innumerable icy 
prisms, that for a moment;, as they caught the rays of the 
newly-risen siui, glittered like gems — then sudaenly di^ 
solved, and passed awav. The wpods, that cover the hills qq 
the left, although de^poded of their ^^ leafy honours,** presented 
a novel scen^ : the tre^i^ were every where invested with frosty 
partides, that hun^ Ggl^tly) like i^ewj-^len snow, upon their 
oraches, feathering every stein with great, but evanescent 
beauty. Passing &od> Abbey Dale to E^t Moor, a rapid 
cJtijEMige had taken pla^e: the sun wa^ shining brightly in a 
diou2<^ sky, apd the hpar-frost, which but hajt an hour 
before covered every ojbject, had (K^appeared:; Ijeaving scarcely 
a tmcQ of it$ fprn\er presence b^ind. 

Crossing ^|st Moor^ some fine groui$e ran be&re m^ on a 
p^ of the road, which they seeiQcS to quit reluctantly : one 
of them,, |i fine heath-KX>ck, 0ew to a UUle eminence near the 
road-si^e, where he stretched jEbrth his neck^ and as^uiped a 
dignity qI d^>ortmei)t,'tbat strongly manifested his ip^gnatioii 
^t being disturbed in the midst of his own domains, 'fne ma- 
jesty and beay^ of ij^s bird can only be seen, cm his native 
mo^intaMis, and even there he is genel'aUy tpa shy to be nearty 
apprpach^dj, X have often beheld the heath-tcock on the Ser- 
Ij^y^hire ipgiQOfSp but on no odier occasipi^ have I ever seen hqw 
grai^d aJ9d>$^LG^d he can occasionally he^ Thei^e birds are 
V^ry nujijerous on diQS^ wastes, where they are preserved with 
great care, that they may fturnish amusement to. me sportsman, 
ofid a f^st to ^e t^icujre: they feed on tjie bilberry and the 
he§(h, t^§ o^nmon covering of thes^ e.xtensivQ ipoprSf 

A Uw mjles fbrther biK)ught me to Baslow Bar, one-of tlie 
wjid^t scopes in ^bk part of I)erbyi^h-e^ wh^re the rocks are 
iforpwi) tQgejhar in coi^B^i^d masses, apparently by some, tisrri- 
\M ^Jt^tipnj^ which has left the rent and.di^omted fragments, 
th$lt md heep ^arated frpi^ the parent mass, poised and fixed 
ifl. |V?^itV>ns, tfeat stypt^gly ici^cat^ the^ ipstAntwi^MS ^es/sation 
of violent motion. 


** Awhile the living hill 
** Heav'd with convulsive throes — then all was still." 

Dr. Darwin.. 

Through the rude rocky vista that nature here has formed, 
the village of Baslow, the finely-cultivated country that sur- 
rounds it, and the. woody eminences and verdant slopes of 
Chats worth Park, are beheld ; forming, altogether, as lovely 
and as rich a landscape as ever the eye reposed on with delight. 

A letter, now before me, written by a lady oil passing the 
moors of Derbyshire for the first time, strongly expresses the 
feeling excited by this extraordinary scene. " As I approached 
Baslow Bar," she says, " the prospect, which before was suf- 
ficiently barren and desolate, became wild and savage, inspir- 
ing only emotions of terror : judge, then, what my feelings 
were, when I first beheld, through the narrow defile of rock 
before me, the woods and hills, and all the lovely grounds that 
environ Chatsworth House. TTie sudden transition fi^om one 
kind of feeling to another, the wild and savage grandeur of the 
foreground, and the beauty of all beyond, strongly reminded 
me of Satan's first peep into Paradise." 

I passed through Bakewell, and had a pleasant walk down 
Haddon Vale. A little below the two-mile stone, I paused 
by the road-side, to contemplate once more the fine old 
structure of Haddon Hall ; and to indulge in unavailing regret, 
that I had not obtained a view of this interesting mansion 
firom so favourable a situation. A small lake of water inter- 
vened between me and the building, in which the towers and 
" turrets, and the embattled parapets of Haddon, were vividlj 
reflected. Had the celebrated artist, to whose friendship I am 
indebted for his beautiful illustrations of the Peak Scenery of 
Derbyshire, witnessed the imposing picture that Haddon here 
presents, he would have mingled his regret with mine, that a 
rainy and cheerless day had prevented him firom enriching his 
sketch-book with so fine a subject. 

I now left: the vale of Haddon, and entered into a narrow- 
woody dell that leads to Stanton. * The river Lathkil strays 
through its windings ; and, as the busy stream bubbles tod 
plays amongst the branches, it every where sparkles with life 
ana beauty. Leaving the course of this sportive rivulet; where 
a road on the right branches off to Alport, I pursued my way 
to a picturesque toll-house, half covered with ivy, which is 
situated at the foot of Stanton Hill. At this place, I entered 


tbe grounds belonging to the Thomhill family, and, had a plea- 
sant walk along a good carriage-road, that overlooks Hartle 
Brook; and, in its progress to Stanton House, opens a series 
of views where Cratcliff rocks, Bradley Tor, Mock Beggar 
Hall, and the hills about Elton and Winster, are distinguish- 
ing features. Near the entrance into the Park, I noticed on 
my left a stone cross, evidently of modem date, placed near 
the opening into a mine, to commemorate the fate of a man, 
who had lost his life there. A death's head is sculptured on 
the upper part of the cross, and the name of the sufferer, 
** Jokn Jnnabley** is inscribed below. There is a pleasing in- 
terest excited, and a commendable feeling manifested in 
thus consecrating the spot where a fellow-creature has untimely 

Stanton House has been built about twenty years. The 
late J. Linley, Esq. of Doncaster, was the architect. It is 
pleasantly situated on the side of a hill, that declines towards 
the west, and the elevated grounds above it protect it ironi 
the inclement winds of the east : they overlook Darley Dal^ 
and command a great variety of rich and beautiful scenery. 

The day, whicn for the first four or five hours, promised no- 
thing but halcyon skies and uninterrupted prospects, suddenly 
lost its clearness, and a cold dense atmosphere succeeded, ex- 
tremely unfavourable to picturesque purposes. Accompanied, 
however, by one of the hospitable family of the Thomhills, I 
gladly availed myself of the opportunity of traversing Stithton 
•Moor. From the firont of the house, an insulated stone of im- 
mense magnitude is seen in the line of the horizon, where it is 
a prominent object fi*om every point of view around it, and may 
be regarded as an excellent land-mark for all who wish to Visit 
this interesting district. To this object we directed our st^s 
through the park. On our way there, we passed in the hollow 
on our right an avenue of old Scotch firs : the height of the 
trees suggested a recollection of the pines of Norway, that strike 
their roots amongst the rocks, and lift their topmost branches 
to the clouds. Proceeding onward, we soon attained the emi- 
nence distinguished by the huge stone that had attracted my 
attention. In the neighbourhood jt is known by the name: of 
Andle Stone^ though Major Rooke has given this appellation 
to one of far inferior dimensions, which stands: on the same 
plain, about half a mile nearer the brow of the hill that over- 
looks Darley Dale. Andle Stone is a large block of unhewn 
sandstone grit, which appears to be inserted, but notdeeply^ ia 


the ei^rth : k$ surfoce is but little marked wkb fissures or in* 
deiit|i|iQJ»s ; tb^ sqq^re of it^ 3ides is &OiO sevea to eight yards, 
aad itfi e3(treiQe height about eighte^a feeC. Sieveral other 
iosttUte^ stope^ of a similar descrtptioa occupy the same 
high rang^ of ground : how they were oriduially placed there, 
wd for w}i»t purposes they were designed, can pow only be 

Quiptus Ckeroy who was with Julius Caesar when be in- 
vndiod this country, writing tp his brother, Marcus TuUius 
Ciceyo,, si^yf, ^* The temples ^( the Britons are raised in the 
depths oi th^ woods, and constructed in a circular forui^ with 
lObelisks of ston^ over which are imposts, all of huge diraen- 
^{9019, ttntou<jied by the chisi^ One of these I saw while it 
was erecting by the rude unskilful hands of the natives, as a 
pe«ce-of&ir Uig to theb Grianvsy or ApoUo, to mediate the good 
o£lces irf Cies9ir. 

^^ The bug^ stppes of which it was composed lay scattered 
by lh« hftud nS nature on the plain ; these (with myriads of the 
YOtories oS tiie god t& aflprd their labour) the high priest, 
who direcli^ th§ of^era^ons, caused to be rolled i^ on in* 
^Imed l^iMies of sqI^ etixikt. which had been formed by the 
^qgQftvfttion of tr^oeltee^ untU they had attained a height eaual 
to then* own altitude ; th^n pits being dug, they were launched 
from tht^ tern(ce,and 3UKik so as to slaad perpendicularly, at due 
9^. ctqml distances in the ^cl^ and over these were placed 
iithers tiorizontaUy. After havisg completed one circle^ they 
&rm another that is concentric, at same distance and towai^ 
idle exti^emil^ of the area of the inner circk they place a huge 
^tone &r the performance of religious rites. 

<^ When dte sun enters into Ca9ie§r is the grea4; festival of 
the god ; md on idl high mountains and eminences of the 
country they li^ht fires at the approach of that day, and make 
Iheir wives, theur children, and their cattle, to pass through the 
£k», in honour of the Deity. De^ and profound is the 
ai^ce of iih» multitude during th& ceremony, until the ap- 
piwrancQ of the sun above the m^iflcon*^ when, with loud and 
Mntaoned ea^clamati^iis, and songs ^ joy, they hail the utmost 
iffdlwrina of that lumin£U!y# ea the supreme (9*iumph of th^ 
god of iimr oAoti^on" 

This acfiouat has a miure. partioular re^b^i^ce to the forma* 
tsoA of thoae cirdea of ston^ whit& are generally r^^rded as 
Awdioal, than to the. insulated m^oMimients tjiat are found on 
SUL^a^ti^&^Iiooxi y^t that tbo same mode of rolling th^se vast 


masses up iiidiiied planes of sdLid earth, for the purpose of 
placing them in a peipendioular position, must hare been 
resort^ to, seems highly probable. Tliey are striking ktdi* 
cations of what the skill and labour of ui faigemoiis pec^le 
could acGonqrijsii, who were unacquainted with mechanical 

As we traversed llie extensive plantations on Stanton Moor^ 
we passed the upright stone which Mcyfflr Roitdce has men^ 
tioned by the name of Andle Stone; aiid, a little fiirdier oo^ 
we oime to a barrow, that had been recently opened, when an 
unbaked urn, confining haman bones, was found withm it» 

The whole c( this eminence is covered with plantations of 
fir, lardti, oak, and Spanish chesnut A few years ago it was 
only a heathy moor; and it now strongly exemf^ifies to what 
useful purposes even a barren waste may be applied* F^opi 
the year 1808 to the present time, a considerable namber of 
labourers have been en^loyed by the worthy proprietor of 
Stanton, from early in autmnn to late in the j^)iing of the 
year, in progres^vely covering the wild wastes around Us 
mansion with extensive plantations, which will one day richly 
remunerate him for the expeme he has incurred in his tnilv 
patriotic speculation. Upwards of six hundred acx^ of wood^ 
planted by his own exerticois, will wave its brandies romHl his 
nansion, and give a sylvan character to the park and grounds 
of Stantoft. 

We followed the direction of a narrow path taHj^d wiA 
heath, until we o^ne to the extreme verge of Stanlon Mooi^ 
where another massive Druidical monusnent standsy called 
Cat SUme. The station we now occupied commsends a widie 
horizon, within whose ample swe^ h%h moorkmd win^tei^ 
woody eminences^ beantilid vaUies studded with cottages and 
hamlets, and the devious windings of the river. Derwent, are 
included* Though the whole viiew here presented is ef a 
magnificent description, yet there is a diameter of loveliness 
in the detail and parts of which it is composed) that is more 
powerfully interesting, and excites more pleasing associations 
than mere magnificence, when unaccompanied with the more 
fascinating graces of landscape, can possibly produce. Stan- 
ton Lees, a little village, composed of neat but humble 
cottages, thrown as it were promiscuously amongst orchards 
and flower-gardens, is a delightful feature in the scene. Tran- 
quilly reposing in a sweet vale, at the foot of an almost per- 
pendicular emmence, that rises several hundred feet above it, 


It looks like a village in Switzerland, smilins in beauty amidst 
the deep recess of sequestering mountains, that stand like cen- 
tinels to guard the paradise within. A walk round Stanton 
Moor eidiibits a greater variety of fine scenery than can be 
found in the. same space in any other part of Derbyshire. 

In Stanton House there are several good pictures ; particu- 
larly a Vir^ and Child, by Carlo Cignani ; a Tenniers ; and an 
interior of the Church at Munich: in the latter, the archi- 
tectural perspective, and the disposition of the light, are 
managed with great felicity; but the principal merit of the 
picture .is the minute accuracy and high finish bv which 
the .figures, and all the smaller objects, are distinguished. It 
is a striking instance of great labour employed to but little 
advantage. It was painted by Morganstem, a Flemish artist, 
and it is. said to have cost him his eyesight; In the hall.there 
is an excellent specimen of the talent of De Bruyn, the artist 
who painted the staircase at. Worksop Manor : the figures 
jrepresait sculpture in bas relief, and they are admirably exe- 
cuted. The painter himself is said to have retarded this picture 
as his finest production, and he left it as a legacy to bis son,* 
a respectable apothecary, who resided in North-Audley-Street, 
Xiondon; firom whose widow it was lately purchased, and 
brought to Stanton. But the finest work of art in this place 
is a. frame to a looking-glass, by the celebrated Gibbons, 
which was executed for Louis the Fourteenth of France, 
.whose medallion, supported by two boys, is placed at the top 
of the firame, and whose arms adorn the central compartment 
at. the bottom : the remainder of the carving consists of birds, 
and a profusion of fruit and flowers in the greatest luxuriance, 
tastefijlly composed and finished in Gibbons' best style. This 
is one of the few bijaua: saved in the Revolution ; and, when we 
consider the exquisite delicacy of the workmanship, it seems 
,e3Ctraordinary that it should have been preserved uninjured 
even in its -finest parts. 



Druidical Circle on Hurtle Moor. — Snake Stones. — Mock 
Beggar Hall. — Cratcliff Tor. — Winster. — Birchaver. — 
Bxmtor Bocks. — View from the Boad near Birchaoer. 

On Hartle Moor, and within a few hundred paces of Mock 
Begsar Hall, we stopped at the remains of a Druidical Circle, 
which Major Rooke and Mr. Bray have previously noticed ; 
the latter of whom mentions it as an object he had not seen* 
This Circle is about forty yards in circumference, and it is 
composed of seven large stcmes, that appear to have been 
originally from ten to twelve feet high ; three of them only ai:e 
now standing, and one has been separated from its associates 
by the intervention of. a rude stone wall. This Druidical 
temple is about a mile and a half from Stanton Moor, where a 
similar circle, consisting of nine upright stones, denominated 
the Nine Ladies^ may still be seen : near this remain several 
barrows have been opened, when a number of ^^ glass beads, 
with orifices not larger than the tip of a tobacco-pipe," were 
found within them. Many of these beads have been occa- 
sionally met with in different parts of Derbyshire: their colours 
are various; some of them are transparent, others are an 
opaque purple ; and they are understood to have been used by 
the Druids as amulets, or worn by th^m as a badge of 

In some parts of the kingdom these bea4s are called Snake 
StoneSf and Camden tells us, that there is a curious super-* 
stition relative to their formation still existing, both in Whales 
and Cornwall : he says, <Mt is there the common opinion of 
the vulgar, that about Midsummer Eve (though in the time they 
do not all agree) it is usual for snakes to meet in companies, 
aBd that, by joining heads together, and hissing, a kind of bub- 
Ue is formed like, a rin^ about the head of one of them, which 
the. rest, by continual hissing, blow on until it comes off at the 
-tail, and then it imm^iately hardens, and resembles a glasjs 

240 ROWTOtl kOCKS. ' 

ring, which whoever finds (as some old women and children 
are persuaded) shall prosper in all his undertakings* "Hie rings 
thus generated are called Gleinen Nadroedk; in Englishp 
Snake Stones." Camden, vol. iL p. 64. 

An unfrequented path of another quarter of ii mile led 
us to the base of Mock Beggar Hall, a curious assemblage of 
sand-stone rocks thrown confusedly together, yet so arranged 
as to form at a distance a strong resemblance to a reralar 
1>uildinff, with b hlige chimney at each extremity > heius^ the 
namewnkh this mass of rocks has obtained: the stony toners 
at each end are called Bobin HooePs Stride* 

On the same range of hill, a little on our left, lay Gratcliff 
Tor, a gloomy perpendicular rock of considerable altitude; 
and, when man bom iftome sitiAtions in the valley below, 
as pictut«sque KtL object as ever adortied the foreground of a 
landsot^ Major Rooke tnentions having seen four rock 
basons on &e top of this tor^ but, owing either to a n^gktt cf 
our memorandums, or a migeono^itaoil of our instru^tioiia^ 
#te 4id not 6bBerv« them; fttdm the same cause we omitted 
trigitlng tha Henni«^4i Gave At the fisot of Ci^Ux^liff. At the 
east e^ of a cainern i& this rock^ the devotee, by whom it is 
^aid t<> have been ifthaUted, has ttidelv sculptored in bas 
Miaf the figure of our Saviour on the Cfross, a great part of 
whi^ iis Mw ramuiiii^. A humble seat and a mdie^ that 
mMtt cotitaiti some domestic i^»n»ils^ ara hewn out of the 
roek; and it seems highly probable, that some melandbdy 
man oned made d^ili soUtary and (Peerless eav^ his dWelliMf 
but at what parlod^ and 1^ whom it was mhabited, evea tea 
b^dam^ tradiii<Mi is silentr 

Ftmi C^iatdiff 1^ ctm^tA the Asiiboum Road to Rowtcir 
BoekSy an aissemblage of huge blocks df gritstone, tmnUed 
O^nlhsectty together by the baad ef nacuiie iA one mig^ ple< 
These singular rocks are situated on the soudiertt side of 
Staixk^ m^c»i atid doiSe by the vUlag^ of Bittsliover* At a 
shore diisttaoee, they Afypeal' ikAy a heap of slanea$ wImd at 
Odir base^ they a^ teii4fic tsmm^^ ihat s^eiii not to be per-^ 
maaendy fitted ifi their j^tioas, but so slighter ooninedtod 
With each other^ atid so af^Mi^eanly in^ihe aet <>f ftlKfi^, ns to 
€tet^ an apprc^iisiati that they may yet descend witfi one 
tlrem^Mlous ci*afi^ into the vil^ Mlow*^ Some df these bk)Cka 
lie horizontally, some a^pc^rpendieular, and ot&drs are piac«^ 
ift every possible degt^ Of obliquity. IIks iHtficfaefes aAiomit 
them may be threaded with a little t^l and cMiculty, brt 



scarcely without dread; for it is not easy to suppose, that any- 
thing put so carelessly together can be very secure. 

Some writers hare supposed that these immense stones 
have been piled up by human exertion* a supposition extremely 
improbable, and not all supported by appearances. The dif- 
ferent remains about Stanton Moor, the Circle in Nine Stones 
Close, and Arber-Low, and the turrets on the two extremities 
of Grained Tor, are all evidences that this part of Derbyshire 
was once the resort of the Druids ; and if th_ey ever used this 
gloomy pile at Birchover as a place of worship and of sacrifice, 
which they are represented to have done, they may probably 
have added a few blocks to the mass which nature had pre- 
pared for their purpose, and thereby increased the altitude of 
Rowter ; but that the whole structure is the contrivance and 
the work of man is too incredible to be believed. The rock- 
ing stones at this place, which Pilkington mentioos as being 
so nicely poised that a child might easily give them a vibratory 
motion, are now immoveable. 

As we passed along the road that leads from Birchover 
into the valley, near Hartle Brook, we paused awhile to gaze 
upon the extraordinary group of rocks that is here included 
in one little picture. Rowter was on our right; Bradley 
Tor, another dark mass of rocks, was on our left; Cratcliff 
rocks. Mock Beggar's Hall, and Durwood Tor, lay in mid 
distance in the space between: beyond these, we had a glimpse 
of some distant hills, apparently as unsubstantial and as sha- 
dowy as the clouds of which they seemed to form a part. 
Evening was fast approaching; a softened radiance crested the 
eminences before us, and the tops of the trees that grow 
at the base, and about the summit of CratclifF, glowed with 
some vivid touches of light. The for^round where -.we stood, 
and the valley below, were in deep shadow, but the rocks 
above were gleaming with the bright effulgence of the 
setting sun. 

Winster, a small market-town, about a mile from Cratcliff 
Tor, was our next resting-place. This little town runs along 
the side of a steep eminence ; and from a mass of dii^ointed 
rocks in the pastures above, we had a complete bird's-eye 
view into it. The buildings, partly thatched and parUy 
covered with slate- stone, are scattered irregularly oyer the 
hill ; and as we looked down upon the town, the orchards 
and gardens, filled with fruit and flowers, and the roofe 
of the houses, thickly bestrewn with moss and tuftsr of 

242 iriNSTER. 

bright yellow stone-crop, were spread at our fe^ like fignres 
on a carpet From any other situation, Winster appears an 
uninteresting assemblage of limestone cottages. From Bank 
Pastures Tor we had an ext^isive view over a great part of 
the Peak district : almost every place, as I traced it out in 
distance, revived a series of pleasing recollections ; and the 
mind, with a wonderful rapidity, and a clearness and distinct- 
ness of perception hardly to be accounted for, moved over the 
scene. The country was spread like a map before me ; the 
hlHs, the vallies, the mountains, and the moors, that I so fre- 
quently had traversed, were all included within the ample 
landscape; and, as my eye wandered over its surface, I felt 
a peculiar pleasure in recognising the tract of my former ex- 

Winster is but a small town, and its present appearance 
indicates declining prosperity. It is chiefly inhabited by 
miners, who^for a series of years, have been pursuing an un- 
thrifiy calling, with but little prospect of improvement It had 
once a good weekly market, and an annual fair ; both of which 
seem to be progressively passing from neglect into total 

A little more than thirtv years ago a singular occurrence 
took place here. A punchinello was exhibiting his tricks in 
the lower apartments of a house where gunpowder was kept 
for the use of the miners in the rooms above ; some particles 
took fire, and instantaneously communicated with the r&- 
-mainder of a barrel of powder, which had been lefl carelessly 
open ; a terrible explosion ensued, and the whole of the upper 
rooms, and the roof of the house, were blown to atoms, and 
scattered about in every direction, while the people below, in 
nurpber about sixty or seventy, remained unhurt 

Whilst at Winster, we visited the church, a small structure, 
which appeared to us not of sufficient capacity for the place 
and the neighbourhood around. The church-yard too is a 
contracted spot, and the graves seem crowded together in a 
manner very unusual in a small country town : two sides of it 
are bounded with a plantation of spreading limes, and several 
fine yews grow near them : this fun^'eal tree is the cypress of 
the Peak of Derbyshire ; Aere is scarcely a burial-^pkce in any 
part of it that is not shadowed widi its branches, and in many 
places the trees are so truly venerable and full of years, that 
thev appear coeval with the church itself. 

The majority of the pec^ie in the northern divisions of 

:i^USICAX, MANIA. 243 

Derbyshire ore strongly attached to musical pursuits : every 
-village where a church is found has a band of choristers ; 
and where a lone cottage is situated, even in the wildest parts 
of the Peak, some of its inmates, and often the whole family, 
cultivate a taste for this delightful Sjcience; and often, in the 
practice of it, wile away the otherwise tedious hours of a long 
winter's night. Nor are the inhabitants of the town of Win- 
ster less influenced by the harmony of sweet sounds ; they 
have a choir of singers, a band of instrumental performers, 
and an organ in the church, which they obtained by the re- 
linquishment of as benevolent an offer as any individual ever 
made to the place of his birth. 

Winster is part of a great mineral district ; and the number 
of mines sunk and excavated in and near the place, had drained 
the springs, and left the inhabitants without water for domestic 
purposes. Their only supply of this necessary article of life 
was from a well nearly one mile distant from the town. Water 
was therefore a desideratum with the good people of Win- 
jster ; and an organ for the church, — the attainment of 
which they had long had in contemplation, was another. 
Thus situated, a gentleman in the neighbourhood involved 
them in xsonsiderable perplexity, by proposing either to con- 
duct the water in pipes from the well into the town at his own 
«xpence ; or, in lieu thereof, if they prefei'red it, to make them 
a present of an organ. Water was certainly a great good, 
and a plenteous supply of it much to be desired : in their es- 
timation music was not less so. They knew the inconvenience 
of trudging a mile up-hill in all weathers to procure water, 
and they were anxious for a remedy ; they longed, too, to hear 
the breathings of the organ within the walls of their churdi : 
how, therefore, were they to decide ? It is highly probable that 
they hesitated and balanced long before they determined ; at 
length, however, they made the important choice, " and 
music won the cause." Perhaps it would be difficult to find a 
more decided proof of either a musical taste^ or a musical 
manioj than this brief anecdote affords. 

During our short stay at Winster we made a short excur- 
sion to uie vicinity of Grange Mill, where we had been in- 
finrmed we should have an opportunity of exploring the sup- 
posed crater of an extinct volcano. At the place pointed out 
to us, the upper strata appear to have been rent asunder by a 
strong power from beneath. This reputed crater is an irre- 
gularly-formed oval of nearly two miles in circumference : the 

^B 2 


declinati<Mi of the strata is from one common centre, and the 
confusion into which they are thrown favours the idea that has 
been suggested. Within the hollow of this capacious lime- 
stone bason lies an immense mound of toadstone, which is fuH 
of bladder holes, and has the appearance of the scoria of 
metals. Whitehurst says, it is indisputably lava; and certainly 
in colour, composition, and character, it strongly resembles a 
product of fire. 

From the examination of the form and structure of the hills 
in the vicinity of Grange Mill we returned to Winster, and 
from dience along a good -carriage-road we proceeded to 
Wenesley, a small village about a mile from Darley Bridge. 
Leaving Winster, some beautiful scenery lay on our lefl, 
amongst some deep dells, the sides and summits of which wer^ 
finely wooded. Through the openings between they admitted 
a pleasing view of some of the most picturesque parts c^ 
Darley Dale. Nearer Wenesley, a valley on our right pre- 
sented a landscape of a different character. At the toot of a 
steep declivity, some detached masses of upright rock are 
scattered amongst the trees, and a passage, in a semi-circular 
direction, >runs between them and the craggy hill from which 
they appear to have been rent : ivy creeps along their sides, 
and some light and elegant foliage plays on their summits. 
Rocky fragments, partly covered with moss, and half hid 
amongst tufis of grass and tangling briars, compose the fore- 
ground of the romantic picture here presented. 

At the distance ef about a mile from Wenesley is Darley 
Bridge, a village very pleasantly situated -on the banks of the 
DerWent. The bridge, which gives name to the village, is a 
good plain stone structure of four arches ; and the views it 
commands, both up and down the river^ are richly diversified 
with beautiful scenery. Looking up the dale, t4ie tower of 
Darley diurch rises gracefully from amongst the surrounding 
foliage ; and the hills on the lefl are in some places covered 
with wood ; in others, their steep acclivities are cultivated, and 
their summits are crested with broken rock, every where libe- 
rally interspersed widi heath and interv^ing verdure. Such 
are the materials that oompose the scenery of Darley Dale. 

Having passed the brklge over the Derwent, instead of 
taking the nearest road to Matlock, we crossed some fields by 
tke side of the river to Darley church, about half a mile 
higher up the dale. The church, as I have liefore intimated, 
is embosomed in trees : on the riglit, in mid distance, a rocky, 


eminence, covered with pine, is a good feature in the land- 
scape ; and the distance is composed of well-wooded hills, 
that Diadk the course of the river, and display a pleasing va- 
riety of outline* 

In Darley church-yard we stc^q^ed to contemplate the huge 
dimensions jndwide^exiexideil hnmehe&of a magnificent yew- 
tree. The qaithet is by no means extravagant, for a nobler 
olgect am h«diy be met with than this venerable tree. 
Though mBajrJttnide and pitiless storm has howl^ through 
the branches fcr seariy six hundred years, its leafy honours 
yet renuun in health and vigour. The trunk, f<N: about four 
yards from the ground, measures upwards of thirty-ibur feet ; 
It then assumes the appearance of two separate trees, which 
rise perpendicularly from the parent trunk, and throw out 
their ramifications over an area of between seventy and eighty 
yards in cinmmferenoe. Some of its extreme branches have 
been lately cut irway, but it is yet a noble oUect.* 

We found nothing in the church of sufficient interest to 
detain us long in so chilling a place ; but, returning through 
the pordi, we observed a rudely-sculptured stone with a 
figure upon it, representing something like an ornamented 

^ Since the above was wriiten, this fine yew tree has beeo despoiled of 
Qpme of its larger branches. 

R 3 


sECTioisr xr. 

jfyproach to Matlock. -^ Visit to^JLumS'Dale* — Lime^Tree 
Lane. — Entrance into Matlock Dale. — Approach to Mai-- 
lock Bath. — - General Character of the Scenery ^ the Daie^ 
— - Walk to Stonms ,• — View from thence. — Evening Scene 
from Ma^son. — Morning in Matlock Dale. — Heights of 
Abraham. -— Museum. — *- Inns and Lodging Houses. 

We were now nearly three miles from Matlock Bridge, and 
as the sun declined, we had a pleasant walk down Darley 
Dale. The shadows gradually became broader, and the 
scenery improved, as evening advanced. In our way to Matlock^ 
we passed on our right the shaft of a lead mine, which was 
discovered a few years ago, when the new road to BakeweB 
was made. This mine has been the subject of much GtigatioD, 
and it is highly probable that more money has been expended 
upon it than tne concern will produce for many years. On 
examining the ore, I found it accompanied with more than an^ 
usual quantity of martial pyrites, many beautiful specimens of 
which may be found in the fences by the road-side. Remark- 
ing to one of the workmen that pyrites appeared to be very 
abundant In this mine, he very earnestly wished it was less so ; 
for, added he, ** if the lead ore do not eat out the pyrites, the 
pyrites will soon eat out the lead ore." The miner's mode of 
expression brought forcibly to my recollection a remark that 
I had many years before heard made in a sermon on the 
utility of prayer, by the celebrated Rowland Hill, when 
preaching in a theatre on a stage publicly devoted to profane 
purposes. — " If," said the reverend preacher, " praying do 
not make you give over sinning, sinning will soon make you 
give over praying." 

Though we had not much leisure for botanizing during our 
evening walk, yet the luxuriant growth of the plants and 
flowers amongst the rocks on the left of the road attracted 
our attention. The mallow, the wild maijoram, the yarrow, 
and particularly the meadow geranium, were more beautiftil 


bere than I recollect to have seen them in any other situation ; 
and our steps were delayed in gathering them, until the sun, 
sinking behind the huge hill of Masson, left the whole valley 
in shade, while Riber Top alone was suffused with splendour. 
As we approached Matlock Bridge, a view replete with beauty 
lay before us. The river, the bridge, the rocky scenery be- 
hind, the tower of the church rising gracefully over the trees, 
and the rugged bank on our left, formed an assemblage of 
objects strikingly picturesque. 

We were now within a mile and a half of Matlock Bath, a 
place which has been long and deservedly celebrated for the 
beauty of its scenery, and the salutary influence of its waters ; 
but as it was our intention to explore the vicinity of the viU 
lage before we passed through the dale, we took up our 
lodgings at an inn near the bridge, and spent the remainu^ 
part of the evening in recalling to recollection the incidents 
of the day. 

The following morning we rambled thirough the village, and 
along the road leading to Alfretoa and Mansfield, kaving 
Riber on our right. About a mile from Matlock, a romantic 
glen on our left attracted oiir notice, and a rapid descent led 
us into its deepest recesses t it is covered with wood, and 
watered by a brilliant stream, that, leaping from one rocky 
fragment to another, plays and sparkles amongst the closely- 
interwoven branches of the trees that overshadow its descent. 
From this glen we soon emerged ; and, passing the comer of 
a mill at its upper extremity, we^came suddenly upon a natural 
cascade, to which Bray has given a particular direction in bis 
" Sketch of a Tour into Derbyshire;." and he describes the 
scene here presented as ^' fit for the pencil of a Salvator Rosa." 
When he beheld it, it had a wilder and more savage character 
than it now possesses r no aitificidl object was then obtruded 
on the eye, excepting the old mill at the top of the rock, and 
even that was in a. state of ruin, which happily harmonized 
with every thing around it The wild scene with which Bray 
was so enamoured, is now an uninteresting combination of 
rocks and houses, mills, wheels, and watermtls. Fern, fox- 
glove, heath, and a little underwood, cover the lower part of 
the. right bank of .this singular dell. The fall of water in- 
cludes the whole of the little, river Lums; and when it 
is swollen with rain, the river rushes over the top of the 
rock through a narrow cleft in a contracted stream : in- 
terrupted in its &U by craggy projections, it is dashed into 

R 4 


foam, and fills the midway air with a shower of watery par- 
ticles ; through these the rays of a bright sun sometimes play 
beauteously, throwing a transparent bow of many colours on 
the adjacent rocks. The water falls about eighty feet. The 
river Lums, however, is in general but a penurious stream, 
which is dammed up a little above the cascade, and let oul 
sparingly for the use of the mills ; hence it is but rarely a good 
subject for the pencil. At the mills near there is a maHufac- 
ture of oxygenated muriatic acid, where from three to four 
tons of linen yam are bleached weekly. 

From ^bis place we returned through some fields to Mat- 
lock Bank, where we observed a venerable lime-tree, that gives 
a name to the place where it stands. The trunk of tl>e tree 
is decayed within, but the branches, which are healthy and 
vigorous, ramify to a great distance, and cover an area of con- 
siderable extent. This old tree appears to be renovating in 
every part, and flourishing with new life. Jn some writings 
now in existence, which are six hundred years old, and in pos- 
session ci a gentleman who resides at Doncaster, this tree is 
particularly mentioned and its ske pointed out. 

From Matlock Bank niany pleasing views are presented, in 
which the church, most romantically situated amoi^st groups 
of trees on the verge of a rock, is a beautiful feature. The 
undulation of the limestone strata from Church Rock to Pig 
Tor, at the entrance into Matlock Dale, is extremely curious, 
and highly worthy the observation of geologists. 

Having crossed the Derwent at Matlock Bridge, we entered 
the dale that leads to the baths. Near the Boat House, the 
first grand burst of the fine scenery of Matlock Dale is pre- 
sented; A morning light is peculiarly favourable to this view. 
I once saw it about half an hour after sunrise, and the im- 
pression it then made is still fresh in my recollection. The 
rich foliage that crests the high crags on the I'efk of the Der- 
went, leads the eye into a beautiful meadow ; beyonc^ the line 
of rock gradually ascends from a comparatively low. elevation 
to the topmost peak of the High Tor; This stupendous cliff 
was lighted up with the bright sunny gleams of an autumnal 
morning, to which the mass of wood, and the deep silent 
stream that lay enveloped in dark shadow in the dale below, 
formed an imposing contrast. Nearer us^ a ray of light crept 
through the branches of the trees, and, playing amongst a 
group of cattle on the left margin of the river, gave a brilliant 
effect to the foreground. On the right, high above the Tor, 



towered the sublime hill of Masson ; the shadow of the Tor 
was spread over its base, and the slant rays of the morning 
sun illuminated its ample breast ; whilst, far above, the dense 
clouds of night hung upon its summit, where the very heavens 
seemed to rest. A picture of greater grandeur is but rarely 
seen in Matlock Dale. 

Winding along the valley round the base of the High Tor, 
and turning a rocky projection, on the right, the inns about 
Matlock Baths, the museuni, and the lodging-houses, burst 
instantaneously upon the sight. A more extraordinary, and, 
to a stranger, a more unexpected and fascinating scene, but 
seldom occurs. At the time we beheld it, it was a vision of 
enchantment — a prospect into the fairy regions of romance — 
where all that can delight the mind and excite admiration, 
seemed to be assembled together. The stream, as it slowly 
swept round the wooded nill in the front of the museum, 
sparkled with the vivid reflections of the white houses and the 
lofty trees that here adorn its banks: carriages rolling along 
the road, and well-dressed ladies and gentlemen perambulating 
the dale in various groups, gave animation to this extraor- 
dinary scene. We paused instinctively before we proceeded 
onward, as if we feared to dissolve the charm, by obtruding 
ourselves upon it. The unexpected novelty of the scene pro- 
duced sensations of delight ; but the hotels, and all the elegant 
accommodations of Matlock Bath, were soon lost in. the con- 
templation of the hills, rocksj and woods, with which they are 
surrounded. The objects that at first had both surprised and 
pleased us now seemed strangely out of place, and we ima- 
gined that this romantic dale would have produced a grander 
and a more imposing effect in a wild and savage state, than 
thus studded with gardens, lodging-houses, and hotels. 

Matlock Dale, from the northern extremity to Scarthing 
Rock, where it may be said to terminate, is about two miles ; 
and perhaps a greater portion of magnificent scenery can 
hardly any where be found in the same space. The High 
Tor is a grand object from whatever point of view it is beheld ; 
and the Derwent, as it flows round its base, is a busy spark- 
ling stream, and its banks are every where fringed with trees 
of the most luxuriant growth. A foot-path, carried along the 
margin of the river, from Scarthing Rock to Matlock Bridge, 
would form one of the most delightful walks in the kingdom. 
At present there is only a carriage-road, which in wet weather 
is intolerable for foot passengers, and in a dry summer ua- 


comfortaWy dusty. A gravel-walk of very limited dimensions 
in the front of the principal inns, and about one hundred yards 
before the museum, are the only acc(»nmodations for pedes- 
trian parties at Matlock Bath, unless they are disposed to 
ascend the heights of Abraham, and here they are soon inter- 
rupted by a demand for sixpence each person, a tax which 
ihiist be submitted to every time the walk is taken, or all 
farther progress is forbidden. Every bit of ground here 
seems convertible into money ; there is no moving, even on 
foot in some directions, without an impost. The walk to the 
heights of Abraham, and to the romantic rocks, are alike 
objects of taxation ; and the imposition is only to be avoided 
by declining the gratification these places may afford. The 
heights of Masson may be otherwise attained, and the ro- 
mantic rocks, as they are called, are scarcely worth a visit. 
In St. James's or Hyde Park they might be attractive, perhaps 
wonderful ; but in Matlock Dale they really are objects too 
trifling to claim attention; yet strangers forsooth must be 
t^ixed in their purse before they can visit them. There is 
something extremely ludicrous in the idea of locking up 
rocks, barring them from public observation with a paling of 
six feet high, and exhibiting them for ^^ sixpence a-piece^^ like 
a showman at a fair, as objects of wonder and astonishment.. 
This is almost as inane a contrivance as putting a man into a^ 
quart bottle. After this one would not be much surprised ifT 
the good folks at Matlock Bath were to place a door m some- 
part of the dale to admit people to see the High Toi^ and^ 
this they probably would not hesitate to do, if they could 
profit by it. 

No part of Matlock Dale is equal in grandeur to the 1X\^ 
Tor, yet it every where abounds in picturesque beauty. The 
wood-crowned eminence in front of the museum parade is a 
fine object, and the view from thence down the river includes 
one of the best pictures in the dale ; the parts are few and 
well combined. Nearly opposite Saxton's Hotel, a broken 
rock, fringed with light ioliage, rises mfyestically out of iv group 
of trees that adorns its base : its topmost pinnacle^ is deno- 
minated Wild Cat Tor, and from its craggy summit a noble 
landscape is displayed. Proceeding onwards towards Willer&- 
ley Castle, the residence of R. Arkwright, Esq. a cotton-mill 
obtrudes upon the scene. — What has such an ofcgect to do in 
such a place ? — Its presence here, amidst some of the finest 
scenery of nature, is only calculated to disturb that delightful 


frame of mind which a contemplation of her works is admi- 
rably fitted to produce. 

Tne river Derwent, as it passes through Matlock Dale, has 
considerable variety of character. In some places, the asual 
rapidity of its motion is interrupted by artificial mounds, and 
it appears a sluggish stream ; in others, it rushes impetuously 
amongst huge stones and rocky fragments, where it leaps and 
foams, and sparkles with life and beauty. In another place, 
the weir near the cotton-mill might be a pleasing object; but 
in a scene like Matlock Dale, where every artifidal interference 
is crffensive, it is incongruous and out of place* Below the 
weir, the river, no longer pent up and restrained^ resumes its 
natural character, and, apparently exulting in its emancipation^ 
rushes rapidly along its rocky channel in the front of Wil- 
lersley House, where it is an object of great beauty. 

We left Matlock Dale by a narrow defile cut through 
Scarthing Rock, nearly opposite Willersley House, and con- 
tinued our route along the Wirksworth road to Cromford 
Moor, > without even casting one << lingering look behind." 
About a mile from Scarthing Rock, a sharp turn on the lefi 
led us over a hill covered with lead mines to a high sand-stone 
rock, called " Stonnis," or, more properly, " Stone House,'* 
to the summit of which we clamb^ed for the purpose of ob- 
taining a view of the surrounding country from an eminence 
not less elevated than the topmost peak of Masson. JIow 
cold and feeble is the language of description — how incom- 
petent to embody the conceptions, and express the feelings of 
highly-excited admiration ! I stood on the top of Stonnis — 
masses of rock lay scattered at my feet — a grove of pines 
waved their dark branches over my head — far below, embo- 
somed in an amphitheatre of hills, one of the finest landscapes 
that nature any where presents was spread before me. The 
habitations of men, some near and others far apart, were 
scattered over the scene ; but, in the contemplation of the 
woods and rocks of Matlock Dale, the windings of the Der- 
went, the pine-crowned heights of Abraham, and the proud 
hill of Masson, they were all forgotten : tlie structures man 
had reared seemed as nothing amidst the beauty and grandeur 
of the works of God. 

I have scaled the highest eminences in the mountainous 
districts of Derbyshire, seen from their summits the sweet 
dales that repose in tranquil beauty at their base, marked 
the multitude of hills included within the wide horizon they 


Gommand, and my heart has thrilled with pleasure at the 
sight ; but not an eminence that I ever before ascended, not 
a prospect, however rich and varied, which I thence descried, 
was at all comparable with the view from Stonnis. In that 
species of beauty, which, in landsci^ scenery, approaches to 
grandeur, it is unequalled in Derbyshire. The parts of which 
it is compoi»ed are of the first order of fine things, and they 
are combined with a felicity that but rarely occurs in nature. 
Scarthing Rock, the woods of Willersley Castle, Matlock 
High Tor, the hills of Masson, Crich, and Riber, are all 
noble objects ; and the rude masses that constitute the fore- 
ground of the picture are thrown together, and grouped and 
coloured in a manner strikingly picturesque. Wnen I beheld 
the scene irom Stonnis, a fine breeze drove the clouds rapidly 
athwart the sky, and the flitting gleams of light were in- 
stantaneously succeeded by deep shadows, that illumined in 
succession the various parts of the landscape, and imparted to 
it an interest that was powerfiilly felt. Sometimes the passing 
clouds covered the whole range of prospect with one unvaried 
tone of still and sober colouring — suddenly a bright ray of 
sunshine intervened, and for a moment the spot where it fell 
appeared a paradise of light amidst surrounding gloom. An 
hour at Stonnis, on such a day> impresses the mind with a 
series of beautiful images, that m after life are often recurred- 
to and recollected with delight. 

The sky had been cloudy nearly the whole of the day, but 
as evening approached, the western horizon became clear and 
glowing; we therefore returned to Matlock Bath, and as- 
cended the heights of Abraham to the top of Masson, for 
the purpose of enjoying the prospect of a splendid sunset 
from that commanding eminence. The extensive landscape 
beheld jfrom this elevated situation is full of beauty ; stupend- 
ous hills and open vallies, covered with wood and richly- 
cultivated meadows, fill up the whole range of an almost 
boundless horizon ; the loftiest eminences gleamed with the 
rays of the setting-sun, and where they decline towards the 
east, they were covered with a broad mass of shadow, over, 
which floated a transparent atmosphere of soft and beauteous- 
light. Crich church, and the tower on the clifii are pleasing 
features in the scene : on the right of Crich, the country re- 
tires into a far-off distance, until the remotest objects fade into 
the sky. 

We had ascended the heights of Abraham by a zigzag walk. 


Tildng the face of the hill ; we therefore reached the top of 
Masson with comparatively but little fatigue. We returned 
by a different route, down the very &ce of the mountain, along 
a narrow path, much more toilsome than our ascent. Day 
was now fast departing, and a lovely twilight spread a delicious 
charm over Matlock Dale ; every object gradually became 
darker and more indistinct, with the exception of the river, 
which brightened as the night advanced. -— 

^ I love thee, twilight — as thy shadows roll 
The calm of evening steals upon the soul. 
Sublimely tender — solemnly serene — 
Still as the hour — enchantmg as the scene. — 
Twilight ! I love thee — let thy glooms increase^ 
Till every feeling, every pulse is peace." 

Montgomery. — World before the Flood, 

We ended a long day's perambulation at Varley's Hotel ; 
but so. completely was my mind occupied with the scenery 
around me, that I walked very deliberately into the front room 
of an adjoining house, and rudely disturbed an evening party, 
who were pleasantly indulging themselves with a gam^ at 
backgammon. I was evidently an intruder: the master of 
the house leaned back in his chair, and, with a Stentorian 
voice that waked me from my reverie, bawled out, " This is 
not an inn, sir." I certainly did not think that my c^ence 
merited so rough a salutation ; I, however, very awkwardly I 
apprehend, stammered out something like an apology, and 
hastily withdrew from the sanctum sanctorum, which I had 
profaned with my presence. 

The comforts of a good inn can only be duly appreciated 
by those who, like myself and my companions, have been 
rambling for days tog^er amongst moorland wilds and rodcy 
glens, subject to those privations consequent on such excur* 
sions. The sage Dr. Johnson sometimes observed, that <i 
tavern chair was the throne of human felicity. We were not 
exactty of the doctor's opinion ; yet we had no reason to re- 
gret that we had made Varley's Hotel our home during our 
short stay at Matlock Bath. 

The following morning, though we did not rise so early either 
as the sun or the lark, yet we were up some hours before 
breakfast, anxious to witness a morning scene in Matlock Dale. 
A shower of rain had fallen in the night, and made the air de-- 
Iteious; as we tasted its freshness, our spirits became more 


buoyant and elastic, and we scarcely felt the ground on which 
we trod. The sun had risen with unusual splendour — the 
eastern sky was filled with his brightness — and, though the 
shadows of night covered the whole of Matlock Dale, we saw 
the rocks and nills above us gleaming with his ^ory; and so 
transparent were the thin white clouds that hung upon the top 
of Masson, that they appeared like wreaths of less obtrusive 
light Opposite 'the museum parade the scene was singularly 
beautiful : the rays of the sun, glancing through the branches 
of the trees on the summit of the rock, threw a thousand lines 
of light over the thick wood with which the hill is invested ; 
the rain-drops hung upon the leaves, undisturbed by the agi- 
tations of the breeze, and, as the rays of Ae sun played upon 
them, they seemed a closely-inwoven tissue of transparent 

gems. Melody and beauty filled the dale; the lark was in the 
eavens greeting the morning with a song ; the swallows twit- 
tered round their nests, built under the projecting eaves of 
the houses ; and a whole tribe of feathered choristers made 
the woods and groves vocal with their music : every thing that 
had life felt the influence of so sweet a morning, and all around 
us was joy and ecstacy. 

We again scaled the heights of Abraham, until we had 
reached the alcove amongst the trees, about half way up the 
hill. This lofty eminence presents a rich variety of prospect : 
the- Derwent, fringed with foliage, and overhung with rock, 
winds gracduHy through the deep dale below ; and in the pas- 
tures that crown Matlock High Tor, we beheld the cattle 
grazing far beneath us; 

I had once the gratification, iii company with my friend 
Montgomery, the author of the Wanderer of Switzerland, 
and the West Indies, &c., to contemplate this imposing picture 
under circumstances peculiarly favourable. The sky, which 
had previously been clear and lM*ight, became partially clouded ; 
a heavy shower of rain ensued, succeeded by a gentle sprink- 
ling that fell with almost snowy softness, and formed a veil 
exquisitely fine, through which the different features of the 
scene became more soft and tender; all harmonized in form 
and colour by the thin medium through which they were be- 
held. A hazy atmosphere has often a fine efiect, particularly 
when a portion of the sky retains its clearness ; and I never 
before, not even on the brightest day, saw Matlock to equal 
advantage. The outlines of the hilLs, and the form of the 
woods and rocks, were sufficiently defined ; and enveloped, aa 


they were, in a transparent mistiness, their dimensions ^>- 
peared extended in every part, and they seemed to occupy a 
greater space in creation than was actually allotted them. Oo 
this occasicHi, Montgomery wrote with his pencil on the walls 
of the alcove the following impromptu. The last couplet, 
with some slight alteration, be afterwards transplanted into his 
« West Indies:' 

" Here, in wild pomp, magnificently bleak. 
Stupendous Matlock towers amid the Peak ; 
Here rocks on rocks, on forests forests rise. 
Spurn the low earth, and minele with the skies. 
Great Nature, slumb'ring by tair Derwent's stream, 
Conceived these giant-mountains in a dream." 

On our descent from the alcove, we passed by the entrance 
into Rutland Cavern, a spacious vault in the interior of the 
mountains, which is filled with a variety of crystallizations, 
intermixed with spars, and ores of lead, copper, and zinc. 
Several other caverns of a similar description, and equally 
worthy the attention of the curious, occur in the limestone 
rocks of Matlock Bath. 

After returning to our hotel, we visited the warm baths lately 
established here : they are tolerably commodious, but entirely 
devoid of every thing approaching to elegance ; they occupy 
a delightful situation at the foot of Masson, and are sufficiently 
elevated above the carriage-road, which passes near them, to 
command a pleasing view of the dale, both in the diirection of 
the High Tor and down the river. 

We afterwards played a game at billiards at the room near 
the hotel, and then, to finish our mornii^'s lounge, strolled 
into the museum, the most elegant establishment at Matlock 
Bath : indeed, it is hardly possible at any place of fashionable 
resort to meet with a more entertaining and instructive as- 
semblage of objects than are here collected together. It is a 
spacious, well-lighted room, and contains an excellent col- 
lection of minerals, fossils, precious stones, shells, and birds, 
which are tastefully arranged, and under the direction and 
superintendance of a skilful and intelligent man. The urns 
in this collection, made of the amathystine fluor of Derbyshire, 
present a variety of the best specimens of this beautiful mate- 
rial. Here are likewise many urns, vases, and figures, in 
statuary marble, from Italy, exquisitely sculptured. Amongst 
the fossib we noticed some very fine specimens, from Ashover, 


of martial pyrites, Imbedded in pellucid fluor. The golden- 
threaded fluor of Crich is another beautiful variety, and it is 
here manufactured into different articles. Mr. Mawe, who is 
well known from his elementary works on mineralogy, and his 
travels in the Brazils, is the proprietor of this museum, and 
it IS highly creditable both to his scientific knowledge and his 
taste. It is at all times open to the gratuitous admission of i 

strangers, a circumstance which evinces the truly liberal spirit j 

of its worthy proprietor. 

Besides the hotel where we had taken up our residence, 
there are two other excellent inns at Matlock Bath. The 
principal one is denominated the Old Bath, and it is a spacious 
building, capable of affording accommodations to nearly one 
hundred visitors. At this inn there is an excellent assembly- 
room, lighted with elegant glass chandeliers ; and a hot and a 
cold bath are included within the establishment The next 
inn in point of consequence is Saxton's Hotel, a commodious 
house pleasantly situated on a rising ground, nearly opposite 
to Wild Cat Tor. The site it occupies is an immense bed of 
tufa, in which various kiods of vegetable remains are found in 
a natural state. About eighteen years ago, when the workmen 
were digging the foundation for. the stables, they found the 
entire skeleton of a moose deer, an animal now unknown in 
this country : the horns and head are in the British Museum. 
In addition to the inns, there are many comfortable lodging- 
houses, the principal of which is kept by a Mrs. Evans, and 
known by the name of the Temple. This excellent house 
stands in a retired situation on the side of the lower part of 
M&sson, and is certainly one of the most delightful residences 
in the place. It is connected with the Old Bath by a spacious 
terBace carried along the side of the hill, which forms a most 
delightful promenade. Two or three billiard. tables, a circu- 
lating library, and a number of spar and petrifaction shops, 
constitute the other accommodations of Matlock Bath» 



Willersley House. — TTie late Sir Richard Arkwright. — Mouse 
Hole Mine.— Side Mine — Riber Top. — Moonlight in Matlock 
Dale. — Winter Excursion to Matlock. — CanonxCs Statue of 
the Mother of Buonaparte^-^His bust of Laura. — Smm 
Scenery at Matlock. 

1 HE gardens, the grounds, and the walks about Willersley 
House, once the residence of Sir Richard Arkwright, and now 
of his eldest son, are only open to the public two days in the 
week, namely, Monday and Thursday ; they are, however, 
always attractive, and they add to the pleasures, and vary the 
amusements of the company, that resort to Matlock Bath. 
The house is not shown, but I understand it contains 
several good pictures, particularly a lake scene, by Wright of 
Derby. The exclusion of promiscuous visitors from the inte- 
rior of Willersley House is no doubt a necessary and proper 
arrangement; the comfort of a domestic family, at a place so 
crowded with strangers as Matlock often is, could not other- 
wise be provided for. . The walks about this delightful resi- 
dence are carried along steep acclivities, amongst woods and 
plantations, that occasionally admit some fine distant views of 
the surrounding country. In their progress from the river's 
brink to the craggy summit of Wild Cat Tor, some new and 
unexpected beauty is exhibited at every turn, and from that 
romantic and fearml eminence the sublime scenery of Matlock 
Dale is revealed in all it^ glory. 

TTie late Sir Richard Arkwright, the builder of Willersley 
House, was a man of sreat mechanical talent, industry, and 
perseverance : he may mdeed be regarded as the parent of 
those improvements in the spinning of cotton which have 
converted machines into men, and almost superseded the ne- 
cessity' of manual labour. This extraordinary man was the 


youngest son of thirteen children, and a native of Preston in 
Lancashire. His parents were poor, and in early life he was 
apprenticed to a barber, a trade which he for some time fol- 
lowed at Wirksworth, in Derbyshire. About the time that he 
first turned his attention to mechanics, he formed an acquaint- 
ance with a clock-maker at Warrington, of the name of Kay : 
in conjunction with this man, the machine for which he first 
obtained a patent was made : other improvements succeeded ; 
and, as he penetrated more deeply into the arcana of mechan- 
ism, and became familiarised to its powers, he found himself 
in the situation of one who, having attained a distant horizon, 
beholds another still more remote, but equally accessible, before 
him. The exclusive use of his inventions he secured by letters 
patent, which did not always prove invulnerable. An inade- 
quate specification annulled his right in one instance ; and in 
another, the Court of King's Bench cancelled the patent 
which he had obtained, on the ground of his not being the 
original inventor. Ye^ notwithstanding the opposition his 
success excited, and the litigation in which he was involved, 
he amassed a princely fortune ; and, on presenting an address 
to his late Majesty, in the year 1 786, when he served the office 
of Sheriff of rfie county of Derby, the honour of knighthood 
was conferred upon him. At this time his health was Hblsx 
declining, and the close of his existence was embittered widi 
infirmity and disease. He died at Cromford, on the third of 
August, 1792, in the 60th year of his age. 

From Willersley House, we rambled over the hills to 
Matlock ; and on our way there, we passed a small lead mine, 
called Mouse Hole, where we found one poor solitary indi- 
vidual, apparently about eighty years of age, industriously 
pursuing his daily avocation. On enquiry, he told us that he 
worked the mine alone. He first let down a bucket, in which 
he put the ore, — descended the shaft in the usual way, — toiled 
until he had filled the measure, — then clambering out again, 
he drew up the produce, and deposited it in his little hovel at 
the mouth of the mine. Thus he continued the same routine 
of operations day after day, and year after year, with no one 
to assist him in his labours. The dull unvarying monotony 
of this man's emplojonent in no way aifected his spirits ; though 
old and poor he was naturally cheerful ; his little mine afibrded 
him but a scanty subsistence, yet, he observed, bad as it was, 
it was his best iriend, for it had supplied all his wants, which I 



were now so very few, ** that it was no* much matter whether the 
old mine turned out good or ill." I could go to bufFets with 
myself, for having at any time indulged in a repining spirit, 
when I think of this poor miner, delving in his little mouse- 
hole den, through eighty years of exbtence, without a feeling 
of discontent* 

Proceeding onward we came to a mine of more importance : 
its name is Side Mine^ and we were told by the workmen, 
that the lead obtained here is dug out of a toadstone stratum, 
and that the vein they were then pursuing was rich in ore. 
We procured specimens, which we r^arded as conclusive 
in favour of their statement ; but we were afterwards informed, 
that Mr. Mawe, and other scientific individuals, contend, that 
the matrix of the ore in this mine is limestone, which, being 
in a state of decomposition, has so much the appearance of 
toadstone, as to deceive common observers. Mr. White 
Watsoii, of Bakewell, who has made the various strata of his 
native country his peculiar study, and the miners, who may be 
presumed to be well acquainted with a material that so fre- 
quently occurs, strenuously maintain the former hypothesis, in 
opposition to the opinion of Mr. Mawe. The Seven Makes 
Mine, which \M situated on the contrary side of the river, on 
the north-east slope of Masson,ls worked in the same -stratum, 
and is equally productive of lead ore. 

In our walk to Matlock, we passed along the side of the hill 
to Riber Top, where there is a singular assemblage of stones, 
supposed to have been originally a druidical altar ; some anti- 
quaries say, a cromlech, which appears more probable : they 
are called Hirst Stones, and are not unworthy of a visit; since 
those who feel' no interest in these ancient reliques will be 
amply repaid for the toil and trouble of ascending this emi- 
nence by the prospect it commands. 

Evening was now fer advanced ; and we returned by the 
village of Matlock, and thence through its romantic dale to 
our hotel at the baths, where, on our arrival, we found the 
promenades deserted ; the lights were glimmering through tlie 
trees, and the musicians at the Old Bath were tuning their 
instruments for the evening's assembly. 

About half-past ten o'clock we anticipated the rising of the 

^ moon ; and, as I had long wished to witness the effect of a fine 

moonlight night in Matlock Dale, my wishes were now likely 

to be soon gratified. The deep shadows of night lay upon the 

s 2 


dale, and die obscurity that prevailed was full of grandeur. 
Shortly the -moon rose over the summit of Wild Cat Tor, 
and her softened light, thrown on the broad front of Mas- 
son, rendered the darkness below still more visible. We 
watched the progressive ascent of the chaste orb of eve, and 
felt a delightful interest in marking the western side of the 
dale, gradually losing its darkness, as she rose above the op- 
posite hills ; it was a beauteous picture, and I gladly resigned 
myself to the illusions it produced. A stillness and a silence, 
that were fek, pervaded the dale, save that, as we passed the 
New Bath, the rush of the water from the cascade, near the 
mills below, came upon ' the ear. It was impossible, at tliis 
particular^ time, not to feel delighted with a sound, that, during 
the day, when a multiplicity of busy objects were abroad, we 
had passed unnoticed* 

Nature is fall of beautifal sounds ; the rush of a river, — the 
lapse of a gentle current, — the hum of the bee amongst the 
flowers, — the chirp of the grasshopper, — the low of cattle 
in the fields, — the neighing of the horse as he roams at large, 
— and, perhaps, more than all, the song of the robin, when in 
autumn he pours his sweetest strains from among the fading 
leaves of the season, — are sounds that, in connexion with the 
living pictures nature spreads before us with a lavish hand, 
have a powerfal influence on the mind. 

The following morning we bade adieu to Matlock, where 
we terminated a pleasant summer's excursion. 

Anxious to. behold the scenery of this romantic place, when 
the trees and rocks, and every object in the dale, were covered 
with snow, I visited it on the first day of the year 1 820. The 
frost, during the preceding night, had been uncommonly 
severe — the thermometer, at nine o'clock in the morning, 
stood at 26** below fireezing; a day of clearest sunshine, and a 
scene of beauty and splendour not often paralleled, succeeded. 
On my way to Matlock, I passed through Abbey Dale and 
Chatsworth Park : the trees and hedges were covered with 
brilliant incrustations, their verdant clothing had disap- 
peared, and a white fc^iage, light and elegant as the down on 
%he cygnet's breast, lay on every stem and branch; and, 
when the rays of the sun glanced through the trees, they 
seemed hung with leaves of transparent crystal, which, in 
beauty and splendour rivalled the skill of the lapidary. 

I stopped at Chatsworth House on my way through the 


park, and had the gratification of seing Canova's celebrated 
figure of the Mother of Buonaparte. It is an exquisitely- 
finished statue, and powerfully suggests a recollection of some 
of the most beautiful works of art : the natural ease and grace 
of the figure, and the taste and disposition of the drapery, are 
inimitably fine; the hands and arms, particularly the left, 
might form studies for future sculptors, but the face and head 
did not altogether please me : this remark is not applicable to 
the features, but to the sculptural expression of the counter 
nance, which has less of nature about it than marble, inflexible 
as it is, is capable of expressing, when touched by the chisel 
of such a man as Canova. A pedestal, in the same apart- 
ment with this fine specimen of modern art, is surmounted 
with a bust of Petrarch's Laura, by the same sculptor, which 
is full of excellence, and has a most touching expression of 
countenance, where loveliness, purity, tenderness, and affection, 
are divinely blended together. This little work (for so it 
may be termed, in reference to the space it occi:q)ies,) gave 
me a more exalted idea of the genius and talent of Canova 
than any of his more elaborate productions had previously 

In my short stay at Chatsworth, I saw the antique columns 
of porphyry and granite, the va^s, marbles, and fossils, 
which the Duke of Devonshire had collected during his late 
visit to the Continent I had likewise the gratification of 
hearing him express his intention of erecting a spacious mu- 
seum for sculpture, &c., at this noble mansion, which he 
proposes making the receptacle of some of the finest works of 
art, and the most valuable productions of antiquity.* 

After spending a few hours at Chatsworth, and thanking 
the Duke for a sight of his Canova, aiid the many valuable 
acquisitions he had recently made in Italy, and transplanted 
to the Palace of the Peak, I proceeded through Darjey Dale 
to Matlock. Crossing the bridge, the scenery at the entrance 
into the dale was eminently beautiful; light elegant trees, 

* This important addition to the ** Palace; of the Peak" is now in progress, 
and the whole of Chatsworth House is undergoing a complete renovation. 
Jeffery Wyatt, Esq. is the architect. His fine taste and professional skill 
are here employed on a diffiicult and niagnificent work. The new part is 
not designed to render thevdiole an uniform edifice, but the style or archi' 
tecture has a general correspondence. Some years will elapse before the 
whole is finished, but the new erections even now abundantly evince how 
grand and imposing^ this noble structure is intended to be. 



feathered with snow, and sparkling with frost, intermingled 
with dark branches of yew, shooting from amongst the crags, 
crested the rocky barrier before me. From the side facing 
Matlock Bank, the summit of the rock beetles over its sides, 
and its extreme verge was fringed with a cornice of brilliant 
icicles, which looked like a coronet on the brow of winter, and 
glittered amongst the branches, that hung like a filmy net- 
work over the race of the rock. Proceeding along the dale, 
I passed the High Tor : dark rolled the river at the base of 
this giant Tor, in one unbroken current, that happily assimi- 
lated with the grandeur of the scene; below, some huge 
masses of stones, capped with snow, interrupted the progress 
of the stream, round which it impetuously rushed, then circled 
into turbulent eddies below. 

A little beyond Saxton's Hotel, on the opposite side of 
the river, is fVild Cat Tor. Though the entrance into the dale 
had greater beauty, yet here the scene had more grandetur : 
the rocks have a wilder character, and the trees at their base 
are more magnificent A few straggling pines and yews were 
scattered amongst the topmost crags ; on these the snow hung 
heavily. It was a wintiy picture; and the ruins of a mill near, 
that had just been consumed by fire, the dark half-burnt 
beams and raflers of which were r^idered more conspicuous 
by the snow that lay upon them, improved its sublimity. 

About a quarter of a mile further on the dale, the road 
passes through Scarthing Rock. From the jutting crags 
that hung in masses over our heads, long branches projected, 
feathered over with frost and snow ; from others, huge icicles 
depended, as beautiful and more transparent than the stalac- 
tites of the caverns of the Peak. Such were the adornments 
of the two sides of this rocky portal. The summits were 
crested with trees ;• and, through the vista between, a con- 
fined landscape was admitted, in which a road and a rocky 
bank, covered with light downy foliage, were the principal 
features; whilst beyond we had a glimpse into distance, 
amongst woods and hills that seemed but the doubtful and 
shadowy resemblances of what they were. A sofl snow 
shower was floating about them ; their individual forms were 
indistinct, but not obliterated; and the fine filmy veil that 
was cast over them softened down £he harsh asperity of lines, 
and threw an harmonious uncertamty over the whole. A 
scene of greater and rarer beauty but seldom occurs. 


I had now attained the object of my visit to Matlock Bath, 
and, therefore, during a heavy fall of snow, that a little im- 
peded my progress, I returned to Bakewell, where I passed 
the night, and from thence, on the following day, to Sheffield, 
after a short absence of three days. 


s 4 





LiCLst Excursion into Derbyshire. — Reflections on the tvord 
Last. — Meersbrook House. — Samuel Shore, Esq* — Old 
House at Norton Lees. — Walk from Heeley to Norton. — 
Norton Hall and Park. — Norton House and the Oakes. — 
Manor of Norton. 

J\1y last excursion into Derbyshire was made chiefly for the 
purpose of exploring -the scenery of the River Dove, and 
completing my original design of ^^ travelling through the 
mountainous parts of Derbyshire, and visiting eveir place 
worthy of notice in the High and Low Peak ; especially those 
sequestered spots which lie within the dales that determine the 
course of the three principal rivers, the Wye, the Derwent, 
and the Dove." Every place, indeed, through which I may 
pass in my progress to, or my return from, the picturesque 
windings of this rpmantic stream, is entitled to attention ; pro- 
viding that any thing connected with it is sufficiently im- 
portant to elicit observation, and compensate for the delay it 
may occasion. This present excursion, will, if I may be per- 
mitted to use the expression, be more erratic than the preceding 
ones, and embrace a much greater extent and variety of ground. 
To reach the river Dove, a considerable part of the county, 
extending from Yorkshire to the borders of Staffordshire, must 
be traversed ; in doing which, the most interesting road will 
be selected, and my return will include some objects hot com- 
prehended within* diat part of the county usually denominated 
the Peak, but which by a Derbyshire tourist cannot be entirely 

I have called this my last excursion. What a train of 
serious reflections and associations are excited by this little 
monosyllable ; there is something in the word itself, that checks 
the playfulness of every lighter thought, and gives a chastened 
and sober tone to feeling. My various perambulations along 


the heathy moors, and through the dales of Derbyshire, have 
been accompanied with so much of actual enjoyment, that the 
idea of having seen them for the last time cannot be contem- 
plated without sensations of regret. Bidding a final adieu to 
scenes rendered dear and interesting by pleasing recollections, 
with a feeling that we may never more behold them, is some- 
what like taking an everlasting farewell of a friend whom we 
sincerely love, whose kindness and companionship have en- 
deared existence, and strewn a few perishable roses amongst 
the thorns of life. 

Early on a fine May morning my companion and myself 
commenced our. tour ; and crossing Meersbrook at the little 
village of Heeley, we entered Derbyshire about one mile from 
the town of ShdBSeld. The river Sheaf was on our right, 
babbling and sparkling amongst shades of elms, poplars, and 
alders. Tlie moment we were admitted within the boundary 
line of this interesting county, we felt the beauty of the sur- 
rounding scenery. A noble sheet of water, of many acres, 
lay on our right ; beyond, rising above an intervening screen 
of lofty- foliage, which was vividly reflected on the surface of 
the water, part of the town of Sheffield appeared, backed 
with a range of thickly-wooded hills. Sudi materials can 
hardly be so ill disposed as not to produce a pleasing picture ; 
here tbiey are happily combined, and constitute a scene richly 
diversified and full of imposing objects. 

As we proceeded, on our le^ plaasandy situated on a rising 

Sound, amongst croups of trees, stands Meersbrook House, 
e residence of Samuel Shore, Esq. This venerable and 
worthy man was born in the town of Sheffield ; he is, there- 
fore, a native of Yorkshire, but the greatest part of his life 
has been passed in Derbyshire. In 1760, the year that his 
late Majesty George the Third succeeded to the throne, he 
filled the office of sheriff for the county. He then resided at 
Norton Hall, which is now occupied by his grandson, Sydney 
Shore, Esq. Afierwards, he became a magistrate for the 
West Riding of the County of York, in which capacity he 
was associate with the Rev. James Wilkinson, late Vicar of 
Sheffield, Walter Osboume, Esq., and others, who held their 
meetings for the business of the magistracy at Sheffield. 
Mr. Shore is a Protestant dissenter, and he had been several 
years actively employed as a magistrate, when the various 
, classes of dissenters in the kingdom presented petitions to 
Parliament for a repeal of the Test Laws. Being a sincere 


friend both to civil and religious liberty, he cordially united 
in the prayer of these petitions. The application was unsac-* 
cessful) and Mr. Shore, in consequence, deemed it his duty to 
discontinue his magisterial services, as a decided testimony 
against the existence of those Laws, which he regarded as 
intolerant, impolitic, unjust, and inconsistent with the free 
principles of the British Constitution. His nice sense of in- 
tegrity and propriety on all matters connected with his duties 
as a man, and his &ith as a Christian, influenced his decision, 
and he retired into private life accompanied with the esteem 
of all who can admire goodness, and know how to venerate 
the dictates of conscience* This gentleman possesses the 
Norton Lees estate, which in the reign of Henry the Seventh 
was the property of the family of the Bljrthes of Norton ; two 
of whom arrived at great honours in the church ; one of 
them, John, being the Bishop of Salisbury, and the other, 
Geoffrey, Bishop of Litchfield and Coventry. 

The old mansion at Norton Lees, once occupied by this 
family, is still in existence; and it is one of those ancient 
structures which serve to keep alive the recollection of the 
domestic architecture of our forefathers : it is therefore not 
only a picturesque, but an interesting object. At a very early 
period our Saxon progenitors built their houses with wood, 
but shortly after the Norman Conquest plaster was intermixed 
with timber, and subsequently the basement story was made 
of stone. The upper apartments were so constructed as to 
project over the lower, and considerable ornament, both in 
carved wood and plaster, was introduced about the doors, the 
windows, and the roof of the building. The house at Norton 
Lees is a good specimen of this early style of architecture, 
and it has been supposed by some to be as old as the reign of 
Richard the Second : that it yfa» erected many years after this 
period can hardly be doubted. Though composed of stone 
and wood, it is evidently not one of the earliest structures of 
this description : it is indeed highly probable that it was built 
in the reign of the Seventh or Eighth Henry, but Certainly 
not sooner. At this period the halls or &mily mansions of 
the yeomanry of the country had nearly all the same general 
character. Previously, but little stone was used in any of them. 
One of the oldest of these structures at present in the king- 
dom, is Moreton Hall in Cheshire, which though a highly- . 
ornamented building, is entirely composed of wood, and was 
erected at a time before stone was generally used even for the 


lower apartments. The earliest date about this ancient remain 
is 1559. 

Anxious to preserve the remembrance of the old house at 
Norton Lees, I have obtained a sketch of it from the pencil 
of Mr. E. Blore, an artist of great eminence in his profession, 
and who in his peculiar style of drawing happily unites pic- 
torial effect with the most scrupulous fidelity. Tlie man who 
loves to look into the past, to pore over the history of former 
periods, and become acquainted with the modes of life, and 
the manners and customs of his forefathers, cannot but feel 
deeply indebted to that art, which, when these curious remains 
have b^ome venerable with age, and picturesque with decay, 
arrests them in their fall, commits their forms to canvass or to 
copper, and preserves them in our recollection long after they 
have disappeared from among us. Happy art ! that can dis- 
appoint time of its prey, prolong the remembrance of forms 
that now exist, and transmit them through successive gener- 
ations. The arts are the handmaidis of our pleasures, they 
administer to some of our most refined enjoyments, and give 
an elegance and charm to life. 

In our walk to Norton we left Norton Lees a short distance 
on our left, and passed through some sweet scenery about half 
a mile from Heeley, at a place called Smithy Wood Bottom. 
This retired spot attracted the particular attention of Da yes, 
during his tour into Yorkshire, and it is more commended by 
him than any other in the vicinity of Sheffield. He saw it on 
a fine summer's evening, when all the parts came in masses, 
and the lights and shadows wei'e not only favourable but 
strikingly imposing. Strange that such a maii as Dayes could 
pass through the fine country around Sheffield and see no 
beauty but in Smithy Wood Bottom. 

The walk from Heeley to Norton, by the way of Woodseats 
and Bole Hill, commands a series of delightful views over the 
adjacent country. In one direction the hills and woods of 
Beauchief and Ecclesal enrich the middle distance of the 
landscape, and the heathy moors of Derbyshire terminate the 
prospect. In another. Banner Cross and the woods about 
Sheffield, extending from Wincobank to Grenoside, and from 
thence to Wentworth and Wamclifie, are pleasing features in 
the extensive and beautifully-diversified landscapes which this 
walk in its progress presents. Having attained the summit of 
the hill that overlooks Abbey Dale, and paused a while to gaze 
upon the scenery before us, we proceeded to Norton, one of 


the pleasantest and most respectable villages in any part of 
Derbyshire. This secluded place is more neat and trim than 
formerly : it has lost part of its rural appearance by the en- 
closure of the many litde verdant spots widi which it was once 
adorned. The VUlage Green, the scene of many a mirthful 
sport, has disappeared, and every plot of ground is now se- 
curely hemmed in with fences. I question not the policy of 
such proceedings — they may be wise and useful, perhaps ne- 
cessary, but they have devastated many a lovely scene, and 
impaired the beauty of many a rural picture. 

There are several good houses in this village, particularly 
Norton Hall, which has lately been rebuilt When Mr. Shore, 
the father of the present proprietor of Norton Hall, first pos- 
sessed it, it was an ancient stone mansion, its principal front 
having a projection at each end and a recess in the centre* 
In an engraving of it now before me, which was published in 
1793, from a drawing by Malton, the front of the old build- 
ing is exhibited, together with die whole of the western wing, 
which was erected by the late Joseph Offley, Esq., who had it 
in contemplation to rebuild the remainder, and convert the 
whole into a modem mansion. This, however, was reserved 
for the present proprietor, Samuel Shore, Esq., to accomplish, 
who has not only carried the plans of his predecessors into 
execution, but has greatly extended and laid open the grounds 
about the house, and formed th6 whole into a range of beau- 
tiful park scenery, which is adorned with seats, alcoves, and 
occasional poetic inscriptions. 

Through a plantation that borders these pleasant grounds, 
a circuitous walk, which belts the whole park, has been car- 
ried, to an extent of about two miles. Near the principal 
front of the house, where cultivated beauty most prevails, it 
enters into an open shrubbery composed of trees of the freshest 
and most luxuriant foliage, amongst which tufts of flowers, 
woodbines, and roses, are plenteously scattered. This walk 
leads to the Flower Garden, which is a rich collection of sweets 
that Flora herself might be proud to own. Leaving this lovely 
spot, the path proceeds through a grove of trees, whose tall 
trunks admit, from the many openings between, a distant view 
of more closely tangled foliage. It afterwards passes along the 
western verge of the park, crosses a small part of a verdant 
slope, and men dips into a romantic wood, which covers Iwo 
sides of a deep and picturesque dell. On the right of the walk 
a sylvan grotto has been erected, composed of roots, trunks, 

272 NOllTbN PARK. 

and branches of trees. At the back of a seat within, some 
poetic lines of considerable merit, by Mrs. Stokes, of Chester- 
field, are inscribed, but the composition is too long to be quoted 
here. From this place the walk is continued by the side of a 
fine sheet of water, where another wood-house is erected. In 
this secluded spot we observed the following lines, which I have 
before noticed as part of an inscription on a gravestone in 
Tideswell church-yard : — 

** Contemplate, as the sun declines. 

Thy death with deep reflection^ 
And when again he rising shines. 

Thy day of resurrection." 

The sylvan grot in which these lines are written should have 
fiiced the west ; having nearly a northern aspect, they are not 
so appropriately situated as they might have been. From this 
place we returned again into the wood, and made our way over 
the trunks of fallen trees to another walk, near the margin of 
the brook at the bottom of the dell, where, agreeably to the 
following poetic invitation fi*om the pen of Miss Shore, we 
rested a few minutes before we proceeded to the higher part 
of the grounds : — 

<* Here, stranger, rest thee tn this cahn retreat. 
Secure from winter's storms and summer's heat. 
Let calm serenity possess thy mind. 
And in this mossy seat contentment find." 

From this ** mossy seat*' we pursued our way to where the 
two sides of Uie deli closely approach each other, and form a 
deep glen shadowed over with dark yew trees, but enlivened 
with a little stream of water which has made a channel down 
the steep side of a rocky bank, whence it is precipitated into 
the hollow below. A long flight of steps leads from this part 
of the wood into the plantations above, which bound the 
northern extremity of the park. Here there is another alcove 
or resting-place for pedestrians, which on a clear summer's day 
affords a delightful shelter from heat and sunshine ; but spring 
was now but Uttle advanced, and it looked chill and uninviting 
within : we therefore passed it, and returned across the open 
part of the grounds to the west front of the house. Norton 
Park is well stored with stately trees : the oak and elm, and 
particularly the ash, find kindly nurture in the soil, and flourish 
in health and beauty, and about one hundred yards fi*om the 



house, by the side of the carriage-road that leads to Litde 
Norton, there is a noble beech, which extends its ample 
branches over an area of the circumference of more than 
seventy yards, and is of itself a picture for an artist I have 
stood beneath the leafy canopy of this magnificent tree, and 
have sometimes traced with curious interest the various 
branches, from their connexion with the parent trunk, through 
numberless intermingling ramifications and intricate inter- 
sections, until their individuality was entirely lost, and their 
hundred arms terminated amongst a mass of surrounding 
foliage. This was certainly an idle anmsement, yet it was one, 
and there are moments when the mind is prepared to extract 
pleasure from the mpst trivial circumstances, and derive in- 
struction from appearances that on other occasions would pass 
entirely unnoticed ; when it 

'* Finds tonnes in trees^ books in the running streams^ 
Sermons in stones^ and good in every thing." 

From Norton Park many openings occur that admit distant 
views of the country around. To the west, the hills of 
Beauchief are singularly beautiful^ both in form and clothing, 
and Ecclesal Wood, declining gently into the vale from 
the right of the landscape, is a very pleasing feature in the 
scene ; beyond, the heathy moors of Derbyshire fill up the 
distance, which is often rich in colouring and picturesque with 
light and shadow. From these grounds some of the finest 
effects of nature are often presented when the sun is sinking 
in the west : at this particular time of the day, the moors 
that terminate the prospect are often seen reposing in a deep 
purple shadow, while the nearer objects, touched with the rays 
of the setting sun, are brilliantly lighted up with his departing 

At the short distance of one hundred yards from Mr. Shore's 
park wall, is Norton House, a good old mansion, which in the 
year 1674? was the residence of Samuel Hallowes, Esq., who 
was then sheriff* of the county, and afterwards of Robert 
Newton, Esq. Some years past this structure suffered con- 
siderably from neglect, but since it has been in the occupation 
of John Read, Esq. it has shared a better fate. The house, 
the gardens, and the grounds, have all been greatly improved 
by the taste of their present possessor. On the left of the 
lawn, near the front of Norton House, stands a fine old.bak, 


reneraUe with years and highly pictureque in decay. It 
might have lived and Bourished ih ^ green old age" another 
fcentury or tWo, had not tke lightnings of heaven blighted its 
branches and shivered a part of its miffhty trunk. The storm 
that moved over it has passed away^ but traces of its devast- 
ation are left behind. 

About ik quarter of a mile from the village of Norton is the 
Ofikesi a large old house that overlooks an extensive prospect, 
iich vrith wocf^f and hills, and dales. This mansion is the 
property of Sir William Bagshawe; it is now unoccupied, 
and Xhe^^mptoms f^ disorder and neglect are but too apparent 

. in its borders* * Neat the Oakes stood Hazelbarrow Hall, a 
Tolerable edifice^ which for centuries was the seat of the an- 
ci^t family of the Sellokes, who retained possession of it 
until the reign of Elizabeth. It was lately occupied as a farm- 
boUs^, but it has now given way to a more mcdem structure. 
Sudb has been the &te of this old mansion, which for ten 
generations was £he residence of one of the first families in 
this part of Derbyshire. 

Ntirton is an extensive manor : it comprehends not only the 
whole parish of Norton, but the adjoining village of Cold 
Aston, which is in the parish of Dronfield. This manor, the 
hall, and the estates, belonged for a considerable period of 
time to a family of the name of Bullock, who in consequence 
t>f ikxix attachment to the royal cause, and the exertions which 
tiiey made in the support of King Charles^ were much reduced 
\xi their property at the time of the Restoration. William 
Bullock, Esq. who resided at Norton Hall, raised a troop of 

, horsey and equipped them at his own expence, for the service 
tof his sovereign, while his neighboiu*, one of the Blythes of 
Norton Lees, was a captain in the parliamentary army. In 
consequence of the necessities of the Bullocks, Cornelius 
Clarke, Esq. of Cutthorpe, or Ashgate, in Brampton, near 
Chesterfield, who had ia large mortgage on the estate in the 

* The jpassBges printed in italics have given great ofience to the pro- 
prietors of the Oakes. The writer has called that an M housey which is 
certainly not a fuw on]e ; be has stated that it was tmoccvpiedy when nobody 
lived in it % and Uiat the g^rounds around it were of consequence meglected 
tndindUorder. Whalt mighty ofience there is in all this, he is at a loss to 
conjecture^ He had intended to have annexed the very angry and un- 
worthy epistle he Iws rck^ived on this occasion to this note, together with 
his reply; but this he declines to do; not on fais4>wn account, but from a 
feeUsg of reii^Qt to one part of the family of the Oakes. 


year 1668, purchased the hall and manor of Norton, and a 
cx>nsiderable part of the remaining estate. Having no issue, 
he left the whole of his Brampton and Norton property to his 
nephew, Robert OflBey, of Norwich, who was the son of his 
second sister, Ursula Clarke. His son Stephen was the first 
of the family of the Offleys who resided at Norton Hall : his 
oldest son, Joseph Offley, also of Norton Hall, was the 
father of Mrs. Shore and Mrs. Edmunds, by his wife, Mary 
Bohun, from Suffolk. In the division of the Derbyshire 
property belonging to the &mily of the Offleys between the 
two co-heiresses, the Norton estate descended to Mrs. Shor^ 
and the estate at Brampton to Mrs. Edmunds. . 

T 2 



Memoir qfChantrey^ the Sctdptor. 

Ik the p)*ecedihg section I have observed that the parish of 
Norton . was the birth*place of two brothers who arrived at 
high honours in the church, one beihg the Bishop of Salis- 
bury, and the other the Bishop of Coventry and Litchfield; 
the lattef of whom built a chapel at Norton, erected an ala- 
baster tomb within it to the memory of his parents, and 
appointed a chanti^ for them. This pleasant village has 
lixewise the honour of being the birth-place of another dis- 
tinguished individual, FranciIs Chantrey, Esq* R. A. 
Sculptor^ P.R.S., Lon.& Ed., F.S. A., M.G.S., and Member 
of the Roman Academy of St Luke ; a tnan whose extraordi- 
nary talents have pkced him at an early period of life at the 
summit of his professi(m» 

F. Chantrey wAs bom on the 7th of April, 1782. His an- 
cestors were in respectable but not opulent circumstances, and 
some heritable possessions still belong to the family. His 
&ther was involved in considerable pecuniary losses, chiefly 
by the conduct of a brother whom he endeavoured to serve 
beyond the extent of his means. He saw the property which 
his fo^e&th^rs had accumulated, progressively departing 
ftt>m him, his spirits became depressed, and he died in the 
|)iritne of life^ when his only child, the subject of this memoir, 
was sciircely twelve years old. After his death, his widow 
)rem^ined in the occupation of a farm which had been in 
tiie family through a long series of years; and although 
Chantrey's mother, who is still living to enjoy the fame of 
her son, was left in nairoW circumstances, she yet contrived 
to bestow upon him as liberal an education as her lunited 
ineans would admit, ^ing an only child he was naturally 
die object of th^ tenderest care and most anxious solicitude 
<^ his surviving parent, who retained him about her person 


until he was nearly eighteen years old. He was intended for 
agricultural pursuits, but his employment in attending to 
the concerns of a fitrm was but litde suited to his views and 
inclinations. At this period of life he is said to have had it 
in contemplation to study the law, under a respectable soli* 
citor at Sheffield. This is an error into which his biogra- 
phers have fallen, in consequence of the term factor being 
understood to have the same meaning in Sheffield as it has in 
Scotland,, where the memoir of thb distinguished artist was 
first published. To the business of a factor, or inland mer* 
chant; his views were first directed, but he soon discovered 
that his inclinations had a different tendency. The drudgery 
of a factor's warehouse, the calculation of per centages and 
discounts, the systematic arrangements and nice methodical 
management which such a pursuit requires, the mind of 
Chantrey was but ill fitted to encounter; he therefore relin- 
quished this intention, and apprenticed himself to a Mr. Ram- 
say, a carver and gilder, in the town of Sheffield ; yet even in 
this business hie soon found that he had but few opportunities 
of indulging that feeling for the arts, which had now so taken 
possession of his mind, that it might be said to have become 
the animating principle of his being, and the sole impulse his 
heart obeyed. 

At this time Mr. J. R. Smith, mezzotint-engraver and 
portrait-painter, visited SheJKeld, professionally as an artist, 
and being occasionally at the house of Mr. Ramsay, Chantrejr's 
devotion to the study and practice of drawing and modelling 
did not escape his observation. He was the first to perceive 
and appreciate his genius ; he took pleasure in giving him 
instruction, and, some years afterwards, the pupil having 
become a proficient in art, pei-petuated the recollection of 
his master in ofie of the finest busts that ever came firom his 

He, however, experienced considerable difficulty in making 
an advantageous use of the lessons thus obtained. His mas- 
ter supposing, and perhaps with reason, that Chantrejr's pre- 
dilection for the arts would make him a less profitable servant, 
was but little inclined to promote his pursuits. The whole of 
his leisure hours, however, were devoted to his favourite 
studies, and chiefly passed in a lonely room in the neighbour- 
hood of his master's house, which he hired at the rate of a 
few pence weekly. 

It may easily be supposed firom^the preceding detail, that 

T S 


the connexion between Chantrey and Ramsay was not of long 
continitanGe ; they separated betore the expiration of the term 
of his apprenticeship^ a compensation being made by Ghantrey 
foi the remainder of his time. Being now left to prosecute 
his studies in his own way, he visited London, and attended 
the school of the Royal Academy at Somerset House, but wfts 
nevet regularly admitted a student 

Painting and sculpture^ the sister arts, to one of which he 
resolved to dedicate his talents, were now presented to his 
choic^ but he was undetermined, and some weeks passed 
Bway befdre he attempted either. Painting had only a s^ 
ccmdary place in his affections, but he regaiHled it as a surer 
source of profitable employment than sculpture ; he therefore 
hesitated long before he made his election. Perplexed and 
embarrassed, he left the students' room at Somerset House^ 
returned to his own apartments, " resolved and resolved," 
spread his canvas before him, prepared his pallet, took up his 
pencils, and began to paint : landscape, portrait, and history, 
bv turns attracted his notice and mingled with his contem- 
plations, but the sculpture of the Academy was continually 
before him, and the images it presented became associated 
with all his thoughts* This state of suspense prevented him 
from using the talents he then possessed, and so long as it 
continued he accomplished nothing. During this period of 
doubt and indecision he visited the Elgin marbles : diese per* 
feet resemblances of nature and simplicity made a strong im* 

Eression on his mind ; the more he examined them the more 
e became convinced of their truth and their beauty ; they 
confirmed him in his own noti<ms of excellence, and he re- 
visited them' daily with increased delight. In the intervals 
that filled up the space between his successive visits to these 
exquisite productions of art, he repeatedly attempted to paint, 
but the works of Greece, simple in design, — beautiful in 
execution^ — imposing and grand in efiect,-^were stiU present to 
him: diey influenced his choice, and determined him to become 
a sculptor. 

Chantrey's first work in marble was a bust of the Rev. 
James Wilkinson, which he executed for the parish church at 
Sheffield. He entered on this undertaking with all the con^ 
fidence of conscious talent, and the assurance of success, even 
though previously he had never been employed on marble^ 
and never used either a hammer or chisel on any material cdf 
more difficult workmanship than a picture firame. Mont- 


gomery the poet, the author of the Wanderer ttf SwUxerland, 
i^c. beautifully alludes to this early production in a speech de^ 
livered in the town of Sheffield, in December 1823, on the 
establishment of a Philosophical and literary Society therf^ 
Having tniefly noticed several individuals, natives of the 
place, whose talents and acquirements in science and literatui^ 
were an honour to the town, be adds — 

^^ Mr. Chantrey was not indeed a native of the townt but 
having been bom at Norton in Derbyshire, fisur miles hence> 
within the limits of this corp(»ution, he belcmgs to us, and is 
one of us. Whatever previous circumstances, very early iu 
life, may have taught his eye to look at forms as subjects for 
his thoughts, his pencil, or his hand, it was in Sheffield, after 
he had been called hither from the honourable occupation c^ 
husbandry,^ which kings and the awful fathers of mankind of 
old did not disdain to follow ; — it was in Sheffidd that his 
genius first began to e^rcise its plastic powers, both in paint* 
ing and sculpture; — it was in Sheffield that the glorious 
alternative was presented to him, either to be nvicmgst tbt 
greatest painters of the age, or to be alone as the greatest of 
its sculptors ; — it was in Sheffield, likewise, after he had made 
the wiser choice, that he produced his first work in marble; 
— and Sheffield possesses that work, and, I trusty will pos* 
sess it, till the hand of time, atom by atom, shall have crumbled 
it into dust. 

<^ This assuredly was the most interesting crisis of the 
artist's life, the turning period that should decide the bias of 
his future course* Having employed ^ martde-mason to 
rough-hew the whole, he commenced his task, with a hand 
trembling but determined, an eye keenlv iooking.after the 
effect of every stroke, and a mind flusheq with anticipation, 
yet fluctuating often between hope and ^<eu*, doubt, agony, 
and rapture ; perplexities that always accOtnpany conscious but 
untried powers in the effi^rt to do some great thing ; he pur« 
sued his solitary toil day by day, and night by night, till the 
form being slowly developed, at length the countenance cam^ 
out of the stone, and looked its parent in the face. To know 
his joy a man must have been such a parent. The throes and 
anguish, however, of that first birth of his genius in marble 
enabled that genius thenceforward, with comparative ease^ \o 
give being and body to its mightiest conceptions. 

" Were I a rich man, who could purchase the costly 
labours^ of such a master, 1 almost think that X could forego 

T 4 


the pride of possessing the most successful eiFort of his later 
hand, for the noble pleasure of calling my own, the precious 
bust in yonder church. Works of genius and of taste are not 
to be valued solely according to their abstract excellence as 
such, but they may become inestimably more dear to the 
heart, as well as interesting to the eye, in proportion as they 
awaken thought, feeling, recollection, sympathy. Whether in 
alliance with the subject itself, the circumstances under which 
it was undertaken, or the conflict and triumph of the artist in 
achieving his design, in all these points the plain but admira- 
ble monument berore us transcends every other that has come, 
or can come, from the same hand ; since the experienced and 
renowned proficient can never again be placed in a trial so 
' severe, with an issue so momentous, as the youthful aspirant, 
unknown and unpractised, had to endure in this first essay of 
his skill on the block that might eternise his name or crush his 
hopes for ever. This, I believe, is the true history of the out- 
set of Chantrey, a native x>f this neighbourhood, who was des- 
tined thenceforward, at his pleasure, to give to marble all but 
life; for 

« « What fine chisel 
Could ever yet — cut breath.* 

Shaksp£abe'8 Wi$Uer*t Tale** 

In recurring to the earlier productions of Chantrey, his 
cblossal bust of Satan, the first important work which he ex- 
hibited at the Royal Academy, deserves particular notice. 
That sublime passage in Paradise Lostj where Milton's ** not 
less than archangd fallen," lifting his malignant brow to 
heaven, pours forth his impious address to the sun, — 

** To thee I cdl, but with no friendly voice 
And add thy name, O Sun ! to tell thee how - 
I hate thy beams ;" % 

ajSbrded our voung sculptor a noble opportunity for the dis- 
play of his talents. Defiance, hatred, and despair, are per- 
sonified with great force and sublimity in this magnificent 
head, the whole is finely imagined, and the point of time 
selected by the artist is admirably adapted both for picturesque 
effect and grandeur of expression. There is character in the 
very hair uiat crowns the head of this bust, and the serpent 
writhing his folds amongst it, forms an appropriate emblematic 


diadem for thie arch-fiend.^ This was a daring and a great 
e£Port, and as the work of a young artist it excited astonish- 
ment and obtained applause. This fine bust has never been 
executed in marble. 

It was many years the fate of Chantrey to experience what 
most men of genius have more or less endured, the pains of 
hope deferred, and expectations disappointed. I have some- 
times heard him say, when recurring to the discouraging cir- 
cumstances and the difficulties which he had to encounter 
when young in art, and totally unknown beyond the place 
where he lived, that for upwards of six years spent in his 
professional pursuits, he did not receive as many pounds. But 
let young artists be cheered by his enduring perseverance, 
which conducted him through twelve long years of silent la- 
bour and privation, to fame and eminence. He modelled in 
a little retired room, his name and his works known only to a 
few, and his limited means of subsistence assisted by occasion- 
ally carving on wood ; yet he never despaired ; and here I may 
use his own words of encouragement to a young artist : *^ Let 
none be alarmed because fame is' slow of foot ; men can no 
more prevent genius from being known than they can hinder 
the sun from shining." 

When Chantrey was struggling with difficulties and scarcely 
known as an artist, John Home Tooke employed him to model 
his bust. It was sent to the Royal Academy, and exhibited 
in plaster : but he sustained no loss from the humble materials 
of which it was composed. The ungracious task of arranging 
the various productions in this branch of art had devolved 
upon Nollekens, and to no man could the duty of conferring 
distinction on merit have been more properly confided. He 
placed the work of the young sculptor, who was soon destined 
to excel . himself in this characteristic line of art, not on the 
shelf (an emphatic expression, denoting beyond the reach of 
the eye,) nor in a dark corner, but between two marble busts 
of his own, and in a situation so conspicuous, that the peculiar 
excellencies of this speaking portrait could not be overlooked. 
Joseph Nollekens is now beyond the reach of human praise ; 
he is gone to " that bourne from whence no traveller returns ;" 
but he lived to see and rejoice in the fame of the artist, whose 
works he had the taste to admire, and the generosity to rank 
with his own. Commissions to the amount of many thousand 
pounds immediately followed- That era in the life of Chantrey 


had now arrived which may be regarded as the commencement 
of his miezampled careen 

*' There is a Ude in the affidrs of men. 
Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune ji 
Omitted, all the voyage of their liyes 
Is bound in shallows and In miseries." 


From this time Chantrey's busts attracted more attention 
than is usually bestowed on such productions^ They were 
universally admired for their identity of likeness, and still 
more for that happy expression of character which he never 
fails to attain. More of human nature never invested pro* 
ductions of art : an unaffected simplicityy-so strikingly observa* 
ble in the manners and character of the artist himself, is the 
soul and charm of all his works. His Home Tooke, John 
Raphael Smith, West, Wordsworth, and Sharpe, which may 
be classed among his earlier productions, would justify a higher 
strain of commendation than is here indulged. The many 
excellent busts he has since exhibited, have established his 
reputation as a sculptor in that particular walk of art, where 
in this country few have moved with eminent success. His 
statue of his late Majesty, which was undertaken in the year 
1811 for the City of L.ondon, and is now the chief ornament 
of the Council Room at Guildhall, is one of the noblest single 
figures of modem times : it is easy and dignified in deport- 
ment and expression, ancTChantrey's success on this occasion 
established his reputation as a sculptor, and gave him an ex- 
alted character in his profession. A monumental group, in 
memory of Miss Johnes of Hafod, succeeded, which in design, 
sentiment, and pathos, is indisputably one of his best and 
most affecting productions. In this monument he has hap- 
pily succeeded in expressing the difierence in the male and 
female character, under circumstances of a£9iction ; the dig- 
nified feeling and manly resignation of the father, the heart- 
rending ancf overwhelming sorrow of the mother, and the 
languor of the expiring daughter, are depicted with a fidelity 
to nature, and a force and energy of feeling, that powerfully 
affect the heart, while at the same time they excite our ad- 
miration of the genius and talent that conceived and executed 
so exquisite a work. 

Of the monumental group, placed in Litchfield Cathedral, 
and emphatically nam^ ** the Two Children," it would be 
difiicult to speak in language suitable to its uncommon merit. 


The religion of the country, and the diffusion of knowledge, ^ 
render allegory almost inadmissible in modem art. But no 
personification of abstract notions of innocence, or joy, or 
sorrow, was wanted here : the easy and graceful attitude of the 
lovely children, reposing side by side in each other's arms, 
and all but breathing, form too touching a group to be viewed 
without emotion. This exquisite production was placed in 
the Model Room in the Exhibition at Somerset House, in the 
year 1817, along with the figures of Terpsichore and Hebe, 
by Canova. It is unnecessary to eulogise this fine work : the 
exhibition was daily crowded with visitors to behold it ; and now 
scarcely a traveller who feels interested in such productions, 
ever passes through Litchfield without visiting the cathedral 
to see this masterly specimen of English sculpture. The two 
sisters, who both died young, are represented on a couch, 
which may be regarded as me bed of death ; yet the vital 
spark seems to be scarcely extinct. A few lines lefi; on the 
monument a short time after it was placed in the cathedral, by 
one who appears to have felt its excellence, convey an accurate 
idea of the fine conception which the sculptor has so ex« 
quisitely embodied. 

" How calm in death these infants He ! — 
They seem as they had sunk to rest ; 
Then lapsed into eternity. 

When not a sigh disturb'd the breast." 

No production of genius was ever more generally admired, 
or more liberally praised by all who saw it. roetry and 
prose were employed in its commendation ; it was talked of 
in every company, and panegyrised in every newspaper, and 
in some with considerable eloquence. The Literary Gazette 
entered largely into an examination of its merits : from this 
publication I have selected the following remarks, not because 
they are more commendatory than what appeared in any 
other papers, but because they are evidently the production 
of a man who had studied the subject of art, and could sen- 
sibly feel its excellencies. 

** Monument to be placed in Litchfield Cathedral in memory of 
Ttoo Children. 

' O fairest flowers ! no sooner blown than blasted.' 

'< There is an affecting simplicity in this design, far superior to 
all the efforts of allegorical refinement. The two sisters are laid 
asleep in each other's arms. This spectacle of early youth, in-i 


nocence, affection, loveliness, and mortality; is exquisitely beau- 
tiful. The disposition is natural and full of gentle feeling ; the 
drapery negligently adjusted, to show the figures ; the heads smd 
naked forms very fleshy, and the excell^npe of the execution even 
surpassed by the sweet and tender sentiment of the conception. 
Mr.Chantrey in this master-piece has surpassed all his former pro- 

** The British Sculptor in this fine invention has chosen the 
right course. Having a domestic sorrow to commemorate, he 
consulted nature, in the first place, for the sentiment ; looked into 
his own heart, and produced a work of warm and genuine feeling. 
His monument not only exercises a supreme dominion over the 
heart, but it awakens the mo^t lively and pensive images of fancy, 
through the medium of our sensibilities ; we praise Canova's Hebe 
and Terpsichore, not only because of their peculiar beauties, but 
because they are praised by others, and because that artist is 
celebrated through Europe as the most eminent sculptor on the 
continent. Much of the praise is deserved ; — much is from the 
head, a compliment of words and a form of &shion, in which we 
join with seeming admiration, and with quite as much real indif- 
ference and immediate forgetfulness. When we quit them they 
pass too soon from pur sight anTd our mind; hut, like the beauties 
of the Medicean Venus\ the Niobe, and the Apollo^ which are 
treasured among our eternal recollections, Chantrey's two peaceful 
innocents, embracing in death, and lovely in* the sleep of the 
grave, touch every chord of sensibility in the breast, and sooth 
the mind with a thousand images of sweet and mournful tender- 
ness. We are not loud in its praise, but our fixed looks, our 
entire absorption, our lingering near, and frequent return to this 
fine performance, are alone the best proofs of its excellence, and 
its most unequivocal praise. We remove from it in vain ; it pur- 
sues us into company, and appears before us in the waking visions 
of the night. By uniting the excellence of art with the most 
gentle but powerful impulses of nature, Chantrey has produced 
a work which will live for ever among the most cherished and 
soothing remembrances of his time," 

In the years 1814« and 1815, Chantrey went to Paris, and 
saw the celebrated collection of the Louvre on the eve of its 
dispersion. Here he became acquainted with Canova; and 
when the Roman sculptor visited London, the acquaintance 
was renewed, and continued uninterrupted until his death. 
These were to him journeys of infinite importance : during 
his stay in Paris he might be said to live only in the Louvre, 
for there nearly the whole of his waking hours were passed. 
At this memorable place he not only studied the peculiar ex- 
cellencies, of the various works that it contained, but he ob- 


tained accurate copies of the finest statues there^ with which 
he enriched his collection at his residence in London. His 
group of Laocoon, his Apollo, Antinous, Germanicus, Venus 
de Medici ^^ the statue mat enchants the world," Diana, and 
many others, are faithful resemblances of the originals, and 
they constitute a school for study to which young artists are 
permitted to resort for practice and imprbvement 

During the whole of this visit to France he indulged in his 
favourite amusement of drawings and his sketch-book presents 
a faithful history of his journey^ The -carriage in which he 
travelled — the postillion that drove it — the first bed in 
which he slept after leaving his native country — the towns 
through which he successively passed — Paris — its public 
buildings — the garden of the Thuilleries — the interior of 
the Louvre — the picturesque streets and cathedral of Amiens^ 
were amongst the objects that employed his pencil. His 
drawings are dated; his progress may therefore be traced^ 
and the route of his travels accurately pointed out. I once 
had the pleasure of looking over his sketches immediately 
after his first tour into Scotland, and in addition to the his^ 
tory of his journey which they presented, imagination soon 
converted them into a kind of barometer, by wnich to ascer- 
tain his mode of living : some of them were fixed with tea, a 
sober beverage, some with milk, some with malt liquor, 
some with whiskey, and others with port wine^ as diese 
various liquids happened to be before him. 

In the autumn of 1819 he went to Italy, for the purposes 
of observation and improvement. Not wishing to have his 
time occupied in receiving and returning visits, he travelled 
privately, in company with an English gentleman, John Read, 
Esq., who resides at the village where Chantrey was born* 
During this excursion he devoted almost every hour to the 
study of objects intimately connected with his professional 
pursuits. While at Rome he generally received that marked 
attention which Italy invariably bestows on men eminent in 
art : but he shunned as much as possible every thing like pa- 
rade or ceremony, nor did he permit the many courtesies he 
experienced to abstract his attention from those studies which 
had induced him to visit Italv. I)uring his stay at Rome he 
was made a member of the Academy of St. Luke, as a com- 
pliment to his talents, and an acknowledgment of his rank 
in art. 

Previously to this journey he had been long in the habit of 


sketching from nature; it was one of his greatest gratifications, 
and in transmitting the minute detail as well as the more 
obvious features of a scene to paper, he had wonderful facility, 
'which during his tour in Italy he still farther improved. 
While in Rome, that exquisite poet, Thomas Moore, was 
one of his associates : they visited Canova's sculpture-gallery 
together, «and were delighted with the many beautiful groups 
and images which his fine imagination had. called into exist- 
ence, and arrayed in grace and loveliness. Moore, in his 
Fables for the Hobf fiance and Bhymes on the Boady where 
he apostrophises the genius of Canova, has a beautiful allusion 
to Chantrey's admiration of his talents. 

** Wonderful Artist ! praise like mine. 
Though springing from a soul that feels 
Deep worship of those works divine. 
Where Genius all his light reveals — 
Is little to the words that came 
From him * — thy peer in Art and Fame, 
Whom I have known, h^ dav, by night. 
Hang o*er thy marble with delight — 
And while his lingering hand would steal 
0*er every grace the taper's rays f , 
Give thee, with all the generous zeal. 
Such master spirits only, feel — 
That best of fame — a rival's praise." 

Ghantrey returned to England confirmed and strengthened 
in his own notions and conceptions of art, of which many 
admirable specimens have since appeared fi"om his hands. 
Contemplating his progress, and studying the peculiar cha- 
racter of his works, I am sometimes inclined to suppose that 
had he been placed by fortune in a situation more propitious, 
he might not have attained his present eminence. He had 
formed his style, disciplined his fancy, and setded his own 
feelings of art, before he emerged fi-om obscurity ; and the 
emotions which he experienced on beholding the Elgin mar- 
bles wiis only a deeper and more intense continuation of what 
he felt^ in his litde lonely room in Sheffield. Had he been 
otherwise situated, his strong natural good sense ought not 
have preserved him fi*om bemg a copjdst of other men's la- 

• Chantrey. 

t Canova always shows his fine statue, the Venere Vincitrice, by the 
Ught of a small candle. 


bours ; and the contemplation <^ the diyine |>roductions of* 
antiquity, instead of inspiring him with the conception of 
something truly ffreat andjSi^lish, such as Phidias would 
have imagined and executed had he been of London and not 
of Athens, might only haye impressed him with the wish td 
steal ^th discernment, and have taught him to look at nature 
through the eyes of other men. Wishing Chantfey, there- 
fore, to be no other than what he is, I am glad that in early 
life he was allowed to think for himself — draw his forms 
from objects in real life — and his senthnent from the human 

In this hasty and imperfect notice, I have only glanced at 
some^of the earlier productions of Chdntrey | and it is not my 
intention to give a catalogue of his works, or to enter into a 
critical analysis of their merits ; but the high character which 
he has imparted to some of his busts and statues, render them 
worthy of being particularly mentioned. The monumental 
groups and figures, which he has already executed, ate nu" 
merous, and distinguished by fine taste and elevated feeling i 
they are beautiful specimens of domestic sculpture ; in dl^ 
sign, they are simple and full of pathos, and several of them 
may be classed amount the most dignified works of art. His 
statues wUl secure him an abiding famei 1 have, therefore, 
added a list of what may be considered his finest productions. 

King George the Third, placed in the Common Council Room, 

Lord President Blair, placed in the Court of Session, Edinburgh, 
liord Viscount MelviUe, placed in the old Parliament House, 

Spencer Perceval^ placed in Northampton Church. 
Dr. James Anderson, placed at Madras. 
Lady Louisa Russell, placed at Wobum Abbey. 
Robert Dundas, Lord Chief Baron for Scotland. 
Francis Horner, for Westminster Abbey* 
James Watt, Civil Engineer. 
Cyril Jackson, Dean of Christ Church, for Oxford. 
Sir Joseph Banks, for the Royal Society-^ to be placed in the 

British Museum. 
Lady Liverpool. 
Dr. Hey, of Leeds. 

Amongst the numerous Busts executed by this distinguished 
sculptor, the following may be r^arded as his best* 


J. Raphael Smith. — John Home Tooke. -^ Profbssoir Playfair. 
-^ Professor Porson.— Sir Joseph Banks. — John Rennie. — James 
Watt. — Sir Walter Stott. — William Wordsworth. — Earl St. Vin- 
cent. — Benjamin West, P. R. A. — Sir Henry Englefield. — Right 
Hon. George Canning. — Marquis of Londonderry. — His present 
Majesty. — Duke oF Wellington. — Earl Spencer. — Sir Charles 
Long. — Bishop of London. — Bishop of Rochester. — Bishop of 
Durham. ^ Samuel Shore, Esq. 

That this eminent artist should have devoted so much of 
his time to the execution of busts, may perhaps be regretted. 
There is a higher walk in sculptural in which all the excel- 
lencies of his profession are required, and all the energies of 
the -mightiest talent may be displayed. Here the genius of 
Chantrey may move amid beings of his own creation, and 
establish for himself a name and character not less elevated in 
art than Canova's. He has attained much, but more remains 
to be accomplished : in his busts he has given hearing and 
thinking, beauty and intellect, to marble ; and in his statues 
he has clothed the human figure with grace and dignity. Let 
him persevere ! — our own history and native poetry abound 
with subjects both moving and heroic, presenting images of 
perpetual interest, interwoven deeply with our national pride, 
and inseparable from the mass of the people. These subjects 
are worthy of his chisel, his ambition, and his fame. Let him 
leave to others the gods of the heathen, and the cold mystical 
allegory that has too long degraded his profession, and from 
which, to his honour, he has been the first to depart, and 
create a series of poetical groups and fiffures, deeply imbued 
with sentiment and feeling, and hand down to posterity the 
national character of his countrymen. I am glad to be 
enabled to add, that such is the purpose of this celebrated 



WhiUington Revolution House, — Centenary Commemoration of 
the Mevdution of 1688. — The Procession Ball and Concert. 

— Walk from Whittington to Chesterfield. — Smelting Fur^ 
naces. — Local History of Chesterfield. — The Church Spire. 

— WaUc to Ashaoer. — Scene from Stone Edge. — Approach 
to Ashcfoer. — Ashover Church, ■— Eastwood Hatty S^c. 

r EOM Ndrton we had a pleasant walk over some fields to 
Apperknowe Common, and from thence to Whittington. 
There was no passing this village without loitering a Short 
time within it. We recognised the humble dwellmg called 
the Revolution House, and recollected the part which the 
Earls of Devonshire and Danby, Sir John D' Arcy, eldest son 
of the Earl of Holdemess, and others, are represented to have 
had in promoting the revolution of 1688, when the second 
James, by a series of years^ of misrule, had become obnoxious 
to the nation. These noble families, solicitous to put an end 
to his government, and establish the Prince of Orange on the 
throne, are reported to have held secret meetings for the pur» 
pose. Whittington, and a moor near it, were the places 
selected, and the Cock and Pynot, a small public-house in the 
village, sometimes sheltered these patriotic men on these 

On the 5th of November 1788, the centenary commemora^ 
tion of the revolution was celebrated with great magnificence 
at Whittington, and the neighbouring town of Chesterfield. 
The ceremonies of the day commenced with divine service at 
the village church. The Kev. S. Pegge, the learned antiquary, 
who had that morning entered into the eighty-fifth year of his 
age, delivered a sermon upon the occasion, from the 118th 
Psalm, verse xxiv. : — " This is the day which the Lord hath 
mctde^ we will rejoice and be^ glad in it J* After service, the^ 
company paid a visit to the Revolution Parlour, and there par** 

?29^0 :fUB1LEE at CHESTERFIfilD. 

took of a cold collation which had been prepared for fliem in 
some new rooms that had just been added to the cottage. A 
little after mid-day the procession began to form, and move in 
regular order to Chesterfield. The carriages were preceded 
by bands of music; then followed the members of various clubs, 
with their wands adorned with ribbons, and their flags and 
different appropriate devices borne before them. The Duke 
of Devonshire's coach, drawn by six horses richly caparisoned, 
and decorated with orange trappings, accompanied t^ a tra^ 
of attendants on horseback, was the first carriage in the pro- 
cession. The carriages of the Earl of Stamford, Lord George 
. and Lord John Cavendish, the Earl of Danby, Lord Francis 
Osborne, and Sir Harry Hunloke, all similarly attended, suc- 
ceeded : — then followed a numerous train of coaches, chaises, 
and gentlemen on horseback. Not fewer than five hundred 
persons of distinction made a part of this splendid cavalcade, 
which extended upwards of a mile from Whittinffton Bridge 
to the Stone Gravels, which may be said to be me entrance 
into Chesterfield. Upwards of forty thousand people were 
assembled on this occasion, and a cheerful and joyous expres- 
•sion sat on every face. Although November, it was a fine 
bright day ; the banners and flags along the whole line of the 
procession were touched with sunbeams as they Jwaved and 
fluttered to the breeze. Costly carriages, rich liveries, and 
gaily caparisoned horses, gave a brilliant effect to the moving 
mass, which altogether presented a grand and animated 

When the procession had arrived at Chesterfield, the com- 
pany separated into parties, and dined at the principal inns. 
The Duke of Devonshire presided at one house, !Lord George 
Cavendish at another, and his brother. Lord John, filled the 
president'sr chair at a third. In the evening, fire-works and 
transparent paintings were exhibited in the streets, and tlie 
festivities of the day closed with a ball, at which upwards of 
three hundred ladies and gentlemen were present ; — among 
whom were the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Eli- 
zabeth Foster, the Earl of Stamford, Lords George and John 
Cavendish, the Earl of Danby, and his brother. Lord Francis 
Osborne, Sir H. Hjmloke and his Lady, Sir Francis Moli- 
neux, and many other persons of rank and distinction. The 
followipg day a public concert was gjven, which was splendidly 
land numierously attended. It consisted of appropriate se- 
lections from the works of the best masters, interspersed .with 


songs and glees suited to the occasion; amongst which the 
following original ode, written bv the Rev. P. Cunningham of 
Ejam, and set to music by Mn Bower, then organist and 
musical professor at Chesterfidld, was performed with dis- 
tinguished and deserved applause : — *- 


When lawless Power his iron hand. 
When blinded Zeal her flaming brand, 

0*er A.lbion*s island wav'd ; 
Indignant Freedom waiPd the sight, 
Eclips'd her son of dory's li^t. 

Her favourite reaun enslav'd. 

DistressM she wanderM, when afar 
She saw her Nassau's friendly star 

Stream through the stormy air; 
She calPd aloud a patriot band. 
She bade them save a sinking land. 

And deathless glory share. 

Her cause th^r dauntless hearts inspirM ; 
With ancient Roman virtue fir'd, 

Thev plou^h'd the surging main ; 
With tavounng gales from Belgia*s shore. 
Her heaven-directed hero bore. 

And freedom crown*d his reign. 

With equal warmth her spirit glows. 
Though hoary Time's centennial snows 

Now silver o'er her frame : 
For, hark ! what songs of triumph teli, 
Still grateful Britons love to dwell 

On William's glorious name. 

During this centenary jubilee it was proposed to erect a 
monumental column at or hear to Whittington, as a lasting 
memorial of those proceedings which prepared the way for the 
revolution of 1688. A liberal sum of money was subscribed, 
and a committee appointed to carry the scheme into effect, but 
the breaking out of the French revolution in less than twelve 
months afterwards, and the rapid succession of a series of 
' appalling events, giving to the word a terrible and alarming 
signification, the design was abandoned, and will probably 
never be revived again. 

On our way through Whittington we stopped at the 0?c^ 
-and Pynot^ saw the Plotting Parlour, as it wasonjce d^no- 

u 2 


minatedy and the old chair, said to have been occupied by 
the Earl of Devonshire, when he presided at those nocturnal 
meetings, which are represented as having originated chiefly 
with himself. Part of the old house has been taken down, 
and a more convenient habitation erected in its place, but the 
greater portion of it still remains, and as it is regarded with a 
feeling of veneration, it will probably not be disturbed by 
schemes of modem improvement, but left to crumble away 
atom by atom, untU it has become a heap of ruins. 

We terminated our first day*s journey at Chesterfield, where 
we found a good inn and excellent accommodation for tne 
night. Twelve miles was but a short excursion for a day, yet 
we had so loitering a wallc that we did not reach Chesterfield 
until night; and as we passed over Whittington Common we 
had a fine opportunity of noticing the effects produced by the 
fires that surround the town. The vicinity of Chesterfield 
produces abundance of iron ore, which is smelted at the fur- 
naces near. The vivid blaze they emit by night throws 
over all the surrounding scene an air of grandeur. The light 
is ever varying : sometimes it blazes forth in one wide sheet 
of flame, covering the concave above with, a stream of light, 
and strongly illuminating every otgect within the sphere of its 
operations ; — then, as if suddenly extinguished, a momentary 
darkness prevails, which is instantaneously succeeded by fitful 
gleams of light shot from spiral flames, that throw a shifting 
splendour over the heavens above, like the playfiil coruscations 
of the northern sky. The breadth of lights the deep mass of 
shadow, the transient obscurity, and the ever-varying pictures 
these furnaces produce by night, are highly picturesque, and 
full of grandeur. 

Chesterfield is an old town, and although but a small place 
at the time of the Norman survey, where it is mentioned as a 
dai/iWc appertaining to the manor of Newbold, it had a 
church as early as the reign of William the Second, and in the 
time of King John it became a corporate town, and a charter 
to hold an annual &ir for eight days during the year, and two 
markets weekly, was at the same time bestowed upon it. The 
market-plade is a very spacious area, surrounded with houses, 
that are principally used as shops. On the west side of it a 
few old buildbgs intervene, which the corporation of Chester- 
field, for the credit of the place, will, I hope, shortly remove, 
and open the whole space beyond to the market-place. It is 
indeed astonishing that an improvement so essential to the 


beauty of the tdwiii and which might be accomplished at a 
very trifling expence, has not yet h«eft made. 

Leaving to the topographer and the historian of this district^, 
if it should ever have one*, the task of pointing out the par- 
ticular places where important events have occurred, and de- 
tailing the circumstances by which they have been distin- 
guished, I shall only briefly notice that in the year 1266 
Robert de Ferrars, fearl of Derby, Baldwin Wake, Lord of 
Chesterfield, John d'Egyille, and others, appeared in arms 
against Henry the Thira. They assembled a numerous force 
in the vicinity of Duffield, about six miles from Derbv, marched 
to Chesterfield, and took up a military post there, with 
the hope of having their little army increased by the acces- 
sion of some of those rebellious barons and their followers, 
who, in the preceding year, had been beaten and dispersed at 
Evesham. Their dreams of success were, however, soon over.. 
They had scarcely established themselves in the neighbourhood, 
of the town when they were surprised and attacked by Henry,, 
the eldest son of the King of Ahnaine. This rebel army was, 
soon beaten, and the greater part of them were put to thet 
sword. The £arl of Derby himself took refuge in the churchy 
and sought a hiding-place amongst some bags of wool that 
had been deposited there. A woman in whom he had con- 
fided pointed out the place of his concealment to his pursuers, 
and he was taken prisoner. Several of the knights and barons, 
made their escape into the forest of the Peak, where they con*- 
tinued for two years leading a predatory life» close hemmed 
around with danger, and subject to continual alarm. Robert 
de Ferrars, the prmcipal in this mad scheme, was conveyed 
to Windsor in irons, and detained a prisoner for several years* 
He was at length set at liberty, but his. esta|;es were confis- 
cated, and he was ultimately deprived of the earldom of 

By an entry in the church register, the Earl of Newcastle, 
with his forces, appears to have been at Chesterfield in the 
the months of May and December, 1645. Whilst the Earl' 
and his army were here they were attacked by a division of 
the parliamentary forces, whom they defeated with consider-i 
able loss. 

The spire of Chesterfield church, like the leaning tower at 

• A History of Chesterfield and its immediate vicinity has been published 
since the above paragraph was -written. 

u 3 


I^sa, is one of the curiosities of the place. Its crooked ap- 
pearance, it is contended, is owing to its peculiar design and 
construction ; that it was originally intended to be what it now 
is, and that in fact it is a display of singular skill in Steele 
architecture. All this is evidently incorrect: its inclination, ' 
instead of accommodating'itself, as it is reported to do, to the 
situation of the spectator, is to one point only. That it was 
originaUy a straight spire there is but little doubly but the 
* materials of which it is constructed not being of sufficient 
strength and dimensions, have ^ven way, and the structure 
has imrunk into something like a twisted form ; and this, I 
presume, to be the whole seoret of Chesterfield church-spire. 
No man who ever lived would voluntarily eredt an object of 
deformity, a thing that in its form and outline was offensive to 
the eye, and in (^position to every principle of taste. A casual 
observation only, is sufficient to convince any man that the 
spire of Chesterfield church was at one time an erect structure, 
and that it has lost its perpendicular subsequently to its 
original formation. I feel almost ashamed of having said so 
miich on this subject ; nothing but the absurd notion that it is 
a work of singular ability, could have induced me to have 
made these observations* 

Leaving Chesterfield, a fatiguing walk of four miles on the 
road to Matlock, brought us to the summit of the hill that 
overlooks Scarsdale. This elevated spot of ground is called 
.Stainage, or more properly Stone-Edge, so named from a range 
of rocks that runs fdong its highest peak. Midway between 
.the toll-gate and the guide-post at the top of the hill, we sat 
down by the road-side, to gaze upon the landscape before us* 
I never saw a lovelier scene : at a short distance on our left was 
a steep knoll, covered with gorse and fern, and intervening 
tufts of heath ; on our right rose a finely-formed eminence, 
whose sides and summit were clothed with luxuriant ti^es, 
rich vnth the sylvan honours. of a delighdul and early spring, 
just verging into the first days of summer : the undulating sur- 
face of the ground between was beautifully diversified with 
wooded slopes and cultivated meadows. The deep vallej^ 
immediately before us was one for-extended range of wood- 
land scenery, amongst which we had occasional glimpses of 
water, that lay like lucid mirrors in the vale below. In the 
remote horizon appeared the majestic towers of Hardwick 
Hall, and more to the left the extensive ruins of Bolsover 
Castle crested the top of the farthest hill. The douds that 



w«re occasionally interposed between us and a bright azure 
sky, threw a peculiar charm over the whole prospect, whi^h 
9M>mentarily assumed a different appearance, as sunshine ot 
cloud prevailed. We lingered about this fine scene, not less 
delighted with the beautiful variety of feature by which it is 
distinguished, than by those rapid changes which the wander-- 
ing lights and passing shadows produced : at one moment, the 
woods ill mid-'distance presented a dark mass of thickly-en-^ 
woven trees, stretching athwart the landscape, and strongly 
relieved widi brightly-illuminated meadows of the freshestt 
verdure, against which it lay. The next moment other lights 
aiid other shadows succeeded, and, as diey passed over 
the scene, woods, villages, churches, and houses, that were 
previpusly undistinguished, touched with sunny gleams, rosci 
9S if by the influence of magic, instantaneously into existence, 
and exhibited in clearest detail a beauteous assemblage of parts^ 
Just as we were about to leave this interesting spot, a brilliant 
ridnbow threw a magnificent arch over the whole scene; 
it was 

" A 8ummer*^ft eve, and Heaven*8 aerial bow 
Spanned with bright arch the glittering hills below f*' 

^nd a lovelier picture never lay beneath the bow of Heaven., 
We watched the gradual fading away of this beautiful an<| 
evanescent visitant, until not a trace of its presence remained ; 
and then proceeded to Ashover, where we proposed to pass 
the night. 

Ashover is a very respectable and pleasant vilTage. It i^ 
jromantically situated in a deep but narrow valley, which is 
watered by a branch of the little river Amber j and approach- 
ing it from the Matlock road, its appearance is strikingly pic-r 
turesque. The light elegant spire of the church rises grace- 
fully from the surrounding trees, and is a pleasing feature in 
every view that is obtained of the village* The hills are lofly 
and precipitous t ia somte places bare rocks break from 
beneath the soQ ; in others, they crest the summits, and trees 
and houses are scattered amongst projecting crags and verdant 

The church at Ashover is a good Gothic structure : monu-^ 
ments, coats pf arms, and inscriptions, some of them of a very 
ancient date, ornament the walls within. The Babingtons of 
•Dethick had their burial-place here ; and various memorials of 
the aiitiquity and consequence of diis family, (one of whoB3k 

u 4 


was kniffhted by Edward the Third, at Marleur in Brittany,}' 
adorn the interior of this edifice. One of the Babington 
tombs is curiously ornamented ; and, agreeably to the notions 
of taste that once directed the execution of the monumental 
sculpture of our churches, the diflFerent figures are painted 
with gaudy colouring, which has now lost its fi*eshness, and 
has altogether a very dingy appearance. Against the northern 
wall, near the west end of the church, there is a monument 
to the memory of an artist, of whose fame we had never heard 
before: — "To Francis Parkes, a wonderful proficient in the 
art of paintings who died at Nottingham, aged 39; was bom 
at Knott Cross in this parish." Such is the inscription which 
this unobtrusive tablet contains, I was pleased to meet, 'in 
this remote comer, of Derbyshire, even this brief notice of a 
man of genius; for I would at any time rather see the word 
talent than birth recorded on a tomb-stone. 

Near this memorial stands an old stone font, which is sup-^ 
posed to be of Saxon origin. It is not only an ancient but 
a curious relique ; the body of it is partly circular and pardy 
hexagonal, and it is ornamented with a variety of figures, 
clothed in loose flowing drapery, and disposed in different 
compartments, cast in metal. 

It was evening when we arrived at Ashover, and having 
caught aglimpse of a ruined edifice in the valley beyond the 
village as we descended the hill, we were anxious 'to visit it 
before we closed the labours of the day. This gloomy build- 
ing stands at the foot of a high hill, covered with huge masses 
of sand-stone rock, and crested with a dark wood of pines. 
The structure, the scenery near, and the time of the day, for 
it was now twilight, were in solemn accordance with each other, 
and produced a train of serious reflections on the instability of 
all human productions ; while the indistinctness that pervaded 
the landscape, together with the profound stillness that pre- 
vailed, imparted to the whole scene not only an imposing but 
even a sublime effect. Had We beheld this ruin at another 
time of the day, when 

** The sun is in the heavens, and the proud day. 
Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
Is all too wanton and too full of gaudes;" 


it would have been only a speck in the prospect that surrounds 
it; every obgect in the valley would tl^n have been iendered 


distinct with excess of light, and the pine-crowned rock, which 
was now invested with grandeur, would become but a sub- 
ordinate feature. It is not a pleasing assemblage of beautiful 
parts in the scenery of nature, nor yet the time of th^ day^ nor 
the peculiar circumstances of light or shadow under which it- 
is beheld, that alone powerfully impresses the mind, and ex- 
cites the most interesting emotions ; recollections and asso* 
ciations unsolicited and often arbitrary in their operations, will 
sometimes make a little mound of 'earth, or a barrow on a 
barren hill, when the idea of sepulture is connected with them^ 
of more importance to the feelings than mere picturesque 
beauty can possibly be. A cross by the road-side, to mark 
the place where a fellow-creature died, or a cum of ragged 
stones heaped over the bodies of the dead, are beheld witnfar 
greater interest than rocks, and trees, and fields, and houses. 

The old edifice near Ashover is called Eastwood Hall, and 
a modem dwelling is now attached to the shattered walls that 
are left. It was once a structure of some importance, as its 
remaining windows and massy masonry denote. At a very 
ea^y period, and probably soon after its first erection, it be- 
longed to a family of the name of Reresby, in whose posses- 
sion it remained until the reign of James the First, when Sir 
Thomas Reresby disposed of the manor which appertained to 
Eastwood Hall, that he might more amply provide for his two 
daughters. It is now vested in the widow and children of 
^ Mr. John Nodder. In 1762 the hall was sold to the govern- 
ors of Queen Anne's bounty, for the purpose of augmenting 
the clerical stipend of the chapel of Brimington, near Ches- 

Amongst the most distinguished individuals who have at any 
time been connected with the parish of Ashover, was Catha- 
rine Strange, who in the reign of Elizabeth was married to 
Richard !J5akeyne, Esq., of Over Stubbing. She was the 
daughter of the Earl of Rothes, and a great favourite with 
the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, to whom she was 
sincerely and warmly attached. With a fervour of fi*iendship 
of which the female character is peculiarly susceptible, she 
softened by her attention the sorrows 'of her royal mistress 
whilst she was in confinement, and when the last sad scene of 
her life was closing in death, she accompanied her to the 
scaffold. One of uie afflictions that pressed most heavily 
upon the last moments of Mary, arose from her inability to 
reward her attendants for the numerous offices of kindness. 

298 catharjHe strange. 

and the manjr proofs of attachment, she had experienced frotrfe 
them. Whatever were her faults in other respects, she was 
a tender and affectionate mistress^ and never formt the hand 
that served her; and one of her last requests to SSzabeth w«is^ 
that she would be the friend of CfUlierine Strapg^e^ 



Overton Hall — Sir Joseph Banks. — Sotdh Winfield. — The 
Manor House. — Description of the Ruins, — Reflections on 
their present appearance. — Siege of the Manor House.^^ 
Crich. — Friendly Societies.^- Whit'Monday in Derbyshire* 
— Walk from Crich to Cromford. — Lea Wood. — Dethick.^-^ 
Historical Notice ofBahington. 

When we left Ashover, on the third morning of our ram- 
bles, prq)arations were making for a day of festivity. It 
was Whit-Monday» and the vmole population of the village 
were busy as bees in preparing for the holiday* The thoughts 
of work were ' entirely abandoned, excepting amongst those 
who were the purveyors of good cheer for the pubhc. The 
bellows of the smith were unemployed in the corner of 
his shop, and no fire blazed on his hearth: he was leaning 
against die shop-door with his brawny arms folded, and a 
group of idlers were collected around him, who evidently, 
thought less of labour than enjoyment. All the publio-houses 
in the village were preparing entertainments for their guest% 
who had put on their best apparel in honour of Whit-Monday, 
and their good-humoured faces and frolic spirits, showed that 
they were determined to make the, most of this annual festival. 
The morning of such a day is often far better than its close, 
which is occasionally disfigured by quarrelsome dispositions^ 
and stained with riot and intemperance. 

Proceeding along the Mansfield road, a walk of about a 
mile brought us to Overton, a little village, that interested 
us more from the associations connected with it, than from any 
picturesque qualities it possesses : yet of these it is not deficient. 
An old mansion, surrounded with magnificent trees aqd 
lofty mountains, at the base of which some humble cottages 
are scattered, when viewed in connexion with each other, 
present a pleasing combination of forms and objects. Ovetrton 
Hall was the property, and occasionally the residence^ of Sir 


Joseph Banks, the late venerable president of the Royal So^ 
ciety. From the elevated situation this distinguished individual 
held, both in science and literature, and the space he occupied 
in the estimation of the public, I frankly confess that so long 
as he was sojourning amongst us, I could neither pass his house 
in London in Soho-Square, or his residence at Overton, with- 
out a feeling of veneration for his character. 

Two miles from Ashover we came upon the river Amber, 
near a small place called Wblley. The scenery here is beauti- 
fully picturesque : the hills are of considerable eminence^ and 
well wooded, and the vale between is adorned with richly 
cultivated meadows, and a sparkling stream. Our principal 
object in this excursion was South Winfield, and the vener- 
able ruins of the old manor near it We therefore left the 
Mansfield road near Wolley, and for the purpose of shorten- 
ing our journey some ** nme or twain," we took a bye-path 
across the fields, and through some woods to Brackenfield 
and Wessington. We were told it was impossible to mistake 
our way, and we walked on with confidence until we found 
our progress impeded by high hedges and a close thicket, 
dirough which we could not pass. Notwithstanding the 
assurance we had received, we had pursued a wrong path, 
that terminated amongst the fields between 'Wessington and 
South Winfield, and had some difficulty in regaining the road 
from which we had departed, even though we saw the object 
of our journey at a short distance, on an eminence before us» 
At length we reached the place, and, having taken a short 
repast at a small public-house near the church, we proceeded 
immediately to the ruins of the manor castle. They occupy 
the summit of a steep hill, which appears to haver been moated 
on three sides. The first view firom the village of this dilapi- 
dated structure displays a fine assemblage of parts : moulder- 
ing towers, ruined arches, amongst which the dark ivy creeps, 
embattled4)arapets, and shattered walls, are seen rising above, 
and mingled with groves of venerable trees centuries older 
than the present building; the whole constituting not merely 
a. beautifiil but magnificent picture. We passed along the 
western firont of this ancient edifice, and entered its deserted 
courts near the princfpal tower. It is sickening to contem- 
plate such a scene of change and devastation as the interior 
view presents* From without the walls, the ruins, as I have 
before observed, have a most m^estic effect : time has broken 
them into picturesque forms ; the heart is interested, and th^ 


^ye gratified, with fill that it beholds; but within, dilapidation^ 
disorder, and decay prevail, and the live and dead litter of a 
farm-yard disfigures the scene. The rents and fissures which 
time has made in the old walls, mended with modem masonry ; 
the ornamented stone gothic windows, filled up with "glaring 
brick, all blended together with the heavy but splendid archi- 
tecture of former times, exhibit a mass of discordant materials, 
where the noble and the mean are used in tasteless confusion. 

"To what base uses we may return! — Why may not 
imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it 
stopping a bunghole ? As thus, Alexander died ; — Alexander 
was buried ; — ^Alexander returned to dust ; — the dust is earth ; . 
— of earth we make loam ; — and why of that loam whereto he . 
was converted might they not stop a beer barrel ? 

'^ Imperial Caesar dead and tum'd to clay. 
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. 
O that that earth which kept the world in awe. 
Should patch a virall t* expel the winter's flaw !** 

Shakspeare. ; 

. It is even so, and the mutation which some of the most 
durable and splendid of the mansions of our fore&thers have 
experienced, is scarcely less extraordinaiy. The interior 
courts of South Winfield Manor «House are no more like 
what they were when Mary Queen of Scots was confined 
within them, than the living Alexander to a clod of lifeless 
matter. The buildings that formed nearly the whole of the 
southern court are now almost entirely destroyed, and the 
most magnificent pai*t of this ancient edifice, its splendid hall 
and richly ornamented chapel, are totally roofless ; and trees 
that lift their topmost branches fiir above the walls that mark 
their dimensions, now inhabit them. The natural opera- 
tions of time alone, could not, in so short a period, have pro* 
duced so great a change in a structure that appears to have 
been originally formed to bid defiance to his power. No ! — 
the devastating hand of man has been here at work, andlthe 
thunderbolts of war have shattered and defaced a structure 
which might otherwise have survived for ages. 

From the south court we passed through an arched gate- 
way to the east side of the building, where, from a little ver- 
dant mound, we had a view of the ruins so brought together 
and combined, as to produce a most exquisite picture. A 
gothic. arched gateway, connected with some mouldering walls. 


everywhere hung with foliage, and enriched with the archi- 
tecture of loffy windows, wit£ pointed arches in good monastic 
s^le, formed a rich screen, which occupied the foreground : — 
a congregation of towers and turrets, embattled parapets, and 
broken and shattered walls, rose majestically beyond ; a dark 
tone of colouring lay on every oliject near us, and the forms 
were boldly and distinctly marked; a soft aerial tint, ap- 
proximating to the blue haze of distance, hung upon the re^ 
moter parts of the building, and communicated an indescribable 
charm to the whole. In this view the ivied walls at the 
northern extremity of the ruins, and the stately trees about 
them, unite to complete the composition. 

We next visited the northern court, around which the state 
apartments were carried. This must have been by far the 
richest part of the building. The architecture of one side of 
this court exhibits a beautiful specimen of what it originally 
was : a porch, and a large bay projecting outwards from the 
room, with three gothic windows slightly pointed,, still remain : 
their parapets are embattled, and adorned with quatrefoils and 
roses. The great hall was a noble apartment; its dimensions 
are seventy-two feet by thirty-six : it is now occupied by a 
colony of rooks. Beneath the- hall, there is a room of equal 
extent, the roof of which is formed by massy groined arches, 
of excellent masonry, supported by a double row of heavy 
stone columns. The intersections of the arches are orna- 
mented and tied together with carved stone work, in the form 
of roses. What this room could have been used for, it is now 
difficult to conjecture. It could not be intended for a servants* 
hall, it is too gloomy and cheerless for such a purpose ; and 
although a very extensive apartment, there is neither a fire- 
place nor chimney in it. Occasionally it may have been con- 
verted into a prison, but it could not have been originally in- 
tended for one : if it had, the space it occupies would probably 
have been cut up into a series of dungeons. From this place 
we ascended the eastern tower, and mrough a small window 
framed with ivy, which we passed in our progress to the top, 
we had a peep at a very pleasing landscape, in which Colonel 
Halton's house, the viUage of &>uth Winfield, and a part of 
the country beyond, are included. The prospect both from 
this tower and the more elevated one at the western extremity 
of the ruins, is very extensive and various, but as I like fore- 
ground as well as distance in a picture, I am never much de- 
lighted with views from the tops of buildings. 


A cc^ous history of the manor and manor-house of South 
Winfield, by T. Blore, Esq. P. S. A., is already in the hands 
of many of my readers. This was intended as a specimen of 
the general history of the county, an undertaking diat was 
tiever completed; out as the part published contains an ample 
account of this ancient mansion, I shall only briefly notice the 
most prominent events with which it has bem connected* At 
the time of the Norman Survey it was held by William Pe- 
veril, and in the reign of Henry the Sixth it came into the 
possession of Ralph, Lord Cronrwell, who built the mansion 
which is now in ruins, and whose ri^t was contested by 
Henry Pierpoint, Knt. Lord Cromwell, however, retained 
possession of it, and subsequently disposcMl of it to die second 
Earl of Shrewsbury, in whose family it remained until the 
tlecease of the seventh Earl in 1666. It is now the property 
of Winfield Halton, Esq., by whose ancestors it was pur- 
chased in the reign of the second Charles. South WiniSeld 
was one of the residences, or priscms, of Mary Queen of 
Scots. The Earl of Shrewsbury was at one time her gaoler, 
during her confinement ; at another. Sir Ralph Sadler had the 
honour of superintending the royal captive.. Whilst she was 
in this retired part of the country, she is said to have entered 
into a correspondence with some of her friends, which was 
carried on with great secrecy ; until in the vear 1569 an at- 
tempt was made to free her from lier thralaom, by Leonard 
Dacre. The attempt was unsuccessful, and the few privileges 
Mary had previously enjoyed, were in consequence abridged. 
The conduct of ElizabeUi towards this unfortunate Queen has 
been fi-equently and freely animadverted upon, and severely 
reprobated. I therefore leave it to the brand that history 
has fixed upon it, and which even time cannot wear away. 

During the wars between Charles the First and his people, 
South Winfield Manor House was garrisoned by parliament. 
In 164«3 it was attacked by a division of the royal army, under 
the command of the Earl of Newcastle, and after a short con- 
•test it was taken by storm. The noble victor, however, did 
not retain his conquest long. Sir John Gell, of Hopton, a 
man who to the most romantic bravery united considerable 
military skill and determined perseverance, made an assault 
upon it, with heavy artillery, fi*om a situation which he. had 
taken upon Pentridge common. A half^moon battery, raised 
ibr its defence on the east side of the building, so bravely sus- 
tained the shock of the assailants, that a breach was found imt- 


practicable. Sir John Cell, therefore, ordered the cannon to 
be removed to a wood nearer the object of his attack : a furious 
fire was immediately commenced, a breach was soon opened, 
and the besieged were obliged to surrender. CoL Dalby^ 
the governor of South Winfield, was killed by a common sol- 
dier, who fired at him through an opening in the wall, during 
the siege. In 1646 this fortress was dismantled, by an order 
of parliament, and as its present appearance strongly indicates, 
it was strangely neglected, and suffered to fall into decay for 
many years afterwards. Mr. Blore observes, that " it had 
been fortunate for the admirers of so venerable an edifice, had 
that negligence been uniform to the present time, but a small 
part of it naving been occupied by the family of Haljon, and 
a partition of the estate having taken place, under a decree of 
the Court of Chancery, the mansion was allotted to the late 
Mr. Halton, who began to build a housie at tlie foot of the 
hill, next the manor ; and since that time some of the most 
beautiful parts of the old building have been pulled down, for 
the sake of the materials." 

In perambulating the northern districts of Derbyshire, and 
enquiring into its history, the name of Peveril so often occurs, 
and is so mingled up witli its ancient records, as to give it a 
more than ordinary interest. At Castleton we find the name 
of Peveril coeval with the date of the castle there : in the local 
history of Eyam, of Haddon, of Bolsover, and South Win- 
field, William Peveril, the natural son of the Norman con- 
queror of this country, appears as one of the most important, 
and one of the most favoured individuals of his time, and some ' 
of the minor courts of Derby and Nottingham are still known 
by his name. One of that series of Scotch novels which are 
understood to be from the pen of Sir Walter Scott, has as^ 
sumed the title of Peveril of the Peak, and the author has 
made a member of this distinguished family one of the most 
prominent characters in his romance. The name of Peveril, 
and the history of his origin, mav therefore not improperly 
occupy a page or two in the detail of excursions made in a 
country over which his authority once extended. 

The earliest notice I find of this family is in the time of 
Edward the Confessor, who bestowed on Kanulph Peveril the 
keeping of the hundred of Dengy^ or as it was then written, 
Daigye : in the county of Essex, and who resided at Hatfield 
Peverilj about half-way between Maldon and Braintree. This 
^ntleman married a Saxon lady of great beauty, in the year 


1066 : her name was Maude, and she was the daughter of 
Ingleric, a man, Cambden says, ^^ of great nobility amongst 
the English Saxons," and cousin to lUng Edward the Con- 
fessor, The personal charms of Maude, the wife of Ranulph 
Peveril, attracted the notice of William the Conqueror, and 
she became his mistress. William Peveril, of Derbyshire, 
and Lord of NoTTiNOHAAf, is said to hav^ been the i^^sue of 
this connexion. She had besides two other sons, Castellane 
Peveril, of Dover, and Sir Payne Peveril, afterwards Lord of 
Brun, in the county of Cambridge. There is evidently an 
error in some part or other of the history of this family. The 
first William Peveril, the natural son of William the Con- 
queror, held his large possessions and his honours during the 
lifetime of his father. Maude^ the wife of Ranulph Peveril, 
therefore, could hardly have been his mother, unless some 
error has crept into the account of her marriage which is re- 
presented to have taken place in. 1066, the same year that 
William, Duke of Normandy, was crowned King of £nglaadf 
She was the mother of several children before her pretended 
amour with the King; if so, Peveril could scarcely have been 
bom earlier than the fourth or fifth year of William's reign ; 
of course be must have been a youth of about seventeen years 
of age when his father died. This by no means agrees with 
the account which represents the Conqueror to hfiv^ bestow;ed 
upon his natural son, William Peveril, such ei^tensive posses- 
sions, shortly after he became King of England. Orderious 
Vitalis, an early historian, states, that <^ Peveril had the cws^ 
tody of the newly-built castle of Nottingham committed to 
him by the Conqueror, in the second year of his reign," — 
and in the Doomsday Survey, the castle in Peak Forest is ex* 
pressly mentioned at the h^d of his manors. Now if the 
first William Peveril was the son of Maude, the daughter of 
Ingleric, she must have been the mistress of the Conqueror 
long before her marriage with Ranulph Peverilt Payne Pe* 
veril was standard-bearer to Robert, Duke of Normandy, th© 
father of William ; and William being forty years old when 
he came to £ngland, Maude was probably bis mistress before 
this time -^ the only supposition which admits of her son 
being appointed governor of Nottingham Castle, in the secof^ 
*year of the reign of the first Williamt However this may b^e, 
it is nevertheless certain^ that William Peveril, who is repre* 
sented as the natural son of the Conqueror, bad immense 
possessions bestowed upon him by his sovereign immedmtely 


aftef the eonquesU Bloref in his history of the manol* of 
South Winfield, says, " he had in Nottingham forty-eight 
houses' of merchants, twelve houses of knights, and thirty-nine 
manors, with many dependent villages^ in Nottinghamshire : 
fi>rty-four lordships in Northamptonshire, and two in Essex. 
He had one manor, and a depend^it village, in Bedfordshire, 
two towns in Oxfordshire, eight manors, and their depend- 
encies, in Buckinghamshire ; and besides this manor of Win- 
field, tweliie manors and their villages, in Derbyshire." 

After the death of his &ther, and during the reign of the 
second William, Peveril was still a favourite at court, and at 
a season of peril, the Casde of Helme, in Normandy, was 
confided to his care. This fortress he held for the King, but 
on its being closely besieged, be surrendered it, without having 
made a determined defence. At his death, which took place 
a few years afterwards, he left behind him one son of the same 
name, to whom he bequeathed the whole of his inunense 
estates. The second William Peveril founded a priory at 
Lenton, - near Nottingham, for Cluniac monks, and an abbey 
of black canons near Northampton^ where, according to the 
abbey- register, he died in II 1 S. 

-The name and the honours of this wealthy &mily terminated 
with the third William Peveril; who, in the year 1153, was 
accuised of mutdering Ranulph, Earl of Chester, by poison. 
F6r this crime, dreading the severity of Henry the Second, 
he fled to the monastery of Lenton, and was diere shorn a 
monk ; but learning that the King intended to call at Lenton, 
6h his way to York, he threw off his rdigious habit, and pri- 
vately quitted the kingdom ; leaving his la^ possessions, his 
tuanors, and his casues, to be disposed of as his soverdgn 
mi^ht determine. He died a stranger in a foreign country, 
6Aa his lands were granted to John, Earl of Moreton, after- 
wards King John ; a man as little worthy of rank^ riches, and 
honours, -as the murderer of the Earl of Chester t^uld pos- 
sibhr have been. . 

From South Winfidd, a walk of about two miles brought 
us to Crich, one of the most populous villages in the neigh- 
bourhood. It occupies the summit of an immense limestone 
hill, that overlooks all the eminences iaround it. On a cliff, 
near the vilhice, a circular tower has been erected, which 
serves as a land-mark amongst the hills of Derbyshire. This 
lofty structure, and the tall spire of the church, make a part 
of 'iield*ly every landscape in this mountainous district Hie 


tower is ascended from within, and from the top of it a view 
is obtained of a wide extent of couritrv, intersected with roads, 
rivers, and canals, studded with viUages and houses, vales 
and eminences — in some plac^ bright with sunny fields — • 
in others, dark with masses of intervening wood; the whole 
presenting to the eye of the spectator ah immense panorama 
of interesting objects. 

As we entered the village, we found the inhabitants in the 
full enjoyment of one of their most important festivities, and 
as merry as high spirits and good cheer could make them. 

Friendly Societies, or, as they are called here. Sick Clubs^ 
are established in every village and hamlet in the Peak of 
Derbyshire that are sufficiently populous for the purpose ; 
and where they are not, they have a more enlarged operation, 
and the vicinity is included. The object and the constitution 
of these societies are so generally imderstood, that it is use- 
less in these pages to enter into detail on the subject ; but in 
Derbyshire they appear to excite a peculiar interest, and all 
their annual festivals are held on the same day. When we 
left Ashover, in the morning, preparations were making for 
this general holiday. The villagers were collecting together 
in their best apparel, and decorating their hats and wands of 
office with ribbons: such was the scene at Ashover. At 
Crich, where we arrived a little after mid-day, the inhabit- 
ants had formed themselves into a regular procession, and 
were parading the village, accompanied with a band of music* 
On these occasions each man carries a wand in his hand, 
which is usually painted with different colours, and adorned 
at the top with ribbons. The wands of the officers of the 
society are tipt with gold, and otherwise ornamented, by way 
of distinction. The people of Crich seemed delighted with 
the bustle, and all was frolic and hilarity. This was our 
noonday exhibition : in the evening, as we entered Cromford, 
every house and cottage were emptied of their inmates, and 
dancing, and music, and laughter, were heard through the 

** And ail the village train, from labour free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade. 
The young contending as the old survey'd ; 
And manv a gambol frolick'd o'er the eround. 
And sleights of art, and feats of strengu went round; 
X 2 


And still, as each repeated pleasure tii^d. 
Succeeding sports tbe mirthful band inspir'd; 
The dancing pair, that simply sought renown 
Bv holding out to tire eacn other down ; 
The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face. 
While secret laughter titter'd round the place." 

Goldsmith 8 Deserted Village, 

I have no recollection of ever having seen on any one day, 
so great a proportion of happy faces as we met with in our 
circuitous ramble on Whit-Monday from Ashover to Crich, 
Cromfordy and Matlock. 

During the short time we remained at Crich, we walked 
over some fields to a high point of ground that overlooks the 
rich vale through which the Derwent runs. Directly before 
us, were the magnificent woods of Alderwesly. Looking to- 
wards Oomford, we had a fine view of Lea Woods, Wel- 
lersley Castle, and the scenery about Matlock. In the con- 
trary direction, the eye wanders over hills and dales clothed 
with foliage, until, in remote distance, it rests upon the tower 
of All-Samt's Church, at Derby; dimly seen, it is true, but 
yet the most important object ^at can be discerned in the 
far-off landscape. The hills in this part of Derbyshire, on 
both sides of the Derwent, rise majestically from the valley ; 
they present a pleasing variety of outline, and their steep sides 
are adorned with some of the most beautiful woods that ever 
waved their branches to the winds. The river, with here 
and there a bridge thrown across the stream, courses through 
the depths of the vale, and its margin is enriched with ahnost 
every object that can delight in landscape scenery. 

Tne road from Crich to Cromford is carried along the side 
of a steep hill, by a gradual descent. It first passes through 
HaHoway, along a kind of mountain terrace that overlooks a 
long series of miles of beautifiil country; it then sinks rapidly 
amongst the thick woods that border Lea Mill. Every step 
along this road varies the prospect, and the traveller is some- 
times delighted with the beauty, and at others, elevated by 
the magnificence of the views it presents. The hills, the 
water, and the woods about Lea Mill form altogether one of 
the most picturesque seclusions in the vicinity of Matlock. 

Within little more than a mile of Lea Woods, is Dethick, 
a village which from a very early period of history, belonged 
to a ramily of the same name until the reign of the sixth 
Henry, when it became the property of the Bablngtons, in 


whose possession it remained until about the year 1586, when 
it passed into other hands. Anthony Babin^ton, during his 
residence at Dethick, is said to have organized a plan for 
releasing Mary Queen of Scots from her confinement at South 
Winfield ; but the design being suspected by the agents of 
Elizabeth, the royal captive was more strictly watched, and 
shortly afterwards removed to Fotheringay Castle, in Nor- 
thamptonshire, where she was freed from her long imprison- 
ment by the axe of the executioner. 

That Babington should have plotted the release of Mary 
is not improbable : he had a daring and romantic spirit, and 
the prospect of a successful issue to such a project, would be 
to a mind like his, a powerfril stimulant, and make him reck- 
less of consequences. Certain it is, that he entered into a 
treasonable conspiracy against Elizabeth. John Ballard, a 
priest of the English seminary ^t Rheimis, was his principal 
associate, and several Catholic gentlemen, with a number of 
others, were connected with them in this desperate attempt. 
The vigilance of Elizabeth's government soon detected die 
designs of the conspirators, who, being alarmed at their 
danger, separated and fled in difierent directions. Babington 
is reported to have stained his &ce with the juice of walnuts, 
and to have taken refuge at a cottage in the neighbourhood 
of Harrow on the Hill, but he was soon discovered in his 
hiding-place, and conveyed to London with some of his as- 
sociates, who had been previously taken. Their trial and 
condemnation immediately succeeded — and Babington and 
his confederates, fourteen in number, expiated their offences 
at the gallows or on the scaffold. The dreadful sentence of 
the law, accompanied with all its horrors of hanging, quarter- 
ing, and burning, was put in execution ; and thus ended this 
ill-concerted and foolish attempt to destroy the government 
of Elizabeth. This conspiracy hurried on the fate of Mary : 
she was charged with being an accomplice in the plot, and 
after an irregular trial brfore an incompetent tribunal, she 
was condemned, and beheaded on the 7th of February 1587) 
in the forty-fourth year of her age and the nineteenth of her 
captivity. Hume, an historian whose authority cannot be 
lightly regarded, and others of more modem date, profess to 
believe this foul imputation on the fair fame of the Scottish 
queen; but the elegant historian of Scodand, the eloquent 
and argumentative Robertson, has satisfactorily proved that 

x 3 


she was not privy to the conspiracy of Babington and his 

From Lea Mill, a pleasant walk by the side of the Derweirt, 
beneath the shadow of overhanging trees, brought us to 
Cromford, and to the busy evening-scene that distinguished the 
close of the day on Whit-Monday, which has been previously 




Morning at Matlock, — Via Gellia. — Hopton, — Sir John GelL 
— Carsington. — Mocks in the Vicinity of Brassington, — 
Derbyshire Trossacks. — Tissington. — Ancient Custom of 
Dressing Wells with FlowerSf — Night Walk fo Ashborne. 

We spent the night at Matlock, and the following morning 
proceeded on our excursion. When we left this romantic 
place, the woods that lie embosomed within the deep hollow 
of the Dale were vocal with the ^ong of birds, every where 
warbling forth their matin orisons to flie new-bom day. The 
rush of the Derwent was accompanied with a prolonged and 
softened sound, that, mingled with the lively strains of these 
feathered choristers, gave a richer and mellower tone to their 
wild but harmonious chantings. We quitted Matlock with 
regret — passed through the artificial opening that has been 
made in Scarthing Rock — left the greyhound-inn at Crom- 
ford, on our right — and entered into a deep but narrow dale 
that leads to Bonsai and Via Oellia. A scene near the mill, 
at the entrance into Bonsai Dale, particularly attracted our 
attention : rocks, and hills, and wood, . and water, are here 
most happily combined. I once heard the younger Reinagle 
observe, '' that he never met with a more picturesque compo^ 
sition in nature than is here presented." « 

Following the route we had prescribed to ourselves^ we left 
the road to Bonsai on our right, and passed along Via Gellia^ 
on our way to Hopton. I entered on this classically deno* 
minated road without any pleasurable anticipations. The 
recollections of a former journey obtruded i^pon^me, arid I 
experienced a tediousness of feeling, that could only be as- 
cribed to disappointed expectations on a former occasion. It 
was then the first week in September, but the weather was as 
hot as in July ; not a cloud was seen in the heavens, and a 
mid-day sun poured a flood of light and heat into the dales 

X 4 

812 VIAGfiLLIA. 

ihrough which Via Oellia is carried. All was glare and flatter 
to the eye ; not a spot of shadow intervened to afford a 
moment's shelter from the warm rays of a clear sun, which a 
dusty limestone road rendered almost unbearable. Under 
such circumstances hardly any place could be tolerable; I 
therefore passed along a road cdebrated for its scenery, 
heartily wishing myseli in any other part of Derbyshire, and 
wondering at the taste that had discovered any thing like 
beauty in Via Gellia. Thus the mind throws its own sickly 
or healthful hues over the objects of its contemplation, and 
wraps them in ^oom, or adorns them with loveliness, agree- 
ably to the emotions by which it is influenced — as ill-humour 
dictates, or cheerful thoughts prevaiL I now beheld Via 
^Gellia under more fortunate circumstances, and with other 
feelings ; cloud and sunshine, a gleam of light and then a pass- 
ing sSiadow, moved over the mils, increased their natural 
beau^, and made one forget the monotony of form and cloth- 
ing by which they are distmguished. High sloping acclivities, 
chiefly covered with hazels, and sparingly sprinkled with dwarf 
oak, and ash, mark each side of the road : hence every turn 
that it makes, instead of a new scene, presents only a repetition 
of the past — and the parts as they succeed are so similar in 
character and appearance, that we felt as if we were walking 
the same ground over again, and made no sensible progress 
hi ou)r jobrkiey. A gradual ascent of a few miles at length 
brought us to the top of the hills that separate Hopton from 
Matlock. In whatever direction we looked, the country was 
beautiful. The road we had passed was marked by a continued 
range of eminences, the oudines of which played into, and 
were blended with each other, ih pleasing and almost endless 
variety. We now discovered that we had passed through Via 
Gellia in a diredion that prevented us from fiilly appreciating 
its picturesque qualities. In ascending towards Hopton, our 
view was bounded by the hills that closely environed us ; de- 
scending, the prospect is every where varied and full of beauty : 
the difierent eminences amongst which the road winds are seen 
rising b^nd each other, their sununits enveloped in a sofl 
aerial tint, and gradually becomix^ more shadowy in form, and 
indistinct in outline, as they recede into distance, where they 
are lost among others still more remote. I one evening passed 
on the outside of a carriage along this romantic roiad to Mat- 
lock. We shot rapidly through the dales : the quick succession 
of scenery, and the Krequent shifting of the hills before us. 


which seemed to change their positions at every turn we made^ 
together with the rich tone of colotiritig that a declining sun 
spread over thftni} produced an efiect ahnost magical. The 
whole soon passed away, and left an impression on the mind 
more like the recollection of a dream than the remembrance 
of any thing that had actually occurred. 

Approaching Hopton, the country assumes a different cha^ 
racter ; the upper stratum is still lime, but the few rocks and 
hills that occur ate diminutive, when compared with those we 
had left behind us ; yet, as a mineral district, it is interesting 
and important-— ana immediately in the neighbourhood of 
Hopton it is picturesque and beautiful. As we descended the 
hill towards the village a deep dale lay before us, and the ele^ 
vated grounds on our right were crested with wood. The 
road we were pursuing. was dark with the shadows of closely* 
tangled boughs and spreading foliage; and our right was 
thickly beset with some of the loftiest trees in the county of 
Derby, between whose tall trunks we occasionally caught a 
glimpse of verdant slopes and rocky knolls beyond, where the 
light played vividly ; and many a lovely picture of this de- 
scription we beheld on our approach to Hopton. Emerging 
from amongst the trees at the foot of the hill, we came upon 
a more open country, over which Hopton Hall enjoys a de- 
lightful prospect. This pleasant mansion, the residence of 
Philip Gell, Esq. M. P., is a good modem structure, and 
finely situated at the foot of a steep eminence, amongst a thick 
mass of luxuriant wood, intermingled with jutting craggs and 
verdant knolls. The Hopton estate has been in the family of 
the Gells "Upwards of two centuries. In J 642, John Gell 
was created a baronet by Charles the First, but he did not, 
however, attach himself to the King's party on this account. 
He was indeed the first individual of consequence in the 
county of Derby, who took up arms in the cause of parliament. 
He was an active and zealous partizan, and his example in- 
fluenced the deteiminations of his neighbours so entirely, that 
Lord Clarendon observes, " there was in Derbyshire no 
visible party for the king, the whole country being under the 
influence of Sir. John Gell." After the termination of the 
war, he complained of the treatment he had received from the 
very power whose cause he had espoused, whose battles he 
had fought, and whose exertions he had assisted with large 
contributions from his own purse, greatiy to the injury of his 
fortune. He likewise sustained considerable loss when his 


house was plundered by the enemy, for which he received no 
compensation. In 1650, this enterprising officer had serious 
charges preferred against him : he was tried for misprision of 
treason, and was sentenced, by the high court of justice, to be 
imprisoned for life, and his estates to be confiscated ; but two 
years afterwards he obtained the remission of his sentence. 
With the third baronet. Sir Riilip Gell, who died in 1719, 
the title became extinct 

Situated close to Hopton is the village of Carsington, one 
side of which is built under some limestone rocks, whose grey 
crags jut over the tops of the houses ; but there is nothing in 
the place that a tourist would stop to notice. Leaving Car- 
sington, we enquired our way to Brassington ; and, strange as 
it may appear, the man of whom we asked the question, al- 
though he was a resident in the neighbourhood, told us ** he 
did not know such a place." We then enquired the name of 
the village we had left : he answered, *^ Carson, to be sure.** 
— " And what place do we come at next ?' — " Brasson," he 
replied. These answers solved the mystery ; the three syl- 
lables were cut down into two, which we found was the cus- 
tomary pronunciation of the country ; — we were, therefore^ 
prepared for these contractions in future. 

Shortly after leaving Carsington, we crossed into the fields 
called Brassington pastures. In these pastures, and on the 
higher grounds north of the village, several curious specimens 
of rock scenery are to be found.; In some places, insulated 
masses rise out of the ground, assuming a variety of fantastic 
forms ; in others, a ridge of bare limestone crags crests an 
eminence with a line of rocky arrows, into which it is split 
and divided. These innumerable spires, that look like a long 
continuation of huge sharks' teeth, are frequently met with in 
the vicinity of Brassington. In a publication, now preparing 
for the press, that I have lately seen, they are denominated the 
Derbyshire Trossacks ; but in the district to which they parti- 
cularly belong, they, as well as the insulated rocks I have 
before alluded to, are known by difierent appellations ; Peter^s 
Pike, Elder Tor, Reynard's Tor, and Horboro Rocks, near 
the top of which there is said to be a hermitage and the re- 
mains of a well ; and others of a similar description, have here 
a " local habitation and a name." These rocks are not pic- 
turesque objects in landscape, but their forms and character 
render them worthy of the observation of geologists. 

Dove Dale was the chief object of our excursion ; and, as 


the day was &st declining, we passed through Bradboum 
without a pause, crossed the Ashbdume road about a mile and 
a half from Grange Mill, and pursued our way alon^ some 
pleasant fields to Tissington, — a village distinguished by 
the residence of the ancient family of the Fitzherberts. In 
the year 1643, Tissington Hall was garrisoned for the king; 
but, in consequence of the imsuccessful result of a battle 
fought near Ashbourne between the parliamentary and royal 
forces, it was evacuated early in the following year. This old 
mansion, together with the estate and manor appertaining 
thereto, are now the property of Sir Henry Fitzherbert, Bart., 
who resides at the Hall, and who succeeded his elder brother, 
Sir Anthony, in the year 1799. 

An ancient custom still prevails in the village of Tissington, 
to which indeed it appears to be confined — for I have not met 
with any thing of a similar description in any other part of 
Derbyshire. It is denominated Well- Flowering, and Holy 
Tliursday is devoted to the rites and ceremonies of this elegant 
custom. The day is regarded as a festival ; and all the wells 
in the place, five in number, are decorated with wreaths and 
garlands of newly-gathered flowers, disposed in various devices. 
Sometimes boards are used, which are cut to the figure in^* 
tended to be represented, and covered with moist clay, into 
which the stems of the flowers are inserted, to preserve their" 
freshness ; and they are so arranged as to form a beautifiil 
mosaic work, often tastefiil in design and vivid in colouring J 
the boards, thus adorned, are so placed in the spring, that the 
water appears to issue fi-om amongst beds of flowers. On tHfe 
occasion the villagers put on their best attire, and open their 
houses to their fi*iends. There is service at the church, where 
a sermon is preached ; aft;erwards a procession takes place, and 
the wells are visited in succession : the psalms for the day, the 
epistle and gospel, are read, one at each well, and the whole 
concludes with a hymn, sung by the church singers, and 
accompanied by a band of music. This done, they sepa-^ 
rate, and the remainder of the day is spent in rural sports and 
holiday pastimes. 

The custom of Well-Flowering, as it exists at Tissington^ 
is said to be a Popish relic ; but in whatever way it originated,, 
one would regret to see it discontinued. That it is of greaC 
antiquity cannot be disputed ; it seems to have existed, at dif-* 
ferent periods of time, in countries far remote fi'om each other- 
In the earlier ages of poetry and romance, wherever fountaini^ 


and wells were situated, the c(»nmon people were accustomed 
to honour them with the titles of saints. In our own country, 
innumerable instances occur of wells being so denominated. 
** Where a spring rises or a river flows," says Seneca, " there 
should we build altars and offer sacrifices." At the Fountain 
of Arethusa in Syracuse, a place that every reader of poetry 
and history has often heard oj^ great festivsls were celebrated 
every year. In Roman antiquity, the Fontinalia were religious 
feasts, held in honour of the nymphs of wells and fountains : 
the ceremony consisted in throwing nos^ays into Ibimtains, and 
putting crowns of flowers upon wells. Many authorities might 
be quoted in support of {he antiquity of this elegant custom, 
which had its origin anterior to the introduction of Christianity* 
It was mingled with the rites and ceremonies of the Heathens, 
who were accustomed to worship streams and fountains, 
and to suppose that the njonphs, whom they imagined the 
goddesses of the waters, presided over them. Shaw, in his 
** History of the Province of Morray," -observes, that " Hea- 
thenish customs were much practised amongst the people 
there; and he cites as an instance ^' that they performed pil-* 
grimages to wells, and built chapels in honour of their foun- 
tains." From this ancient usage, which has been continued 
through a long succession of i^es, and is still in existence at 
Tissington, arose the practice of sprinkling the Severn and the 
rivers of Wales with flowers, as alluded to by Dyer in his 
poem of the Fleece, and by Milton in his Comus, 

• with light fantastic toe the nymphs 

Thither assembled, thither every swain; 

And o*er the dimpled stream a thousand flowers. 

Pale lillies, roses, violets, and pinks, 

Mix'd with the green of bumet, mint, and thyme. 

And trefoil, sprinkled with their sportive arms : 

Such custom holds along th' irriguoos v^es. 

From Wreakin's brow to rocky Dolvoryn." 


** The shepherds at their festivals 
Carol her good deeds loud in rustic lays. 
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream. 
Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.*' 


We were now about foiir miles from Ashbourne, and within 
two of Dove Dale ; but it was nearly dark, and as it was not 



our object to visit Ashbourne, and return four or five iniles 
fix>m thence on the following morning, we enquired at a small 
public-house by the road-side if accommodations for the night 
could not be obtained nearer the dale, when we were told, that 
a mile or two farther, across some fields and down a narrow 
lane, we should find as good accommodations as any gentleman 
could wish ; and if we did not choose to stop there, we might 
go on to Mappleton. This exhiHrating intelligence gave an 
elastic impulse to our almost jaded spirits, and we pursued 
with alacrity the path pointed out to us, until the night became 
so totally oark that we literally groped our way to the Dog 
and Partridge, a small public-house, well known by all who 
visit Dove Dale. We reconnoitred the place, and soon con- 
cluded to proceed farther. We observed in the-house four or 
five men sitting over a solitary farthing candle, around a few 
almost extinct embers in the grate, which cast a feeble light 
upon their pallid feces, and imperfectly exhibited a group of 
figures, better suited for the pencil of Salvator than of either 
T^nniers or Ostade. 

Mappletpn was the pbce we were next directed to ; but 
being straiigers to the road, which lay partly through open 
fields, and our obtaining lodgings for three tired pedestrians 
in a small village being uncertain, we proceeded a few miles 
farther to Ashbourne. As we descended the hill into the 
town all was still as midnight, save where in passing we dis- 
turbed the watch-dog in his sleep, and were accosted with his 

There is hardly any silence more solemn and profound than 
that which pervades a country town at midnight. In the 
fields the sighing of the winds is heard amongst the branches; 
whenever the breeze stirs the very quiver of the leaves is 
audible, and there is a voice in every grove and picket. 
Sometimes the low of cattle, the twitter of a lone bird among 
the bushes, or the purling of a stream, breaks the stillness of 
the night, even where me dwellings of men are few and far 
apart ; but in the midst of a throng of houses, the habitations 
of beings like ourselves, the idea of silence is alien to the 
feeling that prevails, and the mind being sometimes more 
powerfully influenced by associations than actual existences, 
the stillness of a town is more awful and impressive than the 
stillness of the country. Ashbourne, when we entered it, 
seemed to be nearly deserted; not an inn door was invitingly 
open to receive us, and no lights were to be seen, except here 


and there a solitary bed-candle twinkling through the windows 
of the upper apartments, and lighting the inhabitants to rest. 
We however obtained lodgings at a tolerably good inn near 
the middle of the town, and recruited our jaded spirits over a 
short but hearty supper. We then retired to our separate 
apartments, and reposed our weary limbs, but not on beds of 
down, for we needed not such a luxury to make sleep sweet 
and refreshing. 

** Why rather, sleep, ly'st thou in smoky cribs. 

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee. 

And hush'd with busy nightflies to thy slumber ; 

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great. 

Under the canopies of costly state, 

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?*' 




Ashbourne Church. — Monument hy Banks. — Walk to Do'Oe 
Dale. — View of the Dale from the Descent near Thorpe 
Cloud. — Character of the River Dove, — Dove Dale Church. 
— Reynard^ s Cave. — Fatal Occurrence there. — View from 
this part qfthe'*Dale. — The narrow Pass. — Retrospect of the 
Character of the whole Dale. — Rocky Portals^ and the 
Meadows beyond. — Rosseau, and his Visit to the Vicinity of 
Dove Dale. 

li/EFERRiNG my readers to the first section of this excursion, 
they will observe that it was undertaken in the month of May« 
Passing from Matlock through Via Gellia to Hopton, I recur- 
red to a former journey made in the second week of Septem- 
ber, to which the whole of the subsequent detail refers. It 
was at this season of the year when we spent the night at 
Ashbourne : the following morning, previously to our depart- 
ure for Dove Dale, we walked through the principal streets, 
and paid a visit to the church. The town is pleasantly situated 
in a very beautiful country; high hills shelter it from the cold 
winds of the north, and towards the south it looks upon a fine 
open valley, richly cultivated, through which the River Dove 
meanders amongst some of the most fertile meadows in the 
kingdom. The church was built about the middle of the 
thirteenth century, and is an excellent specimen of gothic 
architecture. It is in the form of a cross, with a square tower 
in the centre, from which a lofty and elegantly ornamented 
spire arises. The interior is light and spacious, and the pillars 
that support the roof are strong and massy. These, in several 
places, have been strangely defaced, and pardy cut away, that 
some unmeaning monumental tablets might conveniently be 
put against them. It is a pity that the churchwardens who 
suffered such a mutilation as this to take place, were not 
made to do penance for their neglect of duty. There is a 
beautiful little monument in this church, from the chisel of 
Banks, which for execution, design, and feeling, would do 


credit to the talents of any artist. It is to the memory of the 
only child of Sir Brooke Boothby, a da^hter, who died at 
the age of five years and eleven months. (^ a marble pedes* 
tal, a mattress, sculptured &om the same material, is laid; on 
this the child reposes, but apparently not in quiet ; her head 
reclines on a pillow, but the disposition of the whole figure- 
indicates restlessness. The little sufierer, indeed, appears as 
if she had just changed her position by one of those frequent 
turnings to which ulness often in vain resorts for relief from 
pain. The inscription on the tablet below enforces this 
feeling : — 

" I was not in safety, neither had I rest, and the trouble came." 

The pedestal below is inscribed — 


Only child of Sir Brooke Boothby, and Dame Susannah Boothby, 

Bom, April 11 th, 1785.---Died, March I3th, 1791. 

She was in form and intellect most exquisite. 

The unfortunate parents ventured their all on this fifail bark, and the 

wreck was total. 

It is impossible to hang over the beautiful image which the 
artist has here sculptured forth^ and peruse the simple but 
affecting inscriptions that are scattered around it, without 
sympathising with the afflicted parents who had ^^ ventured 
their all of happiness on this frail bark," and found '^ the 
wreck was total.** This monumental design, which is ex- 
quisitely finished, and fiill of tender feeling, probably sug- 
gested to Chantrey the execution of that master-piece of 
art, the group of the Two Children, now the grace and 
ornament of Litchfield Cathedral, and the boast of modem 

We lefl Ashbourne by the same road we had travdled over 
the preceding evening ; and after a walk of about two miles, 
we beheld at a short distance on our lefl, the airy sum- 
mit of Thorp Cloud, which, instead of looking like a huge 
mountain, as we had expected, had only the appearance of a 
moderate-sized hill. Some richly-cultivated meadows, bounded 
by high hawthorn hedges, and a deep dale beyond, lay he* 
tween us and this lofly eminence ; we were therefore strangely 
deceived both in the dimensions of its base, and the altitude 
of its summit Proceeding onwards, die peak of Thorp Cloud 

g;ain disappeared, and we shortly afterwards came to the 
og and Partridge, the public-house which we had passed 


the night before, on our way to Ashbourne. Here we rested, 
and took a short refreshment, previously to our proceeding 
to Dove Dale. Entering the house, we observed traces of 
blood on the threshold, and on a seat near the fire-place of 
the first apartment into which we were admitted. Farther on, 
in an unfrequented room, and half out of sight, lay the greater 
part of a man's dress, almost covered with stains of blcKxL I 
felt an involuntary shuddering at the sight, but it was only a 
transient feeling; yet I confess that the Agaves we had ob- 
served as we passed the house the former evening, were for a 
m<Hnent associated with the bloody clothes. We learnt before 
we lefl the house, that the man who kept it had been cutting 
hay from a stack near his dwelling, and fidling upon the knife, 
he had been wounded in a dreadml manner. Profuse bleed- 
ing ensued, and the appearances we had noticed were thus 
accounted for. Shortly we lefl the house, which, at this par- 
ticular time, was literally a house of mourning, and passing 
along a good carriage-road descending into a valley near, that 
led us to the little village of Thorpe. Our path now lay 
through some open pastures, undl winding round the northern 
side of Thorpe Cloud, we first beheld the translucid waters 
of the Dove playing and sparkling in the depths of the dale 
below. Here we paused in silent contemplation of the scene. 
The character of the first view of Dove Dale is simple gran- 
deur : the hills swell boldly from both sides of the river, and 
their majestic summits are oflen hid amongst the clouds ; the 
parts are few, and the outlines sweep gracefully into each 
other : yet here the dale exhibits only a small portion of its 
rich materials, and curiosity is rather excited than gratified. 
It was a fine morning when we first beheld the enchanting 
scenery of the river Dove, yet still the summit of Thorpe 
Cloud was sometimes obsc ired with vapour, or, in the .phrase- 
ology of the place, the ^^ mountain had its cap on.'' When 
we nad reached the margin of the river, and were measuring 
with the eye the altitude of the hills that shape its course, 
we observed some sportsmen with their dogs ranging amongst 
the bushes on the steep acclivities on our right, and so far 
above us as to appear strangely diminutive in stature, and 
but the miniature representations of what they were. As we 
passed along the dale, the report of their guns occasionally 
rung in loud discord among the rocks, interrupting the soli- 
tude of the place, and destroying the peculiar tone of feeling 
which it is eminently calculated to excite. 


The river Dove is one of the most beautiful streums that 
ever gave a charm to landscape ; and while passing along the 
first and least picturesque division of the dale, the ear was 
soothed with its murmurings, and the eye delighted with the 
brilliancy of its waters : in some places it flows smoothly and 
solemnly along, but never slowly; in others, its motion is 
rapid, impetuous, and even turbulent. The ash, thehazle, 
the slender osier, and the graceful birch, hung with honey- 
suckles and wild roses, dip their pensile branches in the 
stream, and break its surface into beauteous ripples. Huge 
fragments of stone, toppled from the rocks above, and parUy 
covered with moss and plants that haunt and love the water, 
divide the stream into many currents ; round these it bubbles 
in limpid rills, that circle into innumerable eddies, which, by 
their activity, give life and motion to a numerous variety of 
aquatic plants and flowers that grow in the bed of the river : 
these wave their slender stems under the sur&ce of the water, 
which, flowing over them, like the transparent varnish of a 
picture, brings forth the most vivid colouring. Occasionally 
large stones are thrown across the stream, and interrupt its 
progress : over and amongst these it rushes rapidly into the 
pool below, forming in its frequent falls a series of fairy cas- 
cades, about which it foams and sparkles with a beauty and 
brilliancy peculiar to this lively and romantic river. 

At the extremity of what I have here denominated the first 
division of the dale, the path leaves the margin of the Dove, . 
and crosses a rocky knoll of considerable eminence. From 
this elevated situation a new picture is presented : the rocks 
have here a character peculiarly their own. On the left:, they 
shoot their spiral heads from amongst a grove of thickest 
wood, or rise in insulated masses over the tops of the trees : 
on the right, they are connected at their base, and their sum- 
mits are split into huge cones and shattered pinnacles. 

Descending from our elevation, and following the path by 
the side of the river, we came to a curious assemblage of 
broken rocks, closely united together below, but above in- 
dented with deep fissures, and divided into pyramidal termin- 
ations, which collectively are denominated Dove Dale Church. 
This fantastic resemblance of a dilapidated structure is finely 
situated at the base of an immense hill of .wood, whose \offy 
summit is adorned with overhanging crags. The foliage of 
the trees is hereof the most luxuriant description, and- the 
river sparkles with the vivid reflections of the many pic- 


turesque objects on its banks. This is one of the richest parts 
of Dove Dale for the pencil of the artist, and Glover has 
made it the subject of one of his best pictui*es : he has given 
an accurate transcript of the features of the scene in all its 
parts ; the local colouring is true to nature ; and he has im- 
parted to his representation of this portion of Dove Dale an 
appearance of magnitude, and a character of grandeur, which 
give all but reality to the scene he has depicted. 

The graphic illustrations that have hitherto been published 
of this romantic dale, give but a very imperfect iclea of the 
scenery it contains. Gilpin's, I presume, was made from 
recollection: rocks, woods, and a river, he remembered to 
have seen, and when at leisure in his study he combined them 
as best suited his &ncy. The fact is, he painted much better 
with his pen than with his pencil. Dayes was mor6 accurate. 
The view which he has given, in his Northern Excursion, of 
the first entrance into the dale, is correct in all its forms ; but 
the effect is &r from imposing : the whole is muddy, and an 
idea of littleness rather than magnitude is excited. Farring- 
don, in his Derbyshire Depicta, is still more &ulty ; he has 
not given the character accurately of any scene or object in 
the aale. This is taking a liberty with nature on the one 
hand, and with the public on the other, utterly unwarrantable 
both in art and morals. 

About two hundred yards beyond Dove Dale Church, on 
the contrary side of the river, is Reynard's Cave, one of the 
most extraordinary and curious specimens of rock-scenery in 
any part of Derbyshire. This cave consists of a stupendous 
rib of rock, which is partly detached from the general mass, 
and excavated into a magnificent natural arch, regularly 
formed, and of great extent; an open court is seen beyond, 
and in distance the entrance into an interior cavern appears. 
The rocks near this arch are adorned with ivy, and so formed 
and connected together as to present to an active im^ination 
the rude resemblance of some mighty castle, and the fit abode 
of those fabled beings whom one of the greatest favourites of 
the nursery knew so well how to tame and subdue. 

In Ashbourne church-yard there is a tomb-stone, inscribed 
to the memory of an Irish divine, the Rev. Mr. Langton, dean 
of Clogher, who lost his life near the entrance into Reynard's 
Cave. A party of ladies and gentlemen were spending the 
day in Dove Dale : the deaii with difficulty had brought his 
horse thus far, and, with an unaccountable temerity, he pro- 

Y 2 . 


posed to ascend the hills, and scale the most accessible parts 
of the rocks on horseback. A young lady, a Miss La Roche, 
with more courage than prudence, requested permission to 
accompany him in his rash attempt: she mounted behind 
him : they clambered the hill to a fearful height, while their 
companions below were shuddering at their danger, and gaz- 
ing upon them with an anxiety intense even to pain. At 
length, the horse, unable to find secure footing, tottered un- 
der his burden, stumbled, fell, and rolled headlong down the 
steep. ' The dean was precipitated to the bottom of the dole : 
life had not departed when he was taken up, but he expired 
shortly afterwards. Miss La Roche was more fortunate ; she 
was Slightly hurt, and rendered insensible with the fall, but 
she ultimately recovered to lament the dreadful consequences 
of an adventure in which she had so unthinkingly participated. 
Near this &tal spot we sat down to sketch the scenery in 
this part of the dale. From the situation we occupied we had 
a fine view of the narrow part of Dove Dale. We looked 
into the deep ravine of rock before us. The sun was high in 
the heavens, but his rays were excluded from all the k>wer 
parts of the dell. A broad mass of light gleamed upon the 
higher rocks on the right of the pass ; the lefl lay in deep 
shadow. One side was bare, save where a solitary bough or 
two of ash or yew shot from a fissure, where they had round 
a scanty soil and stinted nurture : the other was covered with 
trees of various and graceful foliage. The light played 
amongst the branches that crested the summit ; but below, 
the bmckness of shadow filled up the chasm, and dark flowed 
the river fi*om the narrow pass. We were sufficiently ele- 
vated to obtain the sight of a lovely landscape beyond this vale 
of rocks, that diversified and improved the composition. 
Sometimes the light fell sofUy on the remote hills, while 
nearer us the topmost cli£fs were bathed in sunny splendour, 
which, by the force of opposition, deepened the efiect of a 
mass of shade in the mid-distance of the landscape. The day 
was peculiarly favourable for picturesque effects. At inter- 
vals the sky was obscured by clouds, which dispersing, ad- 
mitted a flood of light, that brightly illumined all around ; 
others succeeded, and occasionally threw the whole scene 
into gloom; but the finest efiects were produced, when, 
through partial openings in the clouds, the concentrated rays 
of the sun darted in brilliant lines of light, and for a moment 
lit up the rocky summits of Dove Dale ; while every object 


around them was enveloped in obscurity. The splendour 
with which they were occasionally touched was at times so 
intensely bright that they looked like turrets of firel, lifting 
their illuminated peaks out of the clouds that rolled about 
them. J wished to have seen this imposing picture an hour 
or. two nearer sunset ; at which peculiar time it would have 
realised one of Sir Walter Scott's most beautiful descriptions 
in the Lady of the Lake: — 

'* The western waves of ebbing day 
RoU'd o'er the slen their level way ; 
Each purple petdc, each flinty spire. 
Was bath'd in floods of living nre ; 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below — 
Where tum'd the path, in shadows hid, 
Round many a rocky pyramid, ", 

Shooting abruptly from the dell 
Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle. 
Round many an insulated mass. 
The native bulwarks of the pass." 

About two hundred yards beyond Reynard's Cave is the 
termination of the second grand division of Dove'Dde. Here 
the narrow pass commences, afibrding only a passage for the 
troubled waters of the Dove, and on the Derbyshire side of < 
the stream a very scanty pathway beneath the rocks : the op- 
posite bank is totally impassable. Here the river, as if im- 
patient at being restrained within the limits of this contracted 
chasm, rushes with great impetuosity to a more open part of 
the dale, when its turbulence subsides, and it becomes again 
a placid, but a rapid stream. Sometimes the river occupies 
the whole space between the rocks ; at others, the traveller 
has occasionally to step from one huge stone to another, to 
ayoid the water that passes between. Through this upper 
division of the dale, the rocks rise in perpendicular masses 
on both sides of the riven In some places, imposing preci- 
pices frown over die path below, inspiring emotions of awe 
and terror. Beneath these we passed in silence, as if we 
felured our voices would disturb the firm-fixed rock above, 
and bring the incumbent mass, like a tremendous avaltoche, 
upon our heads. This,' though not the most beautiful, is 
certidnly the most terrific part of Dove Dale. The three 
divisions which I have noticed are dissimilar in form and 
feature, yet the same general character pervades the whole. 

Y S 


The entrance into the dale, from the side of Thorpe Cloud, 
is an appropriate introduction to the beauties that succeed : 
proceeding onwards, the forms become more romantic, the 
foliage thickens ; and the rocks assume a greater portion of 
grandeur, -— eveiy stqi varies the scene, but the same bold 
Impress is upon the whole* Some of tins rocks are peculiar, 
perhaps fiuitastic; yet accompanied, as they are, with a 
variety of beautiful foliage, hun^ with ivy, and chequered 
with lichens, they are not only interesting, but even pictu- 
resque objecta; and, where they call to mind the forms of 
things to which they have but a remote resemblance, they do 
it so imperfectly, that the imagination is amused in supptying 
the deficiencies. The whole scenery indeed of this dale^ 
from the southern to the northern extremity, improves at 
every step, until it reaches the very place where I have paused 
to retrace its character, and it terminates with one of its sub- 
limes! features. A mighty pillar of insulated rock, which has 
its base in the stream, rises from the left bank of the river ; 
a bold mass of rock, whose conical summit penetrates the 
douds, occupies the right : between these huge portals flows 
the river Dove. Through this contracted space, some flat 
meadows, clothed with verdure, appear ; and still farther in 
distance, bold swelling hills close in the prospect The efiect 
of this scene is truly magical : it is an interesting transition 
from one description of landscape to another, Oiat excites 
surprise by its suddenness, and charms with its beauty. 
Through this magnificent portal we passed into the lovely 
meadows beyond, where we stood a while to gaze upon the 
gloomy ravine we had just left. We then sat down amongst 
a grove of hazels in a sweet little vale, as dissimilar in cha- 
racter to the scenery of Dove Dale as if they had been hun- 
dreds of miles apart. The river flowed gently and beautifully 
before us, — the cattle were grazing in the meadows, appa- 
rently unconscious of the presence of any human being, — 
the red-lureast poured his lone requiem from amongst the 
bushes that were scattered over the rising ground where we 
sat, "^ and the rush of the waters through the narrow part of 
the dale came sofUy upon the ear^ which was soothed with 
its murmurs. The scene was deJ^htfuIly tranquil, and die 
mind, that only a few minutes before had been excited to 
emotions of sublimity and terror, sunk into a state of pleasing 
repose and luxurious languor. 

JDove Dale was one of the fiivourite resorts of the enthu- 


siastic and sensitive Rousseau during his residence in its im- 
mediate vicinity, and he is said to have planted many rare 
and curious seeds in this sequestered spot. At this time he 
lived chiefly at Wooton Hall, a retreat that was procured for. 
him principallv through the influence of the historilm Hume. 
Rousseau lived in continual agitation and alarm. Plots and 
conspiracies, he supposed, were entered into and carried on 
against his personal safety and happiness in every countiy on 
the continent of Europe, and he sought an asylum in Eng- 
land from the imagined persecutions of imaginary enemies. 
In April, 1 766, when Rousseau had just setded in Derby- 
shire, — ^* Here,*' says he, /^ I have arrived at last at an 
agreeable and sequestered asylum, where I hope to breathe 
freely and at peace.'' But here he did not long remain ^^ at 
peace;" he soon found cause of quarrel with those who were 
endeavouring to serve him, and in the month of April fol- 
lowing he quitted his ^^ agreeable and sequestered asyluii)," 
and returned to the Continent, heaping reproaches on his 
best friends. He was an unamiable, petulant, and angry 
man. The rent of the house in which he lived had been 
greatly reduced, to allure him into the country ; his spirit 
revolted at this, and as soon as he heard of it he indignandy 
left the place. Whilst at Wooton Hall, he received a present 
of some bottles of choice foreign wine ; this was a gift, and 
his pride would not permit him to taste it ; he therefore left 
it in the house untouched, for the next comer. For some 
reason or other, or more probably for none, he had deter- 
mined not to see Dr. Darwin. The Doctor, aware of his 
objections, placed himself on a terrace where Rousseau had 
to pass, and was examining a plant. ^^ Rousseau," said he, 
" are you a botanist?" They entered into conversation, and 
were intimate at once; but Rousseau, on reflection, imagined 
that this meeting was the result of contrivance, and the in- 
timacy proceeded no farther. It was indeed impossible for 
any body to be on terms of friendship long with the eccentric 
and ill-humoured Jean Jacques Rousseau. Madame de Stael, 
in her reflections on this strange man and his writings, has 
admirably depicted his character. " His faculties," she ob- 
serves, '* were slow in their operation, but his heart was 
ardent : it was in consequence of his own meditations that he 
became impassioned : he discovered no sudden emotion, but 
all his feelings grew upon reflection. Sometimes he would 
part with you with all his former afiection ; but if an expres- 

Y 4 


sion ,had escaped you which might bear an an&vourable con- 
struction, he would recollect it, examine it, — perhaps dwell 
upon it for a month, — and conclude by a total breach with 
you. Hence it was that there was -scarcely a possibility of 
undeceiving him, for the light whi^h broke in upon him at 
once was not suflSdent to eflEM^e the wrong impressions which 
had taken place so gradually in hb mind : a word, a gesture, 
fiumished him with matter of profound meditation; he con- 
nected the most trifling circumstances like so many mathe- 
matical propositions, and concdyed his conclusions to be 
supported by the evidence of demonstration." 

From the meadows, where we awhile reposed, we pursued 
the course of the Dove nearly two miles fiuther, throi^ a 
deep vale, barren of wood, and, with one or two exbq>tions, 
devoid of beauty. We then 1^ the margin of the stream, 
crossed the hills to the Ashbourne and Suxton road ; and, 
leaving Tissi^ton on our right, returned, by the way of 
Bradbum, to Hopton, and from theuce to Wirkswortb. 



yisit to Bam. — Vale of Ham. — Ilam HdU, — interesting 
Apartment there. — Village Church. — Chantre^s Monument 
Jor the Neu) Chapel. — Observations on Monumental Sculp' 
ture. — Ancient Stone Cross in lUim. — View in Ham Vale 
after a Bain-storm. — Congreve's Grotto. — Morning Scene. 
— The rivers Hamps and Mangold. — Contemplated Im- 
provements at Ham. — Second Visit to Bam. — - 7%^ New 
Hall. — Intended Conservatory and Picture Gallery^ 8fc. 

During an excursion to Dove Dale in the autumn of ISSOy 
I visited Ilam, one of the most romantic places in any part 
of the kingdom. On my way to this secluded spot, I passed 
along the road on the eastern side of Thorpe Cloud ; and, 
approaching the mill where the river Dove emerges fix>m 
Bunster Dale, I had a very pleasing view of Ilam Hall, 
nestled amongst woods, and environed with hills. This de- 
lightful place, which has long been celebrated for the beauty 
of its scenery* is the residence of Jesse Watts Russel, Esq. 
M. P. It is situated on the Staffordshire side of the river 
Dove, and therefore not properly an object for these excur- 
sions ; but with those who visit Dove Dale, Ilam is always a 
point of attraction. Thorpe Cloud, one of the highest moun- 
tains of Derbyshire, stands like a mighty sentinel over its 
woods, gardens, groves, and meadows, that quietly repose in 
the deep hollow at its base. Its proximity to Dove Dale, 
the interesting and peculiar character of its scenery, and the 
pleasure it am>rded me while I was an inmate of tiie hospit^ 
able mansion there, have induced me to give it a place 
amongst my observations on Derbyshire ; nor is this, I hope, 
an unwarrantable trespass : it is merely crossing the river 
that separates the two counties, and enriching my excursions 
with both sides of the sweet dale, that is watered by the 
brilliant stream of the Dove. 


The hills about Ham Hall have a magnificent character; 
they are thrown together in irregular forms, and, with one ex- 
ception only, m connected masses. Some of their steep 
acclivities are covered with wood; others, with a smooth 
glossy verdure; and in the space between them lies the 
sweet vale of Ham. A village of a few houses only, scat- 
tered amongst trees ; a country church, with a tower nearly 
covered with ivy ; verdant meadows watered by a busy stream, 
every where sparkling with light — and on a gentle eminence, 
a venerable mansion rising out of, and backed with luxuriant 
foliage, are the principal features of this lovely spot, which is 
one of the most rcnnantic little vales that nature ever formed. 
No glen in the Alps was ever more retired, or more delightr 
fill to behold. As I approached Ilam, and ccntemplated the 
landscape around me, I felt as if I had been treading on £Eury 
ground. The parts were so beautiful, and so exquisitely 
combined, and the whole so rare and unexpected, that it 
seemed more like a scene of enchantment that might soon 
pass away, than any thing real and permanent. VHien this 
train of feeling had a little subsided, I entered the house, 
which I found a good commodious ^^ building, made with 
hands," and the residence of the elegancies, as well as the 
comforts of life. 

My readers must keep in recoUection that I am now de- 
scribing a visit to Ham in the year 1820, a short time before 
the old hall was pulled down, and a more noble structure 
erected in its place. The principal entrance, agreeably to 
the fashion that once gener^dly prevailed, was a square hall 
in the centre of the building, which communicated with the 
adjoining apartments: a massy old-fashioned fireplace, ad- 
mirably ads^ted for winter, with a huge unlighted log of 
wood and some faggots in the grate, occupied nearly one side 
of the room ; in a niche opposite, hung a Chinese gon^ 
whose loud and sonorous sound summoned the company at 
Ilam to dinner : bows, arrows, and targets, a fine old organ, 
and some chairs of modern manufacture, completed the re- 
maining part of the furniture of this apartment. 

In the dining-room there were several good pictures, parti- 
cularly a fine landscape by Gainsborough ; a portrait of Mr. 
Watts Russell, by Sir William Beechey ; an excellent and 
animated likeness of his Lady, by Phillips; and Hilton's ad- 
mirable picture of ^^ Una amongst the Satyrs," from Spenser's 
Fairy Queen. 


One apartment at Ham' poweriuUy interested my feelings, 
and I n^retted to hear that it was destined to share the same 
fate as the other parts of the building. It was a Gothic chapel 
in miniature, which had been fittecTup under the dtrectidfi of 
Mrs. Watts Russell, and was alike a monument of her 
taste and her feeling: a library that occupied one part of 
it, represented the exterior of an organ ; die windows were 
stained ^lass, in whidi the figures of Faith and Hope were 
beautifiilly painted; the wainscot and the 'fiimiture were 
carved oak ; and the whole place t<^ther had the appearance 
of being set apart for devotibnal purposes. Over the door 
was an unadorned white marble tablet, inscribed—- To my 
Tather. This simple inscription produced a series of images 
and associations of a pensive nature, with which all that is 
interesting and lovely in filial affection was intimately con- 
nected. To this place, sacred to pious uses only, did the 
daughter of the late David Pike Watts fi:^uently retire, to 
muse on the being and character of her late excellent father, 
and hold communion with his departed spirit 

Within a few hundred yards of the front of Ham Hall, is 
the village church, one of the most rural and pleasing objects 
that the place affords. The tower appeai-s to be a structure 
of foliage, for theustone-work is so invested with ivy as to. be 
almost entirely obscured with its verdant covering ; and the 
dial of the clock is half buried amongst thickfy entwined 
leaves. Ash, elder, and wild roses, ot the most luxuriant 
growth and colour, flourish close around the walls of the 
church, and the adjoining burial-ground is covered with the 
richest verdure, amongst which a grey stone occasionally ap- 
pears, inscribed to the memory of those who sleep beneath. 
No fence of stone marks the boundary line of this seques- 
tered spot : towards the house, it is open to the lawn, or only 
separated from it by an invisible fence : nearer the village, 
a hedge of hawthorn, intermingled with ash, divides it from 
the meadows of which it seems to be a part ; and altogether, 
there is an air of great rural beauty and sanctified repose 
about the church at Ilani. During the time I was there, the 
workmen were excavating a vault on the north side, where a 
spacious Gothic chapel, communicating with the chancel, was 
intended to be elected. This place is to be the honoured 
receptacle of one of the finest works of Chantrey — a 
monumental group to the memory of the late David Pike 


Monumental sculpture generally consists of very common- 
place ideas, dignified by the word classical, where the cardinal 
virtues, unmeaning personifications, allegorical illusions, 
difficult to be understood — and winged females, representing 
angels, occupy the most conspicuous situations ; but Chan- 
trey's designs, in this department of his art, have a more 
simple, a more affecting, and a sublimer character; they 
appeal to the heart by a representation of what actually has 
occurred, or what the mind naturally associates with the hour 
of death and the disruption of all earthly ties. Human beings 
are his only agents, and he employs them in those offices 
where human beings alone can bear a part. His monument 
for the new chapel at Ilam is strikingly illustrative of the 
correctness of these observations. In this fine work of art, 
the venerable David Pike Watts is represented on his bed 
of death, from whence he has half-raised himself by a final 
effi)rt of expiring nature, to perform the last solemn act of a 
long and virtuous life : his only daughter and her children, 
all that were dearest to him in life, surround his couch, and 
bend at his side, as they receive from his lips the blessings 
and benedictions of a dying parient, when the last half-uttered 
farewell falters upon them. Nothing can be more afiecting 
than this family group : the figures here committed to marble, 
have the semblance of beings like ourselves, with passions, 
feelings, and affections, simflar to our own: we therefore 
sympathise in their afflictions, and mingle our tears with 
theirs. Fame, justice, wisdom, fortitude, charity, rehgion, 
are all represented by certain understood modificatiocis of the 
human form, and they may be bodied forth in marble with 
great skill and felicity of execution ; but, in comparison with 
the work I have described, how cold and feeble are the 
effects they produce ! As specimens of beautifiil workman- 
ship they may excite admiration, but they cannot reach 
the heart and call its finer and more touching sympathies 
into action. 

In the village of Ilam there is a curious old stone cross, 
sculptured with many figures, and originally richly oma^ 
raented ; but the various devices that once adorned the dif- 
ferent sides of this ancient relicjue are now nearly obliterated. 
The origin of these crosses is but imperfectly known, but 
that thev are either Saxon or Danish, appears highly proba- 
ble. Alfred the Great, who divided England into counties, 
hundreds, and tythings, erected a number of crosses as Umd- 


marks, which no man was permitted to remove, and, to give 
them a sacred character, they were sculptured with religious 
allusions, and the symbols of his faith. 

I was now in the midst of the most delightful scenery, but 
I had not an opportunity of exploring its various beauties on 
the day of my arrival at Ham. The following morning the 
rain fell in torrents, and I had the mortification of being pre- 
vented from walking abroad at a place where the cunning 
hand of nature has contrived to harmonise appearances that 
seem to be in opposition to each other, and blend the lovely 
and magnificent together with peculiar felicity. To be in 
the mi£t of such scenes, and detained but one hour from 
wandering amongst them, by so paltry a consideration as a 
shower of rain, mough not actually one of the " miseries of 
human life," was yet a trial of patience, and I watched the 
watery clouds roll about the hills with an anxious wish that 
they would soon pass away. About noon they began to de- 
part, and occasionally a sunny gleam, as it passed hastily 
along, lighted up a little spot of verdure on the sides of 
the mountains: shortly, the hill called Thorpe Gloud ap- 
peared capped with light, while far below, the fleecy vapours, 
as they ascended from the valley, curled around its ample 
sides and obscured its base. The effect was transient, but as 
long as it remained, it was scarcely less imposing than the 
fine poetic picture with which Goldsmith has enriched his 
Deserted Village. 

" As some tall cliff, that lifts its awfui form. 
Swells from the vale, and midw<ay leaves the storm ; 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

The sunshine, it is true, was very far from being eternal ; but 
Thorpe Cloud was not less interesting on that account. A 
brisk wind prevailed, and as the clouds passed onwards, others 
appeared in succession, and their march athwart the heavens 
was pictured on the landscape below ; where one part wajs at 
one moment warm with sunny light, and the next dark with 
shadow. It was highly amusing to mark the frequent and 
rapid change of appearance which the hills that surround 
Ham, and the various objects in the vale assumed as the clouds 
passed over them. 

The shower having entirely subsided, I wandered over the 

334 congreve's grotto. 

meadows and along the margin of the river at the foot of 
Thorpe Cloud, and spent the remainder of the day in Dove 
Dale. The ensuing morning I devoted to the groves and 
gardens of Ham Hall. At tne end of a gravel-walk which 
passes the front of the house, I came to a path that is carried 
along tlie side of a steep rocky hill, covered with a variety of 
lofiy trees of the most luxuriant foliage. In this cool seques- 
tered place there is a grotto, fum'ished with a stone seat and 
table, formed in the rock, where Congreve is said to have 
written his comedy of the " Old Bachelor," and a part of the 
<< Mourning Bride.'' It b now too closely embowered amidst 
trees and branches to be a pleasant retreat. The holly, with 
its bright green leaves, slands at the entrance, and yew and 
elder bend over the rocky arch ; but sun and air are now ex- 
cluded from it, and it is but ill adapted for poetic inspiradon. 
From this classic ground I descended the hill, and emerged 
from the thick wood into an open meadow, through which I 
rambled to a rugged seat, placed under a huge elm by the 
side of the deserted channel of the river Manyfold. It was 
morning; the sun shone brightly in the heavens, and the 
rain, which had fidlen in copious showers the preceding day, 
had given a delightful freshness ^to the verdure of the nelds, 
and a livelier tone of colouring to every object around me. 
My right, lodging towards Thorpe, was a steep and lofly hill, 
covered with wood, and involved in shadow ; another wood, 
still more beautiful, that glowed with the bright efiulgente of 
the newly-risen sun, layonmylefl: — in distance, risipg be- 
hind a mass of trees, Thorpe Cloud reared his magnmcent 
head : a beautiful light rested on the side of this lofiy emi- 
nence and some thin white clouds played about its summit. 
The catde that were grazing near — the freshness of the 
herbage on which they fed — the smoke rising slowly from 
a cottage chimney at the extremity of the wood on my right, 
were ml pleasing incidents in the delightful morning pic- 
ture that was here presented. Delight was not the only emo- 
tioi^ with which I gazed upon this tranquil scene : I heard 
around me onlv accents of joy, and sounds of pleasure. Every 
object that had life seemed to be freely and fully partaking of 
the beneficent gifbs of heaven, and for a while I forgot the 
works, the employments, and the cares of man, in the con* 
temptation of that Being who has made so fair a world, and 
filled it with happiness ; who rieared the mightiest barriers of 


rock and bill with ^ word, adorned the vales with verdure, 
clothed the woods with beauty, and led tlie streams through 
pleasant pastures. 

Returning from the meadows to the garden grounds of 
Ham, I passed a narrow foot-bridge at the base of a rocky 
bank, from whence the two subterranean streams, the Hamps 
and the Manyfold, emerge, and " form - a river at a burst." 
This is one of the curiosities of this romantic place. Tl)e 
river Manyfold formerly flowed beneath the amphitheatrical 
sweep of wood that forms the back-ground of Ham Hall ; but 
it has abandoned its ancient course, where it had continued 
to run for ages, and now pursues its way, for the space of 
five or six miles, through caverns deep in the mountains, 
where it has obtained a passage to its forsaken channel, which 
it again enters in the gardens at Ilam. Here the united 
rivers become a powerful stream, that within a few yards of 
the place where they first appear, is precipitated over an arti- 
ficial barrier, where it forms a cascade of considerable extent 
and great beauty. The Manyfold now becomes a busy and 
•brilliant stream, which after winding round a part of the 
village, about a quarter of a mile from the principal front of 
the hall, flows through some pleasant meadows, and enters 
the river Dove at a short distance from Thorpe Cloud. 

This river is one of the beauties, and one of the blemishes, 
of Ilam. From the cascade in the garden to its junction with 
the Dove, it is all play and sparkle; above, it is an inactive 
pool, unless occasionally in winter, when it is inundated widi 
heavy rains, or the breaking up of a snow-storm ; then its 
subterranean passage, not being of sufficient capacity to admit 
so large a body of water, it flows into its former channel, and 
becomes an impetuous and ample stream. It is then in har- 
mony with the scenery of Ham, and the beautiful woods that 
decorate its banks ; but during three-fourths of the year it is 
far from being an imposing object. Every thing about it, 
with the exception of water only, has the appearance and the 
character of a river. To behold this element still and lifeless, 
amongst lofly and precipitous hills, with which the mind na- 
turally associates impetuous streams and foaming cataracts, 
seems something like an anomaly in nature, and we are always 
dissatisfied at her deviation from her accustomed habits. Is 
it not practicable to remedy this defect? Cannot the stream of 
the Manyfold, where it first commences its subterranean 
career be divided, and a part of it made to flow continually 


along its obvious channel ? — The river scenery of Ilam will 
then-be as beautiful as its woods. Other improvements may 
be made in this romantic place : the wood immediately con- 
nected with the house, should be rendered less impervious 
and gloomy. It should be made to assume the character of 
a grove, rather than a wood, and the trees, where they closely 
beset each other, should be partly removed, and a pleasant 
walk established amongst them, from whence occasional 
glimpses of the scenery beyond might be admitted. When 
the mansion now erecting is completed, tliis will no doubt be 
done, and other improvements added, to make Ilam one of 
the most delightful residences in the kingdom, and an object 
of attraction to all who visit Dove Dale. 

The architecture that most prevailed in the reign of Eliza^ 
beth, has been made choice of for Ilam HaU. lims peculiar 
style of building requires <^ ample space and room enough :*' 
wanting these, it is sometimes devoid both of grandeur and 
of beauty. The structures of this period were immense, and 
the park scenery around them of great extent It is perhi^s 
from association only, that such edifices, and such scenes, appear 
to be the natural concomitants of each other ; but there seems 
to be a fitness in things that are usually connected, and time 
sanctions the union. Hence it probably is, that the splendid 
but ill-contrived structures of Elizabeth's reign, are not ex- 
actly adapted to the scenery of the quiet vale of Ilam, which 
appears to shun the gaze of the world, not court it A build*- 
ing of richly ornamented Gothic, like die structure at Fonthill, 
would have been a fine object in such a place. The monks 
and abbots of former times would gladly have selected so re- 
tired and so beautiful a situation : they loved to fix their ha- 
bitations in picturesque dales and valleys, amongst embowering 
woods and murmuring streams; where, secluded from the 
noise and bustle of me world, nature's happiest harmonies 
and sweetest melodies alone prevail. 

The preceding observations were written shortly after my 
first visit to Ham, which I again saw in June, 1823. The 
scenery of the place had excited my highest admiration ; it 
was still fresh in my recollection, and I anxiously wished 
that the new structure should be every way worthy of so fine 
a situation. I therefore approached the romantic vale where 
it stands, under the influence of a more powerful interest than 
if I had been an entire stranger to its beauties. Descending 
the hill from Thorpe, I had the first view of the object of my 

VldlT TO ILAM IN 182S. 337 

journey. Ham Hall, though not entirely finished, had u 
grand efiect even at a distance; approaching nearer, the de^ 
tall began to display itself, and the general design and ar- 
rangement to be clearly understood. On a verdant knoll, a 
little above the margin of the river Manyfold, that ran rippling 
and sparkling through the meadows below, I stopped to gaze 
upon the new mansion at Ilam, which is truly a noble struc- 
ture, and a proof of the professional skill and taste of the 
architect. * The principal part of the building, with its large 
bay windows, octagonal projections, and richly ornamented 
parapets, is in that peculiar style of architecture which was 
&shionable in the reign of Elizabeth ; but there are portions 
of this structure that nearly assimilate with the gothic, both 
in character and ornament, and these are decideSy the finest 
and most imposing parts. The whole appears to be ad- 
mirably contrived, both for picturesque efiect and convenience; 
but the most beautiful feature in this noble mansion is the 
circular gothic lantern by which it is surmounted. It is not 
a paltry thing, made merely for the purpose of admitting 
light; its dimensions are ample, and perfectly in proportion 
with the capacious base whereon it rests. The circle of which 
it is composed presents to the eye a series of pointed arches, 
resting on appropriate shafts : these, in connexion with each 
other, describe a circle, and constitute the frame-work of the 
lantern. Where light is wanted in the central part of a build- 
ing, the dome is sometimes so constructed as to be a noble, 
ornament ; but the lantern at Ilam is a more noble contrivance, 
and one of the most tasteful and elegant architectural orna- 
ments that ever adorned a building. The place altogether 
does infinite credit to the taste and liberal spirit of the pro- 
prietor, who will make this romantic spot — this beauteous 
gem in British scenery — not less attractive than its neigh- 
Douring Dove Dale. I have here mentioned a part only of 
what is already accomplished at Ham : a museum, a splendid 
conservatory, and a picture-gallery, upwards of eighty feet 
long, are intended to Be added. J. Watts Russel is in pos- 
sion of some fine works of modem art, and he is rapidly 
increasing his collection by new purchases. Hilton's picture 
of " Una aniongst the Satyrs," which in colouring, compo- 
siticMi, and character, is a chef-d^ceuvre of the British school 
of painting, and Howard's " Solar System," a composition 

♦ John Shaw, Esq. of Bedford Square, London. 
" z 


of tare tad taried ejccellence, fine ihia^uoatioii} knd degant 
poetic feeling, already form a part of those select productions 
of the pencil which are intended to adorn the picture-gallery at 
Ilam Hall. * The spirited proprietor of this delighmil place, 
in his purchase of works of art^ is not only influenced by good 
taste but by true English feeling. . He knows there is abund- 
ance of fine talent in his own country, which, if duly encouraged, 
and exercised on subjects of history and imagination, might 
produce works worthy of being associated in the same apart- 
ment with the best productions of any age or nation in the 
the world. 



fVtfkMortk, r — Moote HalU — Mineral Lccws. — Miractdous 
Escape of a Miner. — New Roadjrom Matlock to Derln/. — 
Unexpected Rencontre, — General Character of the Scefiery. 
— Beaut^fid Effect of Light during a Shamer of Rain. — 
Walk to Helper. 

A.BOUT three miles south of Matlock Bath, within a capacious 
amphitheatre of hills, lies Wirksworth, the principal town 
in the mineral districts of Derbyshire. It is a place of great 
antiquity, and was of some note as early as the Conquest. It 
is situated on the acclivity of a fine sweep of hill, that forms 
one side of a pleasant valley. Like all old towns, it is irre- 
gularly built, but it contains a number of good houses, and 
sever&l very genteel families reside in the place. The church 
is built in the form of a cross, with a square tower in the 
centre, which is surmounted with a short conical spire that has 
neither grace nor dignity in its appearance. At the time I 
visited Wirksworth, this venerable structure was undergoing 
a thorough regeneration : the pews were taken down, the 
pavements broken up, and vaults were excavating in various 
parts of the church. The monuments against the walls were 
covered to protect them from the dust, — nothing but dirt 
and litter were to be seen ; and, instead of the solemn breath- 
ings of the organ, and the sounds of psalmody, the noise of 
saws and hammers, mingled with an occasional lau^ and the 
clamour of tongues, were heard along the aisles. The whole 
place, indeed, appeared less like a church than a huge work- 
shop, where every thins was in confusion and disorder. 

During our stay at Wirksworth, we stopped at the Lion 
inn, a good house of entertainment, where we found a public 
news-room, and for a while amused ourselves with the conflict- 
ing opinions and observations of the Courier and the Morning 
Chronicle. Truth, says an ancient sage, lies in the bottom of 
a wiell : perhaps it would be as reasonable an expectation to 

z 2 


find it there, as in the columns of these two rival papers. 
Wirksworth is the seat of the administration of the mineral 
laws for the Low Peak of Derbyshire ; and the Moote Hall 
is the judicial session house where all complaints are heard, 
and all suits decided, that belong to this peculiar court. 

The Moote Hall is a neat stone building, with the town's 
arms carved over the door, and on each side are some em- 
blematic devices in bas-relievo. Within, secured by a chain, is 
the ancient brazen dish which regulates the admeasurement of 
lead ore throughout the whole district. The following in- 
scription is engraved upon it : — ^ 

" This dishe was made the iiij day of October, the iiij yere of 
the reigne of Kyng Henry the VIII. before George Erie of 
Shrewesbury, Steward of the Kyng most Honourable house- 
hold, and also Steward of all the honour of Tutbury, bv the 
assent and consent as well of all the Mynours as of all the 
Brenners within and adjoining the Lordship of Wyrkysworth 
Pervell of the said honour. This Dyshe to Remayne In the 
Moote Hall at Wyrkysworth, hanging by a cheyne, so as the 
Mchanntes or Mynours may have resort to the same att all 
tymes to make the trw mesure at the same." 

The lead mines of Derbyshire are of very remote antiquity. 
The Odin mine at Castleton bears the name of one of the 
Saxon deities ; it may, therefore, be inferred that it was 
known to, and worked by the Saxons, previously to the intro- 
duction of Christianity. In the wapentake of Wirkswoith 
there were lead mines so early as the year 835 ; at which 
time a grant was made by the abbess of Repton, of her estate 
at Wircesfworth^ on condition that an annual stipend of lead, 
of the value of three hundred shillings, should be paid for 
certain religious uses as she then directed. The laws that now 
govern the mining interests of this county contain some 
curious provisions : how they originated is now difficult to 
determine ; but, from indisputable records, it appears " that 
Edward the First directed the Sheriff of the County to call a 
meeting at Ashbourne, .of such persons as were best acquainted 
with the rights and customs of the Mines." On this occasion, 
their privileges were ascertained and confirmed, the two 
courts of Moneyash and Wirksworth established, and a code 
of permanent regulations adopted. These regulations con* 
stitute the mineral law of Derbyshire at the present time. 
The principal officers of these courts are denominated bar- 


maslefs, and it is their peculiar duty to preside on all cases of 
trial in which the mining interests of their respective juris- 
dictions are concerned, and generally to see that justice is 
fully and fairly administered. It is likewise the duty of the 
barmaster to put miners in possession of any veins of lead ore 
which they may discover. The mode of doing this is ex- 
tremely simple, yet curious. When a man has found, or 
imagines he has found a vein of ore in any part of the " King's 
field," which, with very few exceptions, includes the whole of 
the mineral districts of Derbyshire, he may claim it as his own 
merely by fixing down a few sticks, put together in a peculiar 
way, and notifying the same to the barmaster, who imme- 
diately gives him complete and exclusive possession of his 
newly-acquired property in a way as summary as it is decisive. 
The barmaster, accompanied by two jurymen belonging to the 
mineral court, enters die place, field, or meadow, where the 
miner intends to commence his operations, marks out a plot 
of ground of about fourteen yards square, takes it from the 
former proprietor, whether it be fi:eehold or not, and gives it 
to a new possessor. But this is not all : the miner has now 
only obtained a piece of land in which to sink his shaft. The 
little insulated spot that has just been made his own is sur- 
rounded with fields, some covered with ^ass and some with 
corn : through these the barmaster and the two jurymen soon 
mark out a path to the public highway ; they arrange them- 
selves on a line with each other, and with their arms wide 
extended, and their fingers' ends just touching, they march 
abreast fi*om the mine in the most convenient direction to the 
nearest public carriage road, placing stakes on each side as 
they proceed, within which they confinn to the miner a car- 
riage way in perpetuity, whereon he may cart his minerals, 
uninterrupted by any authority whatever. Neither standing 
corn nor any other description of property, with the exception 
of " a dwelling-house, a high road, a garden, or an orchard," 
is or Can be exempt from this fundamental law of the miners. 
A number of other provisions, equally singular, are included 
amongst their regulations. " If any miner be killed or slain, 
or damped upon the mine, within any groove,*' no king's co- 
roner has power to interfere ; the barmaster becomes invested 
with his authority, and holds an inquest accordingly. In 
article the thirteenth it is provided, " that no person shall sue 
any miner for debt that doth belong unto the mines in any 
court but the mineral court ; and if any person do the contrary, 

z 3 


he shall lose his debt, and pay the charges in law.'V In a sub?- 
sequent clause it is enacted, '^ that no officer, for trespass or 
debt, shall execute or serve any writ, warrant, or precept, - 
upon any miner, beivg at work in the mine^ nor isAen the miners 
come and go to the Barmote Courts but die bamuister or his 
deputy only." These extracts are sufficient to shew how ex- 
tensive and various the authority of the barmaster is ; they 
likewise exemplify the peculiar nature of those provisions 
mhich govern and regulate the practice of the miners^ of 

From Wirksworth we proceeded along the old Derby road 
to Cromford, and passed near the mine called Go&eheres 
Founder^ which has been rendered memorable from an occur- 
rence that took place there about five-and-twenty years afio* 
Two men, named Boden and Pearson, were working in tke 
mine at different depths, when the earth and water suddenly 
rushed in upon them, and in one moment buried them alive in 
the deep recess below. On the third day after the accident 
happened Pearson was found dead amongst the rubbish, and 
the men who were employed in clearing away the earth that 
had choaked up the entrance into the mine, had now so little 
hope of finding Boden alive that they were scarcely at all dis- 
posed to persevere in their exertions. They were, however, 
prevailed upon to proceed, until on the eighth day of their 
labours they distincdyheard Boden's signal, and ascertained 
that he was living. They now worked with greater energy, 
but more care, for a few hours longer, when they found the 
object of their search, weak and almost exhausted, but stiU in 
existence, and fiiUy sensible of the miraculous nature of his 
escape. His recovery from the effects of this premature en- 
tombment was slow but effectual, and he returned to his usual 
employment in about fourteen weeks, and lived many years 
afterwards. When this accident took place Boden was in the 
lower part of the mine; Pearson was at a windlass in the 
drift above, when the earth rushed suddenly upon him, and 
he was found dead amongst the mass. Boden's situation was 
equally perilous, but the earth was stopped in its fall by a pro- 
jection that considerably narrowed the shaft where he was. 
Thus circumstanced, with no prospect before him but death, 
this poor man passed eight days in this narrow cell, without 
light or foodj or wherewithal to quench his thirst, which he 
felt more severely than any other deprivation. Hunger he 
bore with fortitude; thirst was intolerable; and during the 


wbole of his confinement he was sufficiently sensible to feel all 
the horrors of his sitaation. He likewise suffered greatly from 
coli) but having a few yards to move in, he found a windlass, 
and exercised hunself in turning it, but by some mishap the 
handle fidl into the deep vacuity beneath, and he could not 
recover it again. Deprived of this means of employment, he 
still found something to do. In the shaft where he was im- 
prisoned a rope was suspended over his head ; he clambered 
up it, and working at the earth above him, he loosened a por- 
tion of it from its lodgements, which fell into the chasm at his 
feet* While thus engaged he imagined he heard the noise of 
men labouring for his release : he listened, and was almost 
breathless wi£ anxiety. The sound, for a time, instead of 
invigorating, only paralized his exertions ; but while in this 
situation he yet contrived to make the signal that he was alive 
distinctly heard and understood. Shortly afterwards, he once 
more saw the light of heaven, and human faces gazing upon 
faim, as if they had actually beheld a dead man rising from the 
grave, and not a living body. He was, indeed, little better 
uian the apparition of a man i eight days of mental and bodily 
suffering had reduced him to a mere skeleton, when compared 
with what he had been ; and the pallid hue and altered expres- 
sion of his countenance had nearly obliterated his personal 
identity. In this state he was restored to his family, who felt 
as if a being from the grave had burst << its cerements,'' and 
the dead had returned to life. 

We now passed over Cromford Moor, leaving the rocks of - 
Stonnis and the Gang Mine en our right; and afler another 
mile of descending ground, came upon the new road from 
Matlock to Belper. The last time I saw this valley was in 
October 1 822. I was on my way to Derby, and from thence 
to London, and the author of the Wanderer of Switzerland 
was one pf my companions. Near the woods that cover the 
hills opposite to Crich, while he was bidding me adieu, and 
requesting me to be t^e bearer of his friendly remembrances 
to the celebrated artist whose illustrations of the Peak Scenery 
of Derbyshire adorn these pages, we observed a person by the 
rpad-aide hammering amongst die rocks for geological speci- 
mens and vegetable impressions, with which they abound. 
We approached him more nearly ; when, on lifting up his head, 
we gazed upon him with surprise :-*- the man of whom we wei-e 
conversing stood before us. We were mutually pleased with 
this une^ected rencontre^ and after spending a short time to- 

z 4* 


gether, we separated at the place where we had met. The 
poet, accompanied by -the sculptor, returned to Matlock ; I 
proceeded to Belper, where he met me a few hours afterwards : 
we then travelled m the same carriage to within one mile of 
Derby, when I left him at Darley Abbey, the temporary resi- 
dence of Watts Russel, Esq. 

The road from Cromford to within four miles of Derby is 
carried along the side of the Derwent, through a succession of 
the most beautiful dales in the country. The scenery is every 
' where marked with the same general character : high sloping 
hills, luxuriantly wooded, form the two sides of the dale ; well 
cultivated meadows lie betweeu, and in the deepest hollow of 
the valley, the I^erwent, which throughout the whole of its 
windings is a, noble stream* rushes rapidly over its bed, 
amongst trees of as stately a growth as ever adorned the 
margin of a river. My readers will call to recollection the 
date of my excursion through those, delightful vales that 
separate Matlock from Belper, and the bright Italian summer 
which preceded the autumn of 1822. It was October, but I 
never saw the trees more beautiftil : in some places, the alders, 
by the side of the Derwent, formed a dark green margin of 
wood; beyond these, and occasionally mingled with them, 
every variety of tint that leaves can possibly assume was dis- 
played, and blended togetlier in that harmonious manner 
which nature invariably observes in the management of all 
her colouring. The ash had lost none of its leaves ; some 
of them, indeed, were yet of a deep green ; others had put 
on a livery of pale and beauteous yellow : the elms were 
richly varied ; every hue, from a lively green to the deepest 
orange, marked the foliage, all sliding into each other by the 
nicest gradations, as beautifully as the colours of the rainbow. 

I luul parted with one artist amount the woods of Alder- 
wesley, and was proceeding on foot to helper, accompanied by 
another. Near Hot Stanwell Bridge we were overtaken by 
a shower of rain. A high hill, covered with majestic wood, 
was immediately before us : the sun shone brightly through 
an opening amongst the clouds, and strongly illuminating £e 
falling shower, converted the watery particles, as they de- 
scended, into drops of light TTie leaves of die trees were 
freshly wet, and glowed with the richest cc4ouring, which the 
filmy but transparent veil thrown over them had soflened and 
sul^^ued, but not obscured. A screen of lofty trees, in deep 
4l^dpw, lay between us and this vivid picture, and we looked 


through the intervening spaces upon the brilliant scene be- 

Jrond. The e£Pect was transient, but full of beauty, and we 
oitered about this picturesque spot until the rich sunny 
gleam, which had just ** lighted up the storm," had passed 

After a walk of another four or five miles, by the side of 
the Derwent, amount hiffh hills and overhanging woods, we 
reached Belper, a pace uiat, within less than hw a century, 
from a littk village has become a populous and thriving 



Recurrence to a former Vint to Belper. — Bridge Hill. — Vie^ 
ofBelperJrom the Road to Heage. — Pentrich. — Beoolu- 
tionists g^ 1 8 1 7. — Soman Station on Pentrich Common. — 
Alfreton. — Hardwick Park. -^^ Hardwick HaU and Pic-- 
ture Gallery. 

I HAD been at Belper on a former occasion : it was the most 
southern point of my excursions, and the last place I visited 
within the mountainous districts of Derbyshire. I shall, 
therefore, in my present nletail, follow the route I then pur- 
sued, and bring my various rambles in this interesting county 
to a speedy termination. My remaining observations will 
therefore be brief. Belper is one of the most flourishing 
towns in Derbyshire ; the old part of it, although not actually 
hidden amongst better and more modern erections, is but a venr 
insignificant portion of the whole place. New buildings, witn 
neat exteriors, flower gardens, orchards, and plantations, are 
fast spreading along the rising grounds on one side of the 
Derwent ; on the other is Bridge Hill, the residence of G. 
B. Strutt, Esq. most delightfully situated on an eminence 
that swells gracefully from the margin of the river, and com- 
mands an uninterrupted view of me many lovely spots and 
comfortable habitations that are scattered around his dwelling. 
When he arises in the morning, looks across the vale be- 
fore him, contemplates the moral improvement, the rapid 
increase, and the present consequence of Belper, he may 
with fervent and honest exultation say, " Blessed be the me- 
mory of my father ; he has brought order and beauty out of 
rude and chaotic materials, and given richness and fertility to 
a once-neglected and barren waste." 

From Belper, my companion and myself had a long tract 
of country to traverse before we reached Alfreton, the next 
place where we intended to make a ^ause. We ascended the 


hill towards Heage, and having attained the summit, we 
tuiiied to gaze upon the scene we were leaving, before we 
proceeded on our journey. On our right, and on our left, 
lay a long rang^ of lofty eminences ; before us, hills of great 
altitude and steq) acclivity rose from the margin of the I)er- 
went, which was seen lading through the valley fiur below. 
I remember to have passed these hills when they were nearly 
barren from their base to their highest elevations; I now 
beheld their lofty slopes every where cultivated, and the dales 
between beautifully wooded and adorned with buildings. What 
was opce a little village only had now become a populous 
town. The capacious valley in which Belper is situated is 
the seat of great mechanical skill and commercial enterprise ; 
a spirit of industry has moved over the &ce of it, and orchards 
and gardens, vilks and plantations, have succeeded, and a 
wilderness of naked hills has been transformed into a para- 
dise of beauty. Beholding such a scene as this, and con- 
templating the power that called its beautiful adornments into 
existence, I could bless the spirit of trade, and almost forget 
the consequences that result from the erection of immense 
factories, and the hardship of peopling them with children of 
both sexes as soon as they have passed the years of infancy, 
and making their pliant sinews and tender hands perform the 
work of adults, at a time when they should be either running 
wild about the fields, like nature's heirlings, or receiving les- 
sons that might prepare them for the society of their fellow 
creatures, and have a beneficial influence on uieir future lives. 
About four miles firom Belper we passed through Pentrich, 
a small village, but of some note in the local history of this 
district During the wars between King Charles the First 
and the parliamentary forces of that period, Pentrich Common 
was the theatre of military operations; and in the year 1817 
it was the scene of one of the most silly and absurd attempts 
that ever entered into the contemplation of men. Here, in 
the month of June, an in&tuated rabble, nearly without arms 
and destitute of a leader, assembled together for the purpose, 
as they avowed, of overturning the government of the country. 
Such conduct would really excite contempt, were not the 
consequences frequently of too serious a character to admit 
of such a feeling. These misguided men entertained the idea 
of progressively increasing their number by terror. As they 
proceeded, they demand^ arms and men at every dwelling ; 
and being denied admittance at a house in the vicinity of 


Pentrich Common, Brandreth, the reputed eaptain of this 
<^ set of lawless resolutes/' shot a man who refused to ac- 
company him in this mad expedition. More outrageous con- 
duct never characterised the proceedings of any body of men, 
however hardened and atrocious they had previously been. 
The scheme ended^ as all such attempts generally do, in the 
speedy dispersion of the force collected, and the consequent 
punishment of the most active. About forty of these revo- 
lutionists were convicted at the ensuing Derby assizes. Bran- 
dreth, the murderer of the nian at Mrs. Hepworth's house, 
was executed, as he richly deserved ; two of bis less culpable 
associates shared the same fisite, and the greater part of the 
others, who had pleaded guil^? were transported. 

It is impossible to think of this transaction without revert- 
mg to the generally disturbed state of the country when the 
South Winneld and Pentrich men undertook their hazardous 
expedition, and the means that were resorted to to organize 
disaffection and foment disturbances. The agents in this 
wicked business were far more reprehensible than the men 
whom they misled ; thev were labouring under many priva- 
tions, their sufferings had made them , desperate, and pre- 
pared them for the commission of crime and outrage. Under 
such circumstances, it was worse than cruel to send spies and 
informers among them, to make them rebels, that they might 
be punished for being so. 

On Pentrich Common, the scene of a Roman encampment 
may be traced : its form is nearly square, and the indications 
of a double vallum, bywhich it is distinguished, are not yet 
entirely obliterated. This is supposed to have been the m^t 
Roman station north of Little Chester, from whence it is only 
twelve miles distant The Rev. Mr. Pegge, the antiquary, in 
his observations on the Roman roads in Derbyshire, has 
fixed the intermediate establishment between Little Chester 
and Chesterfield at^ or near to, Hicham ; but this supposi- 
tion divides the distance very unequally : it is therefore more 
probable, that Pentrich Common was the site of this middle 
station, and the present remains there favour the opinion. 

Another two miles walk brought us to Alfreton, a small 
market town, said to have been founded by Alfred the Great, 
and originally called Alfred-Town, a tradition which is 
countenanced by Camden himself. It is indeed pretended 
that King Alfred once resided here ; and some individuals, 
fond of making discoveries, are ingenious enough to point out 


the place where the palace of this monarch once stood* This 
probably is all idle and groundless conjecture, but that it is a 
town of great antiquity can hardly be doubted. In the 
Doomsday record it is called EUtretune^ and it made a part 
of the extensive possessions originally bestowed upon Roger 
de Busli, a Norman chieftain woo accompanied William the 
.Conqueror on his successful expedition to this country. Subo 
sequently it belonged to Ranulph, Lord of Alfreton, whose 
son Robert was the founder of Beauchief Abbey ; afterwards 
it became the property of a family of the name of Latham. 
The Chaworths, the Babingtons of Dethick, and the Zouches 
of Codnor Castle, it successively belonged to, from the latter 
of whom it was purchased by the Moorewoods, who have 
now possessed it for nearly two centuries. The &mily man^ 
sion stands upon a hill finely embosomed amongst majestic 
trees, the growth of many a century. The church occupies 
a pleasant situation near the house. It is an ancient, and in 
some respects a rude structure; but its embattled tower, 
surmounted with knotted pinnacles, rising out of the mass of 
wood by which it is nearly surrounded, has a pleasing and 
even picturesque effect from many situations in the vicinity of 
Alfreton. The town contains about two hundred houses; 
there is a good inn and post-house in it, and stockings and 
a common brown earthen-ware are manufactured in the place. 
From Alfreton we left South Normanton and Blackwell 
on our right, and passed through Tibshelf to Hardwick, one 
of the principal objects which had induced us to cross this 
part of the country. Approaching the hall, we traversed an 
extensive park well stocked with deer, and clothed with trees, 
whose knarled trunks and broad-spreading foliage bespoke 
them the monarchs of the scene, in the midst of which they 
had flourished for a^. Symptoms of decay were seen in 
some of their scathed and weather-beaten ramifications, and 
their appearance excited a feeling of regret that their sylvan 
honours were on the wane, and that the ravages of time had 
desolated any of their branches. Pensive emotions are always 
excited by a contemplation of the dilapidating march of this 
mighty destroyer, but the objects that exhibit the deepest 
impress of his firequent footsteps are rendered more truly 
venerable by the change. The man whose brow is furrowed 
with age, — the oak of the forest that has stood the pelting 
of many pityless winters, and whose boughs are scantily co- 
vered with foliage, and nearly sapless, — the f^ncient hall ox 


castle^ ihouldering dwiiy and dnkin^ into riibis, ^r^ infinitely 
more picturesque to the ere^ and niore intei!i68titig to the 
mind, than mere beauty df K>irm and fulness of perfection Cto 
possibly be. 

Hardwick was built by Elizabeth, the celebrate Countess 
of Shrewsbury ; and the parapets, that, like d light and grace- 
ful coronet, crest the structure, exhibit some rich carved open* 
work in stone, where the letters E. S., the initials of the 
countess, repeatedly occur. Hardwick is a magnificent old- 
fiishioned edifice, and its four towers, When seen at a distance, 
amongst the woods by which they are encompassed, have a 
grand and imposing effect, but when nearly beheld, they lose 
their consequence. This place, which is now the property of 
the Devonsiiire family, and occasionally the residence of the 
present duke, was built about the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
tury. It is certainly a stately mansion, but rather singular 
than beautifiil : a long connected series of large windows in- 
serted in huge stone frames, with comparatively but little space 
between, the whole arranged in regular divisions, and formed 
faito spacioulg bays that prcgect fi-om within, with intervening 
t^cesses without, constitute the whole of Hardwick ; which, in 
its general character and appearance, may not inaptly be com- 
pared to an immense but magnificent lantern. This house, 
indeed, seems to have been designed as an experiment, to as- 
certain how little of stone and how much of glass might possibly 
be combined together in the formation o£a splendid edifice. 
A flood of light is admitted into all the apartments at Hard- 
wick, and a person seated within them has an ample and 
almost uninterrupted view of the scenery without. The rooms 
are lofty and spacious, some of them enormous, and, where 
Aey are not wainscotted half way from the floor, they are 
hung with loose tapestry, now strangely laded, and never good. 
Above, the walls are filled with figures and designs in plaster, 
uncouthly formed, and very indifferently executed. A pro- 
fusion of ornament, made up of miserable relievos in stucco^ 
covers the ceilings; but such was the taste of the age when 
this costly mansion was erected ; and altogether it affords a 
good specimen of the architecture and the style of decoration 
that prevailed in the days of Elizabeth. 

The gallery at Hardwick is an immense apartment, every 
where hung with pictures, chiefly portraits, but many of them 
are placed at so great a height from the eye that their excel- 
lence, if they have any, cannot be felt TTiere is however 



one use in storing this vast room with portraitsy eren thou^^h 
as works of art they do not individually possess much merit s 
there' is no beinc amongst these numerous resemblances of 
men without receiving serious and salutary impressions ; men 
who, while they ^* strutted and fretted" away tfieir litde hour 
of human existence, attracted the attention and obtained the 
honours and regards of mankind, possessed splendid palaces^ 
and had a crowd of followers to do them homage, but who 
now have no habitation but the grave. It is not the skill of 
the artist alone that imparts to these portraits their most 
powerful interest, but the associaticms they excite^ and the 
train of thinking and tone of feeling produced on bdiolding 
them* We have here the likenesses of many dignified and 
noble personages, a.nd of some who are known only by name, 
or remembered perhaps for something that had better be for- 
gotten. Here is the picture of Henry the Eighth, by Holbein, 
which I have previously noticed in my observations on Chats- 
worth; — of Mizabeth, the arbitrary daughter of this haughty 
monarch, who, whatever were her exc^lencies in some res- 
pects, one cannot love. Near the resemblance of this cruel 
queen is the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, not in the 
zenith of her beauty, but with a countenance faded, and 
marked with grief and suffering. Here too is Stephen Gar- 
diner, the persecuting Bishop of Winchester, and others, 
likewise, who revive unpleasant recollections, and whose por- 
traits are beheld with emotions remote from love and venera- 
tion. In this gallery there are some good pictures of the 
Devonshire family, one of the most splendid of which is the 
long-armed duke on horseback. His horse is richly capari- 
soned, and he is himself gaily dressed, as if for the purpose of 
exhibition. The picture is, nevertheless, a valuable pro- 
duction; it is well painted, and displays an accurate portraiture 
of the splendid costume in which the duke sometimes ap- 
peared. The most pleasing effort of the pencil which I 
noticed at Hardwick is a fancy portrait of the beautiful 
Duchess of Devonshire, the mother of the present duke. She 
is standing amongst the clouds in the character of Diana^ with 
the crescent beaming on her forehead. Advancing from out 
the dark starry sky, the clouds appear to recede oefore her, 
and to be lighted up by tiie effiilgence that emanates from her. 
There is a fine poetic feeling in this picture, and the whole is 
exquisitely managed* 

Hardwick Hall was another of the prisons of the Queen of 


Soots, and some of her needle-work is still preserved with 
great care, particularly the covers of a set of chairs, a counter* 
pane, and the hangings of a bed, all richly and beautifully 
embroidered. Mrs. Ann Radcli£fe, the author of the Myste- 
ries of Udolpho, &c. &c. in her Northern Tour, when 
meakinfl; of Hardwick, observes, that *^ the second floor is 
that which gives its chief interest to this edifice, as nearly all 
the apartments were allotted to Mary, and the furniture is 
known by other proofs than its appearance to remain as she 
left it." From Hardwick we proceeded to Bolsover, which I 
shall make the subject of the last section of my excursions in 



Walk from Hardmck to Bolsover, — Bolsover, — The Buckle 
Mam^acture formerly there, — Bohover Church. — The Dead 
Robin, — Bolsover Castle. — Ancient Fountain. — Historical 
Notice of Bolsover Castle. — The Terrace^ Rampart^ and 
Watch Towers. — King Charles^ Visit to Bolsover. — RenishaiD 
Hall. — Return to Sheffield^ — * Retrospection. — Conclusion. 

A. PEDESTRIAN ramble of a few miles through Hardwick 
Park, and by Glapwell, the seat of B. Hallows, Esq. brought 
us to Bolsover ; and I have not, in any of my excursions, found 
a more delightful walk. A foot-path is carried along the 
brow of a hill, which overlooks the beautiful mansion and 
grounds of Sutton : on the right, situated at one extremity of 
the same eminence, is Bolsover Castle : on the left, the towers 
of Hardwick Hall, rising majestically over the surrounding 
woods, occupy the other : in the middle of this graceful sweep 
of hill lies the village of Palterton, The houses are all ranged 
on one, side of the road ; the other is open to a wide expanse of 
valley, rich in culture, and beautifully adorned with nearly 
every object that can give a charm to landscape. 

Bolsover is a populous village only ; it was once a market 
town ; and it still retains many indications of an importance 
which has passed away. The inhabitants are now almost 
entirely employed in agricultural pursuits: formerly a con- 
siderable manufacture of spurs and buckles was carried on in 
this place. These were made in a very superior manner of 
the best malleable iron, and then hardened on the surface 
only, that they might admit of a fine polish. The process of 
hardening used by the buckle-makers of Bolsover, is techni- 
cally called case-hardening, and is well known amongst those 
who are connected with the manufacture of articles of steel 
and iron ; to those who are not it may be useful to intimate 
that iron, properly so called, is incapable of receiving a very 

A A 


high polish ; the buckles and spurs were therefore formed and 
filed into shape when in the state of iron only ; the exterior 
surface was then converted into steel by a peculiar process, in 
which burnt bones, and ashes made from the leather of old 
shoes, were generally used. The manufactured article was 
now internally iron, and therefore not liable to be easily 
broken, but the exterior surface was converted into the purest 
steel, and fitted to receive the most brilliant polish that can 
possibly be imparted to this beautiful metal. 

The land in the neighbourhood of Bolsover is very good, 
and the rents reasonable, not more on an average than twenty 
shillings an acre : the farmers are therefore many of them in 
easy and comfortable circumstances. Those who are esteemed 
the best managers pursue the following routine ; they lay down 
their laud in fallow every four or five years, and generally get 
a crop of turnips at the end of the fallow ; they have then, 
first year, wheat, second, clover, the third wheat again, and 
the fourth oats. 

Bolsover church is but a plain and homely structure with- 
out, but within it is neat and even handsome. In a small 
chapel, which has been added to the original building, there 
are some costly monuments ; one of them contains a group of 
figures in alabaster, and all the parts are richly and elabora^- 
tely ornamented : another to the memory of H. Cavendish, 
Duke of Newcastle, is composed of different coloured mate- 
rials, chiefly marbles. In design it is architectural : the co- 
lumns that form part of the composition are lofly, and two 
figures in white marble occupy the pediment they support : 
emblematic devices, honorary inscriptions, and a variety of 
decorative sculpture, are scattered about this splendid monu- 
ment, My visit here was in autumn : at this season of the 
year the red-breast begins to leave the fields and the woods, 
and resort to ,the hedges and trees of the cottage garden : 
there he warbles forth bis matins and his vespers amongst the 
habitations of men : grown more familiar^ he enters their 
dwellings and picks his food fi-om their tables. A robin at 
Bolsover had flown into the chancel of the church, and unable 
to obtain subsistence, where,, perhaps, there was neither a 
crumb pf bread, nor a living thing besides himself he had 
perched upon this sumptuous monument, chaunted forth his 
own melancholy requiem, and died amonst the tombs of the 
noble and the great. When I found him, life seemed to have 
only just departed; his plumage was fresh and unruffled, and 


he oecat>ied a situation on the monument as if. he had b^en a 
part of die desim of the artist : no red-breast had ever a more 
splendid sepulchre. A few months afterwards, when looking 
over the museum of a friend, I regretted that I had not 
brought away and preserved this bird, to complete his collec- 
tion. "Here," said he, " you see every British bird, from 
the eagle to the wren, with the exception of the robin — him 
I can catch and kill at any time whenever I want him, but — 
he shall live until then*" 

The church-yard at Bolsover is a remarkably clean and 
neat looking place. The grave stones are placed iii an up- 
right position at the head of the grave, and many of them 
coQtain devices and inscriptions that refer to the uncertainty of 
life, and the evanescent nature of all human enjoyments. 
This resting*place of the departed is capacious, and when I 
saw it, it was covered with a fresh and cheerful verdure. The 
turf is here but rarely disturbed, and when it is, the removal 
appears to be done witli care, and, as soon as the body is in- 
terred, the grass sod is again laid upon the place. 

Bolsover Castle, the place we next visited, occupies the 
plain of a rocky hill, that rises abruptly from the meadows. 
This building is of great extent, and, fropa the elevated situ- 
ation it possesses, it is a land-mark for the country round. 
The various parts of which the structure denominated Bolsover 
Castle is composed, were built at different periods. The north- 
east end, which was erected by Sir Charles Cavendish, about 
the year 1613, is the oldest; it is now occupied. A broad 
flight of steps leads to the entrance, and over the door is a 
kneeling figure of a Hercules, who supports on his shoulders 
a heavy baSc^ony, that seems to oppress him with its weight ; 
two lions sculptured in stone stand by his side. The interior 
of this portion of Bolsover Castle exhibits a curious specimen 
of the domestic arrang^ents, and accommodations of the age 
when it was built. The rooms are small, and the walls are 
wainscotted and fancifully inlaid- and painted. The ceilings of 
the best apartments are carved and gUt, and nearly the whole 
of the floors are coated with plaster. In the pillar-hall there 
are some old portraits of little or no value, and the labours of 
Hercules are painted in different compartments. The star- 
chamber has been richly gilt and carved, and the walls are 
decorated with the portraits of twelve Roman emperors. The 
only comfortable apartment that I observed in diis old struct 
ture, is now called the drawing-room, a name it has recently 

A A 2 


assumed in place of the pUlar-parlour, by which designation 
it was formerly known. A colamn of stone is placed in the 
middle of the room : the capital is the point from whence tbe 
ramifications of an arched ceiling branch ; the walls are waiit- 
scotted, and many old-fashioned devices, partly gilt, are intro- 
duced amongst the ornaments. Emblematical representations 
of the five senses, all very indifferently painted, occupy various 
compartments round the top of the room, and the windows are 
formed and fashioned to correspond with the interior deco- 
rations. We had wandered over a great part of Bolsover 
Castle before we entered this apartment, where, in the days of 
chivalry and romance, " courtly dames and barons bold" com- 
muned with each other. Whilst my companion proceeded 
onwards, I sat down in a corner of the room to meditate on 
those " by-gone" days : a species of delusion, of which I have 
sometimes been the sport, soon began to interfere with the 
realities of the scene : a train of thinking, in which I was dis- 
posed to indulge, was soon succeeded by an almost complete 
abstraction from every thing like thought, and the mind was 
bewildered amidst its own creations : while thus absorbed, the 
wind swept gently over the strings of an Eolian harp, and the 
soft strain swelled wildly to the breeze, then died away in 
sounds, that the ear followed with eagerness, until all was stilL 
The effect of these mysterious strains, breathed out in such a 
place at such a time, and the breathless pause that succeeded 
their close, I have sometimes endeavoured to recal to recol- 
lection, but how feeble is the impression that now remains ! 

A long and narrow flight of^ stairs brought us to the roof 
of this building, from whence the view is nearly boundless ; 
earth and sky, as we gazed upon the prospect around us, were 
blended together in the far-off horizon, and the boundary line 
was lost in the indistinct haze of distance. Descending fix>m 
our elevation, we visited the garden, which is surrounded with 
a high wall, about three yards thick. In this garden there is 
an old fountain of curious and expensive workmanship. The 
Rev. S. Pegge, in his history of Bolsover Castle, has inserted 
two or three very indifferent sketches of this fountain, accom- 
panied with a communication on the subject, from Major 
Rooke, who speaks in terms of commendation of the elegance 
of the whole design, and the great excellence of the sculpture : 
it is certainly a singular, but not aiv elegant structure : it is 
ornamented with griffins, birds, satyrs, and niches, in which 
are the busts of eight Roman emperors. A more curious 


assemblage of objects can hardly be imagined, and by what 
cunning they have been brought together to decorate a 
fountain, it is equally difficult to conceive. The rusticated 
pedestal, that forms the central part of this fountain, is sur- 
mounted with a statue of Venus in the action of stepping out 
of a bath, with some wet drapery thrown over her arm, but 
she is altogether as unlovely in form and feature as any Venus 
can possibly be. 

My observations hitherto have only extended to that part 
of Bolsover Castle that was formerly denominated the Little 
House^ to distinguish it from the more magnificent structure 
near, which we proceeded to explore. This immense fabric, 
whose walls are now roofless and rent into fissures, was built 
by William, the first Duke of Newcastle, some time in the 
course of the reign of the Second Charles ; but it is said never 
to have been entirely finished ; yet there are some appearances 
about it that lead to a different conclusion. The interior walls, 
that now exhibit nothing but bare stones, have evidently been 
wainscotted, in conformity to the taste that then prevailed, 
and the iron hooks on which the huge shutters for the windows 
hinged, are worn with frequent use ; it does not however ap- 
pear that this immense edifice was ever long inhabited. The 
doors, the windows, and the different apartments about it, 
have all been designed on a scale of magnitude beyond what 
is common in such structures ; every thing appears enormous : 
the principal apartment now remaining is two hundred and 
twenty feet by twenty-eight ; and the whole western part, in- 
cluding the Little House at the northern extremity, extends 
about one hundred and fifty yards. 

Huntingdon Smithson, an architect who has been honoured 
with the notice of Horace Walpole, is understood to have fur- 
nished the designs for Bolsover Castle, but he did not live to 
witness its erection. He collected his materitils from Italy, 
where he was sent by the Duke of Newcastle for the purpose. 
Smithson died at Bolsover in the year 1648, and was buried 
in the chancel of the church, where there is a poetic inscrip- 
tion to his memory, in which his skill in architecture is a 
principal feature. Walpole says, that " Many of his draw- 
ings were purchased by the late Lord Byron from his de- 
scendants, who lived at Bolsover :" hence it appears that he 
was a man of considerable eminence in his profession. The 
immense pile of building that his genius contributed to pro- 
duce, is gradually, though slowly, wearing away. Trees now 

A A 3 


grow in some of th^ apartments, and the ivy creeps along the 
walls ; but there is nothing strikingly picturesque in any part 
of the structure which is now in rui^is. The best view of 
Bolsover castle is from the road, on the north-east entrance 
into the town, from a place called Iron Cliff. From the 
Chesterfield road below, a good view of the whole structure 
may be obtained, but the almost total want of majestic trees 
and luxuriant foliage, renders it but an indifferent subject for 
the pencil. 

A broad terrace commences at the northern extremity of 
Bolsover Castle, and extends along the whole front of the 
building ; it then sweeps round the southern side of the vil- 
lage, and inclines towards the east. On the right border of 
this terrace four watch-towers yet remain ; they stand on the 
brow of a natural rocky rampart, that terminates against the 
ridge of hill along which we had just passed in our walk from 
Hardwick through Glapwell and Palterton. Where this 
junction takes place an artificial rampart, with a deep ditch, 
commences and spans the other half of Bolsc^cr from the 
south to the north-east. 

Bolsover has been the site of a castle from the Norman 
Conquest to the present time ; but of the first fabric of this 
description not a singte vestige now remains. When the 
Doomsday Survey was made it belonged to William Peveril, 
Lord of Derbyshire, in whose family it remained for three 
generations. King John, when Earl of Moreton, became the 
possessor of Bolsover ; but during his contention with Long- 
champ, Bishop of Ely, it became the property of that prelate. 
Subsequently it agsun reverted to John, who, " in the 
eighteenth year of nis reign, issued a mandate to Bryan de 
L'Isle, the ,then governor of Bolsover, to fortify tlie castle, 
and hold it against the rebellious barons ; or if he could not 
make it tenable, to demolish it." *- This no doubt was the 
period when the fortifications, yet visible about Bolsover, were 
established. In the long and tumultuous reign of the third 
Henry, this castle still retained its consequence. William 
Earl Ferrars had the government of it for six years : after- 
wards, it had, eleven (Efferent governors in twice that term. 
It is not necessary to trace this place through all its possessors. 
In the reign of Henry the Eighth it was tihe property of 

Dugdal« Bar. Vol. I. page 737. 


Thomas Howard, the fifst Duke of Norfolk. On the at* 
tainder of his son this castle escheated to the crown. Shortly 
afterwards it was granted to Sir John Byron for fifty years. 
In the reign of James the First, Gilbert Talbot, Earl of 
Shrewsbury, was the owner of Brfsover. In the year 161 S, 
he sold it to Sir Charles Cavendish, whose eldest son William 
was the first Duke of Newcastle, a personage of great emi- 
nence amongst the nobility of his time, and in high favour at 
court. He was sincerely attached to his royal master Charles 
the First, whom he entertained at Bolsover Castle, on three 
different occasions, in a style of princely magnificence. On 
the King's second visit here, when he was accompanied by 
his Queen, upwards of fifi;een thousand pounds were ex- 
pended. The Duchess of Newcastle, in her Life of the Duke, 
her husband, says, ** The Earl employed Ben Jonson in fitting 
up such scenes and speeches as he could devise ; and sent for 
all the country to come and wait on their Majesties ; and, in 
short, did all that ever he could imagine to render it great, 
and worthy )Qf their royal acceptance." It was this nobleman 
who erected the edifice which is now in ruins. Mr. Bray, 
in his Tour in Derbyshire, observes, " This place was seized 
by the Parliament after the Duke went abroad, and was sold, 
and begun to be pulled down, but was then bought by Sir 
Charles, the Duke's youngest brother, and so restored to the 

In our way from Bolsover we took the Road to Renishaw, 
leaving Stavely in the valley on our left. We had now but 
few observations to make during the remainder of our ex- 
cursion ; we therefore passed rapidly over scenes^, which, 
under other circumstances, might have delayed our steps, 
and excited admiration: we, however, made a pause at 
Renishaw, the residence of Sir George Sitwell, and the last 
delightfiil spot that attracted our attention amongst the scenery 
of Derbyshire. Renishaw Hall is situated on a gentle ele- 
vation amongst groves of trees, lofty in growth and beautiftil 
in foliage. The park is spacious, and the gardens and the 
pleasure-grounds are laid out with great taste, and exhibit d 
very favourable specimen of the present improved style rf 
landscape gardening in England. The sc^iery that surromtds) 
this elegant mansion, although not of a sublime and elevated 
character, is full of rural and sylvan beatity. 

We were now but a short distance fro^n Sheffield, where 
we terminated our long and laborious peregrmatipn. Havtog 

A a' 4. 


regained my home, I sat down quiedy at my fireside, and 
took a brief retrospect of the principal scenes I had passed 
during my various excursions amongst the hills and dales of 
Derbyshire. Imagination moved rapidly over East Moor, 
the boundary Ihie of separation between the coal and lime- 
stone districts of the county : Eyam, with its interesting local 
history, Tideswell, the River Wye, Buxton and its numerous 
improvements, Miller's Dale, Monsal Dale, Bakewell, Had- 
don Hall, Chatsworth, and the River Derwent, were all pre- 
sented in succession to my view, as beautiful, as brilliant, and 
as full of change, as the figures in a Kaleidoscope : the Lath- 
kill; with its bright transparent stream, Alport, the firiendly 
hospitality of Stanton, the recent loss of a dear fi-iend, and 
the domestic afilictions there. The pleasurable lecoUections 
connected with this place were chequered with emotions of a 
very different description ; the peculiarly kind and friendly 
attentions of the late Henry Bache Thornhill, Esq. will long 
have a place amongst my most cherished remembrances. 
Unworthy should I be of the esteem with which he honoured 
me while living, if, " while memory holds a seat within my 
brain," I could either forget him or cease to lament his loss. 
In the autumn of 1821 he went to France, with the hope 
that a change of climate might restore die health of a beloved 
daughter, just blooming into womanhood : his hopes and 
wishes were alike defeated, and he shortly followed her to 
the grave. Early in 1822 he returned to J&igland, for a few 
weeks only, and in June he wrote me an affecdonate adieu 
firom Stanton. He was again visiting the country where the 
mortal remains of his daughter were interred, and from 
whence he never returned. In a few months after his arrival 
on the Continent, a severe illness terminated his existence at 
Tours, in France. These were not the only privations his 
family were destined to suffer : in the succeeding month of 
May, his eldest son, a young man about nineteen years of 
age, of great acquirements, died at his father's house in Mon- 
tague-Square, London. This brief but affecting hi$tory of 
domestic calamity is given with a feeling of sorrow, and as a 
testimony of attachment to the memory of a man whom I 
shall ever remember with affection : his death has left a chasm 
in my firiendships, but his kindness and character will remain 
indelibly impressed upon my mind. Peace to his ashes ! 

From this gloomy subject I once more recurred to the re- 
capitulation of my excursions : my third clo;s;ed with the ro- 


mantic and luxuriant scenery of Matlock ; my last included a 
vast extent of country, and a great variety of objects : Norton, 
the birth-place of Chantrey, Whittington, the Centenary 
Commemoration of the Revolution there, Chesterfield, the 
Rainbow-Scene from Staina^, Ashover, the Majestic Ruins 
of South Winfield, Crich, Via Gellia, the Well- Flowering 
at Tissington, Ashbourne, Dove Dale, Ilam, Belper, Hard- 
wick, Bolsover, and Renishaw, all came into the review of 
places I had visited, and the sensations and emotions with 
which the scenery of these gems in English landscape was 
beheld, were once more felt and recognised. 

In the progress of this work, which I have now brought to 
a close, I have experienced both trouble and anxiety ; it has 
likewise been attended with gratifications and pleasures of no 
common order : I have learnt accurately to note the appear- 
ances of nature, and to relish her various beauties. In my 
perambulations in Derbyshire, I have been taught to ^^ look 
through nature up to natpre's God," and, under the canopy 
of heaven, in the midst of open fields, heathy wastes, and 
rocks, and mountains, I have felt those sublime and elevated 
emotions, which neither temples built with hands, nor the 
crowded assemblies of men, could excite. ^^ My task is 
done," and with the exception of what memory may once 
more call into existence, the pains and pleasures that have 
attended it are at an end. 

^ My task is done; my song hath ceased ; my theme 
Has died into an echo ; — it is fit 
The spell should break of this protracted dream : 
The torch shall be extincuish'd which hath lit 
My midnight lamp — and what is writ is writ — 
Would it were worthier 1 but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me — and the glow 
Which in my spirit dwells, is fluttering, faint, and low." 

Lord Bybon*« ChUde Harold. 

September 1823. 



Since the last page of these Excursions was written and in 
the press, the Derbyshire Peak Archery Meeting has been 
held at Chatsworth, and numerously and brilliantfy attended. 
This society of Bowmen originated with the Duke of Devon- 
shire, who is its head and patron. This distinguished noble- 
man lives in a style of princely magnificence. Wherever he is, 
whether at his beautiful paladian villa^ on the borders of the 
Thames at Chiswick, at Devonshire House in Piccadilly, or at 
his Palace of the Peak, at Chatsworth, the gaieties and the 
elegancies of life are there also. Wherever he moves a 
thousand fashionable satellites attend upon him ; and at the 
Derbyshire Bow Meeting his accustomed influence brought 
around his person both the noble and the lowly bom, from 
those who rode in carriages, blazoned with coronets or ar- 
morial bearings, to the humble pedestrian, who, for many a 
weary mile, had plodded it on foot across the heathy moors 
that surround his mansion. The day was delightful ; and a 
fine day, in such a climate as ours, is a wonderful exhilarator 
of the animal spirits. When the air is chill or humid, and the 
sky covered with clouds, the gloom that prevails without not 
unfrequently throws a shadow over the sunshine of the heart, 
and saddens the feelings ; but the day when the archers of the 
Peak were assembled was one of the finest of the year ; and the 
rains, which had fallen in copious showers at intervals for six 
or eight weeks preceding, had given an uncommon freshness 
to the verdure of the park. The foliage of the trees had recovered 
from the shrivelled state in which it had been left by the 
blights and unseasonable frosts, that had ^ot only lingered 
about departing winter, and " chilled the lap of May," but 
had actually trespassed upon the brighter months of summer. 
The lime-trees in Chatsworth Park are some of the finest in 


the county, and their white blossoms sparkled amongst the 
green leaves as the light of a clear summer sun shone full upon 
them« The^ye was delighted with the delicate colouring and 
pensile filaments of the blossoms of the lime, which filled the 
air with fragrance, and breathed a delicious odour &r around 
them« On a rising ground, under the shade of these majestic 
trees, the company that had visited Chatsworth to witness the 
skill of the Peak Archers, were assembled. The' plain below 
was occupied by the targets, the rival Bowmen, and the per- 
sonal friends of the Duke of Devonshire, who were seated in 
groups, or parading the grounds in parties, ^ving life and 
splendour to a scene as gay and brilliant as fashion, rank, and 
beauty could possibly mske it. The Archers were habited 
in green dresses, lined with purple : the ladies wore small 
white hats, ornamented with dark green pendant feathers. The 
gentlemen had drap-coloured beavers, with black and green 
feathers intermixed. The costume in which the whole of the 
Archers were dressed was simple, picturesque, and elegant, 
and admirably^adapted for an advantageous display of both 
form and feature. 

From fifty to sixty ladies and gentlemen entered the lists as 
competitors for the prize, and a band of music intimated the 
commencement of the sports of the day. The Duke of De- 
vonshire, who was attended by a page, had the honour of 
drawing the first bow-string, and he early placed an arrow on 
the outer verge of the target. But it was reserved for a lady 
to bear away the prize ; witli an aim as unerring as the '' blind 
boy's but-shaft," she hit the bulFs-eye in the centre : her suc- 
cess was announced by a signal from the provost or superin- 
tendant of the target, and the pealing in of a loud strain of 
music communicated her triumph to the assembled multi^^ 
tude of spectators. Mrs. Jedediah Strutt was the fair victor 
on this occasion, and shortly afterwards an arrow from Miss 
Bateman's bow, penetrated the inner circle of the target At 
the termination of the contest, the two gold medals were ad- 
judged to Mrs. J. Strutt and Col. Clowes. When this vic- 
tory was decided, two sets of bows and arrows, in addition to 
the usual prizes, were given by Mrs. Mundy, the lady para- 
mount of the field, — and Sir Charles Golville, the president* 
In the contest for these prizes Miss Bateman was again suc- 
cessftil, and W. Mundy, Esq. won the gentlemen's bow and 
arrows : the ladies, indeed, were the best Tnarks-MBK ; they 


directed their shafts with greater certainty than the men, and 
more frequently hit the target. 

As the difFerent candidates took their places in succession 
on the ground, I watched the fixing of the arrow on the string, 
— saw the bow gradually drawn to its extreme tension,—- 
heard the twang of the winged messenger as it departed, — • 
tracked its progress through the air, and saw it strike or miss 
the target with an interest far beyond what I had imagined 
could have been excited by such an exhibition. Some of the 
arrows trembled and wavered in their progress : others, driven 
by a more determined and a firmer hand, passed steadily and 
swiftly to the mark : but the Archers of the Peak are new to 
the sport ; and probably some years of practice will pass away 
before they will be sufficiently expert either to " notch" each 
others shafts when on the target, or split a willow wand at a 
hundred paces distant, with the skill and adroitness of Locks- 
ley, the brave bowman of. Ivanhoe. 

The scene altogether was novel and pictorial in effect ; gra- 
tifying to the eye by its peculiar and characteristic beauty, and 
interesting to the mind from the associations it created : the 
ballad history of Robin Hood, which was the delight and 
wonder of my boyhood, and the achievements of his faithful 
associates, were once more revived and recollected. In ad- 
vanced life, when the space between youth and age is a division 
of fearftil length, our early impressions seen through the vista 
of departed years, become more powerfully interesting as they 
are farthest removed : we love to dwell upon scenes and cir-^ 
cumstanc^s which delighted us when life and all its enjoyments 
were new, and threw a charm over our earlier years. A pen- 
sive feeling that lingers about half^forgotten remembrances, 
was connected with the animated picture in Chatsworth Paric: ; 
although far more refined, elegant, and imposing, than the 
archery of Nottingham and Sherwood Forest, it was still a 
scene of archery ; and the females who were mingled with it, 
adorned it with beauty, and made it lovely to behold. When 
drawing the arrow to the head, they were graceful in figure as 
the statue of Diana ; and the anxious feeling with which they 
marked its flight through the trackless air to its destination, 
gave additional lustre to the eye, and to the whole counte- 
nance a more animated and interesting expression. An artist 
was upon the grounds studying the scenery of Chatsworth, 
and storing his mind and his sketch-book with the brilliant 
picture which the park presented : but only a Turner could 


do justice to such a subject : he dips his pencil in light itself, 
and every thing it touches glows and sparkles with sunshine ; 
his colours are as ethereal, as beautiful, and as transparent as 
the rainbow : he could impart to such a scene its peculiar 
splendour, people it with groups of living figures, — give grace 
to their motions and animation to their features; he could 
clothe the hills and woods that surround this lovely spot with 
the majesty of nature, and the glittering play of the waters of 
the fountains amongst the brai}ches of the trees would be but 
sport for his pencil. Turner, at Chatsworth, on this bright 
and busy day, might have produced a successful rival to his 
own celebrated picture of Richmond Hill. 

During the hours of shooting, the Duke of Devonshire's 
Russian carriage was upon the ground, and the singularity of 
its construction, together with the long-bearded Russ coach- 
man, and the beauty, spirit, and prancing of the" horses, 
attracted general attention. At the close of the Archery, the 
Duke seated himself in this curiously-fashioned vehicle, and 
passed along the park, through a crowd of spectators, with 
astonishing rapidity. Hie horses appeared to be as wild as 
the untamed colts of Arabia; they were, nevertheless, as 
manageable and as docile as any road-horse could possibly have 
been. From the park, the Duke and his friends retiredfto. an 
out-building, which had been fitted up for the occasion, at 
Edensor. A company of about one hundred and seventy sat 
down to dinner. A ball succeeded, and thus ended the Peak 
Archery Meeting of 1823, in Chatsworth Park. 


To Mr. Wm. Edwards, of the Moravian Academy at 
Fulneck, I take this opportunity of returning my acknowledg- 
ments for the following List of the Peak Plants of Derbyshire. 
His accurate knowledge of the subject has enabled me to lay 
before my readers a valuable document. The communication 
is given with the accompanying letter, in the form in which 
it was received. 

7b Mr. E. Rhodes, the Author of Peak Sceneby. 
Deab Sib, 
Various necessary engagements have prevented me from sooner com- 
pleting the subjoined list of Peak plants, remarkable for variety or beauty 
ar other peculiarities. It may still be in time for insertion at the end of 
your Fourth Part ; for its scientific and tabular form would make it appear 
fike a blotch in the midst of your glowing pictures of that delightful region. 
I am sorry that I have not been able to render the catalogue more worthy of 
a place in your work : it is principally defective in the ordinary class of 
plants, to which I never directed much attention, having before gleaned a 
tolerable collection of them elsewhere. This particulu^y refers to the 
grasses^ mosses, sedges and willows; in which classes, I believe, the Flora 
of the Peak does not possess any great richness. Whatever plants I have 
not myself seen, I have referred to their propet authorities, either in Pil- 
kin^on's History of Derbyshire, or Smith*s Flora Britannica. If this 
trifimg contribution can in any degree repay the pleasure which I have 
deriv^ from your labours, I shall think myself extremely happy. — With 
compliments to your family, 

I anj, very respectfully, yours, 

W. E0WABD8. 
Fulneck, Feb, 24, 1820. 



Ligustrum vulgare ; Privet. 

Fraxinus excelsior ; common Ash : abundant on limestone rocks. 
CSrcaea alpina B. 8imth*t Ft. Brit. A variety of the Alpine Enchanter's 
Nightshade : Lover's walk, Matlock Bath. 

Eriophorum vaginatum ; single-headed Cotton-grass ^ast-raoon 
. angustifolium j common ditto : Dove Dale, and turfy bogs, 


Dipsaeus pilosii^s ; small Teasel : Matlock Bath,^-i$Wt. 
Scabiosa columbaria ; fine-leaved Scabious : Heiehts of Dove Dale. 
Galium pusillum ; least Mountain Bed-straw : Matlock Bath, in plenty. 
Comus sanguinea ; wild Cornel-tree. 

Lithospermum officinale ; common Gromwell : frequent. 
Cynoglossum officinale; HoundVtongue: Ashover, Matlock. — Ptlk. 
Primula vul^ris; common Primrose. 
----- elatior; Oxlip. 
----- veris; Cowslip. 

Lysimachia nummularia ; creeping Loosestrife : moist shady places. 
Convolvolus sepium ; great Bindweed. 
Polemonium coeruleum ; Greek Valerian, or Jacob's Ladder : Lover's Leap, 

Buxton; limestone clifis near Bakeweli. Its colour greatly exceeds that 

of the cultivated plant in brilliancy. 
Viola'lutea ; yellow Violet : near Middleton, as plentiful as kingcups in the 

Campanula latifolia; giant Bell-flower. 

_ • trachelium ; Throatwort. 

Verbascum thapsus ; great Mullein. 

Atropa belladonna; ^badly Nightshade. — Pilk, 

Rhamnus catharticus ; Buckthorn. 

Euonymus europseus ; Spindle-tree : Matlock. 

Grentiana amarella; autumnal Gentian : high pastures at Matlock Bath, 

Conium Maculatum ; Hemlock. 

Pamassia palustris ; grass of Parnassus : Matlock, Buxton : a beautiful 

Linum catharticum ; purging Flax. 
Drosera rotundifolia ; round-leaved Sun-dew. ^ 

Allium vineale; crow Garlic : plentiful at Matlock Bath. 
Omithogalum luteum ; yellow Star of Bethlehem : near Derby. Mr. Whate- 

Scilla nutans; wild Hyacinth. 

Convallaria majalis; Lily of the Valley: Via Gellia, Doyt Dale, in 

Cdlchicum autumnale; meadow Saffiron. 
Alisma plantago; great Water-plantain. 


Vaccinium niyrtillus; Bilberry. 
....... vitis id»a; Whortle-berry. 

....... oxycoccus ; Cranberry. 

Erica vulgaris 2 common Heath. 
. tetralix; cross-leaved ditto, 

- - - - dnerea; fine-leaved ditto. 

Daphne Mezereum ; Mezereon : Matlock. — PUk* 
..... laureola ; spurge Laurel. 
Adoxa moschatellina ; tuberous Moschatel, 
Pans quadrifolia; herb Paris, 

Saxifraga caespitosa; tufted Saxifrage : Castleton. — Pilk^ 
...... tridactylites ; rue-leaved ditto ; Buxton. 

...... hypnoides; mossy ditto: Castleton, Dove Dale. 

granulata; white ditto : limestone hills. 

Dianthus arenarius ; pheasant's-eye Pink : Edensor. — PUk^ 

deltoides; maiden Pink : Bakewell hills, — Pilkn 

Silene nutans ; Nottingham Catchfly : Dove Dale. 

Arenaria vema ; mountain Sandwort : near the mouths of mines at Matlock, 

...... saxatilis; rock ditto : Middleton Dale. — Pilk, 

• --••- laricifolia ; larch-leaved ditto : Middleton Dale. — PUk. 


Pyrus domestica; true Service-tree, 
. aucuparia; mountain Ash. 

- - - - aria; white Beam-tree : fissures of rocks, Matlock. — PUk, 
Rosa spinossissima ; Burnet Rose. 

- - - - villosa; apple ditto : Dove Dale. 

Rubus Chamaemorus ; mountain Bramble or Cloud-berry : Kanderscout. 

Pilk, — ^Axedge : A. B. Lambert, Esq. — Sm, 
Rubus saxatalis; stone Bramble or Cloudberry : hills opposite Matlock 

Bath.— Ptf*. 

Chelidouium majus ; ereater Celandine : Matlock. 
Nymphaea lutea; yellow Water-lily, 
....... alba ; white ditto. 

Cistus Helianthemum ; dwarf Cistus : Matlock, &c. common. 
Aquilegia vulgaris ; common Columbine : ditto. 
Thalictrum minus ; lesser Meadow Rue : Castleton. 

. flavum ; common ditto. 

Helleborus viridis ; green Hellebore : Matlock.— PtMr. 
Caltha palustris; marsh Marigold. 

Ajuga alpina ; Alpine Bugle : summit of a mountain near Castleton. Mr. 

D. Turner.--iyiii. 
Mentha piperita, var. a. ; Peppermint : in a rivulet in Bonsai Dale, near 

Matlock.— iSm. 
Oinopodium vulgare ; wild Basil. 
Origamim vulgare ; Marjorum. 


Thymus serpyllum ; wild Thyme. 

- . . . . acinos^; Basil ditto : Dove Dale. 

Digitalis purpurea ; purple and white Foxglove. 

Thiaspialpestre; Alpine Shepherd's Purse : on limestone rocks, and about 

the lead mines, Matlock Bath. — Sm, 
Cardamine imjpatiens; impatient Lady's Smock: Matlock Bath, abundant 

in the wooos. 
Er3r8imum cheiranthoides ; treacle hedge Mustard : near Ashbourne.— jSlni. 
Turritis hirsuta ; hairy tower Mustard : Masson Hill. 
----- glabra ; smooth ditto.-^iS'm. 

Geranium lucidum ; shining Crane's-bill : Matlock Bath. 
........ sanguineum ; bloody ditto : rocks opposite Haddon Hall. 

Fumaria lutea ; yellow Furmitory : old walls near Castleton.— iS^m. 
Spartium scoparium ; Broom. 
^ Uiex nanus ; dwarf Furze ; Dove Dale. 
Ononis arvensis ; Restharrow. " • 

Anthyllis vulneraria; Lady's Finger : common on limestone. 
Vicia sylvatica ; wood Vetch : Abraham's Heights, Matlock, 

Carduus nutans ; musk Thistle : common. 
Cnicus eriophorus; woolly-headed ditto: Matlock Bath. 
Eupatorium cannabinum ; hemp Agremony : Matlock, &c. 
Tanacetum vulgare ; common Tansy. 
Conj^zasquarrosa; Plowman's Spikenard: High Ton 
Tussilago farfara; Colt's-foot. 
...... petasites; Butter-beer. 

Inula dysenterica; Fleabane. 


Orchbbifolia; butterfly Orchis. . 

pyramidalis ; pyramidal ditto. 

ustulata : dwarf ditto. 

.... conopsea; aromatic ditto. 

- - - - militaris ; man ditto. 

Ophrys apifera; bee Ophrys; Abraham's Heights. 

. . muscifera; fly ditto : ditto. 

..... cordata ; heart-leaved ditto: Peak Forest. — Sm. 

- - - 1 . ovata; Twayblade. 

Poterium sanguisorba ; Buniet. 
Fagus sylvatica : Beech-tree. 

Empetrum nigrum ; black Crow-berry : Peak Forest.' 
Junipenis communis ; Juniper. 
Taxus baccata ; Yew-tree, 

B B 



Lycopodium davatum ; common Club-moss : Bogs on East Moor. 

-•.».... selago ; fir ditto : ditto. 

Polvpodium caleareum ; ri^d three^ranched Polypody : Woods opposite 
the New Bath, Matlock. 

Aspidium aculeatum ; prickly shield Fern. 

...... dilatatum ; great-crested ditto. 

Asplenium trichomanes ; maiden-hair Spleenwort : old walls, Matlock, ftc. 

...-•-- ruta muraria; wall Rue ditto : ditto. 

Scolopendiium vulgare; Hart's tongue. 

Blechnum boreale ; rough Spleenwort. 

Cyathea frag^ ; brittle cup Fern : Matlock 

Sphagmun latifoiium ; broftd-leaved Bog-moss. 

lYichostomum fontinaloides, B. ; river Fringe-moss : in the river at Mat- 
lock Bath.— iSm. 

Hypnum Teesdalii ; Teesdalian Feather-moss : in woods on the south-east 
ade of the river at Matlock Bath. Mr. Teesdale. — Sm, 

...... proliferum ; opaque proliferous Feather-moss ; Matlock. 

..---• recl)gnitum ; lesser opaque Feather-moss ; Matlock.— iSWt. 

Bryum nutans; silky pendulous Thread-moss : Cromford Moor.— iSnr. 

Jungennannia pulcnerrima cochleariforme : near Hathersage. 




The Author of these excursions having now accomplished 
his original intention, and brought his labours to a close, 
bids adieu to his readers, with a few words at ptuting. During 
the progress of this protracted work, hfe has found- the public 
his most Ubaral patrons. To one individual only, besides his 
engraver and his draftsman, is he under any extraordinary 
obligation, and that individual is now no more. While living 
he promoted the interests of this publication by his commu- 
nications, his suggestions, and exertions. In some instances 
the writer has been disappointed : he has solicited information 
from those whom he thought competent to give it, and his 
letters have been too oft^ unnoticed. His townsmen, and 
those who reside near him, appear to have felt a more lively 
interest in this work even than the inhabitants of the county 
the scenery and local history of which it has been his object 
to explore. It was his intention, originally, to produoe a 
work nearly unique in the beauty of its decorations, elegant 
in its typography, interesting in matter, and worthy of the 
patronage of the county it professes to illustrate. To Derby- 
shire he is under many obligations, to his townsmen more, 
and he returns them his sincere thanks for their support, with 
a satisfied feeling, that the last part of his Peak Scenery 
wiU not be found inferior to the first. 

September 1823. 

J)B 2 


A few Copies of the Quarto Edition of this Work, illustrated 
with Engravings by W.B. and G. Cooke, from Drawings by 
F, Chantrey, Esq. R. A. Sculptor, may be had of Messrs. 
Longman and Co. or of the Author, Sheffield: — 

Imperial Quarto, India proof Plates, Four Parts, 12/. 
Royal Quarto, 2 vols, or Four Parts, 61. 1 6s. 



Beauchief Abbey. 
Stonev Middleton. 
:Smeltinff Mill. 
Castle Rock, 
Middleton Dale. 
View in Eyam. 
Cross in l&yam Church-yard. 
Cross at Wheston. 

Part II, 

View into Shirbrook Dell. 
View on the IJiver Wye, 
View in Monsal Dale. 
Rustic Bridge in ditto. 
Cross in BaKeweli Cburch*<yard, 
Haddon Hall. 
Chatsworth House. 

Paet III. 

Approach to Peak's Hole. 

View from the interior of ditto. 

View from the Winnats. 

Watering Place. 

Tufa and Limestone Rocks. 

Northern entrance into Matlock 

Matlock High Tor. 

Part IV. 
Old Hall at Norton Lees. 
Ruins of Southwittgfield Manor 

View in Dove Dale. 
View from near Reynard's Hall. 
Northern entrance into Dove Dale. 
View of Bolsover Castle, 
Approach to Hathersage. 

Copies of the Plates may ba had separately^ price 21, I2s. each 
fiet. Single Parts 145. 


Abbey Dale, page II. 
Accidents in Dove>Dale, 325, 
» — Mines, 70. 342. 
Achilles, his Tomb, 64. 
Aifreton, 348. 
All-Saints Church, 2. 
Alport, 229. 

Rocks, 230. 
Altar, Roman, 142. 
Ancient Britons, Temples of, 236. 
" ■ Cemeteries, 64. 
■ Crosses, 45. 133. 
— — mode of Sepulture, 65, 
Tapestry, 144. 

Iron Works, 15. 

Andle Stone, 235. 
Andrew. Geo. Esq., 207. 

— — — his Manufactory, 208. 
Anecdote of Closterman, 161. 
■ of a Hindoo, 137. 
ofVerrio, 156. 
Antiquity of Derbyshire Mines, 340. 
Arbor Low, 228. 
Arkwright Sir Richard, 257. 
Artists critish, 165. 
Ash, the Tree of the Peak, 41. 
Ashford, 128. 
Ashop River, 217. 
Ashover, 295. 
Ashboum, 317. 

Church, 319. 

■ Monuments there, 320. 
Autumnal Evening, 187. 

■ Morning, 12. 
Ax-edge, '94. 


Babington Anthony, 509. 
Bagshaw Sir WilUaui, 274. 

Cavern, 214. 

Rev. William, 199. 

Bakewell, 130. 

Church-Yard, 132. 

Ancient Cross there, 152. 

Chantry at, 135. 

Bath, 309. 

Banner Cross. 175. 

Bar Moor Clough, 

Basaltic Column^ 197. 

Banks Sir Joseph, 299. 

the Sculptor, Monument by, 

Baslow Bar, 233. 
Beauchief Abbey, 12. 

House, 14. 

Begging, Custom of at Castleton, 190, 

Belper, 346. 

Beton John, Monumental Inscription 

of, 150. 
Birchover, 240. 
Bishop Purseglove, 74, 
Black Marble, 129. 
Biackwell Mill, 89. 
Blue John, 191. 
Boothby Sir Brook, 320. 
Bolsover, Historical Notice of, 358. 

King Charles* visit to, 359. 

Buckle Trade, 553* 

Castle, 355, 

■ Church, 354. 

Fountain at, 356, 

Watch Towers, 558 



Bradford River, S29. 

Tor, 229. 

Bradwell, 214. 

Bridge-Hill, 346. 

Bright-Pool, 118. 

British Artists, 165. 

Britons, Ancient Temples of, 256. 

Britton John, Esq., F.S. A., 46. 

Brassington, 314. 

Broad-bottom Bridge, 205. 

— — — ■^— Scenery there, 206. 

Brough, 216. 

Bust of Laura by Canova, 261. 

Buxton, 98. 

Baths, 101. 

— — Bath Charity, 102. 

-* Church, 102. 

— ^ Crescent, 100. 

■ New Road to, 81. 

■ Spar Shops, 104. 

Stables, 101. 

Stranger at, 9$, 

Building of Chatsworth, 151. 
Burial, Ancient mode of, 64. 

Camp Green, 181. 
Calver Lime-Kilns, 222. 
Canova, his Statue of the Mother of 
Buonaparte, 261. 
' his Bust of Laura, 261. 

Carsington, 314. 
Castle Dale, View o^ 198. 
Castle Rock, 29. 
Ca&tleton, 183. 
■ Castle, 184. 

Church, 183 

Catholic Chapel at Glossop Hall, 202. 

Cat Stone, 237. 

Cat Tor, 206. 

Cave Dale, 189. 

Centenary, Commemoration of the 

Revolution of 1681, 289. 
Chantrey F., Esq., Sculptor, Memoir 

of him, 276. 
— — — List of his principal Works, 

Chee Dale, 84. 

Tor, ib. 

Chesterfield, 292. 

Church, 293. 

Chinley, 199. 

Chapel at Haddon, 142. 
Chapel-in-le-Fritfa, 199. 
Chatsworth House, 151. 

Park, 152. 

' Paintings at, 155. 
■ Sculpture at, 1 40. 

Tapestry at, 159. 

' a Poem, extract fi'om,48. 
projected Improvements 
at, 261. 
China Manufacture, 2. 
Cibber, the Sculptor, 164. 
Closterman, Anecdote of, 161. 
Clouds, Obserpations on, 10. 216. 
Coins Roman, 27. 
Compstall Bridge, 207. 

House, 208. 

Conclusion, 361.' 
Congreve's Grotto, 334. 
Cotton Factories, Remarks on, 73. 
Cotton Printing, 208. 
CratcliffTor, 240. 

Crazy Kate, 124. 
Crich, 806. 

Crescent at Buxton, lOO. 
Cressbrook, 113. 

Dale, 118. 

Mill, 112. 

Cromford, 310. 
Cucklet Church, 41. 

Dale, 42. 

Cunningham Rev. P., 47. 
Custom at Glossop, 202. 

at Tissington, 315. 

at Hathersage, 181. 


Darley Bridge, 244. 

Church-Yard, 245. 

Dale, 246. 

Darwin Dr., his Botanic Garden, 58. 

Dead Robin, 354. 

Dean of Cl<^her, his Death, 323. 

Derby, 2. 

— — China Manufacture, 2, . 

Infirmary, 3. 

Derbyshire Diamonds, 94. 109. 

Scenery, 7. 

— — — Trossacks, 314. 
Derwent Dale, 18. 

River, 217. 

Dethick, 308. 



Dove Dale, 521. 

Character of, 522. 

Church, 3^2, 

Portals of, 526. 

lUver, Source of, 95. 

Druidical Monuments, 259. 

Earl Newburgh, 925. 

Earthouake, remote eflfects of, 65. 

East^Moor, 22. 

East-Wood Hall, 297. 

Ebbing and Flowing Well, 199. 

Edensor, 149. 

— — — Church, 149. 

Monument there, 149. 
Edge-stone House, 124. 
English Appenines, 15. 
Epitaphs, 47. 154. 155. 
Escape Miraculous of a Miner. 
Evening Scene at Glossop, 200. 
Exploding Ore, 68. 
Explosion of SUckensides, 69. 
Eyam, 21. 

Church-Yard, 44. 

- ' - Mineral Charter, 60. 

-^— - Moor, Barrow there, 65. 

Plamie there, 51. 

Eyre, Family of, 224. 

Fdrfidd, 92. 
Fauja^de St. Fond, 197. 
Feudal Tyranny, Instance of, 225. 
First Excursion, 11. 
Fitzherbert Sir Henry, 515. 

Sir Thomas, 220. 
Fluor Mines, 191. 
Flora of the Peak, 566. . 
Fogs, Remarks on, 9. 
Fountains at Bolsover, 556. 

Chatsworth, 154. 

Friendly Societies, 507. 
Froggat-Edge, 21. 
Funeral Custom, IB I. 

Gallery at Chatsworth, 157. 
— — — Haddon, 144. 

Gallery, at Hardwick, 550. 
Garden Scene at Chatsworth, 170. 
Gell Sir John, 515. 
Geological Observations, 22. 
Gibbons G., the Carver, 162. 
Glossop, 200. 

Church, 205. 

HaU, 201. 

'. Chapel at, 202. 

Glapwell, 555. 
Goyt, the River, 210. 

Junction of with the 

Etherow, 208. 
Great Finn, 124. 
View from, 124. 


Haddon Hall, 140. 
Hague Josh., Esq,. 205. 
Hammer of Thor, 61. 
Hamps River, 555. 
Hardwick Hall, 549. 
Hartle Morr, 259. 
Hassop Hall, 224. 
Hathersage, 179. 

Church, 180. 

Heath Cock, 255, 

Hekhts of Abraham, 249. 

High Low, 219. 

High Tor, Matlock, 249. 

Hindoo Stranger, 157. 

Hirst Stones, 259. 

Historical notice of thePeverils, 504. 

Hob's House, 125, 

Hobbes, 167. 

Holioway, 508. 

Hope, 216. 

'Hope Dale, 182. 

Hopton Hall, 515. 

Hot Bath, Buxton, loi. 

Ham Church, 551. 

Hall, 557. 

intended Monument there, 551. 

Vale of; 553. 

\lsit to, 1820, 550. 

■ in 1825, 556, 

Junction of the Etherow and the 

Goyt, 208. 




Kedlestone Hall, 4. 
Kinderscout, 199. 
King of the Peak, 14}. 

Lass of Taddington Dale, 127. 

Last Excursion, 267. 

Lathkili River, 227. 

Lava, 23. 

Lea Woods and Mill, 308. 

Learn HalU 219. 

Leigh Dr., his Theory, 190. 

Library, Chatsworth, 158. 

Lime Hills. Buxton, 93. 

Kilns at Calver, 222. 

Trees at Haddon, 147. 

Litton Mill, 111. 
Little Chester, 3. 
Little John, 180. 

— his reputed Grave, 180. 

Long Cliff, 185. 

Longstone, 285. 

Lover's Leap, 90. 

Loyd Mr., his Visit to Eldon-Hole, 

Lums-Dale, 247. 


Mam Tor, 192. 
Manor of Norton, 274. 
Manyfold River, 355. 
Marble Mills, 129. 
Marine Impressions, 190. 
Marple Bndge, 209. 
Maiy Queen of Scots, 150. 166. 297. 

Quarries, 226. 
Masson Hill, 247. 
I View from, 252. 

Matlock Bridge, 247. 

Bath, 249. 

Dale, 248. 

•— High Tor, 249. 

Scenery of, 249. 

Winter Visit to, 260. 

Mearsbrook House, 968. 
Mdk>r Mill, 209. 
Memoir of Chantrey, 276. 

Memoir of Sir R.Arkwright, 257. 

the Rev, P. Cunningham, 47. 

Meurrills Sampson, 75. 
Middleton Bath, 27. 

.— - Church, 26. 

Dale, 28. 

Stony,. 22. 

Midnight at Ashboum, 317. 
Mine, Haycli^ 68. 

Odm, 191. 

— — — Speedwell, 195. 
Mineral Charter of Eyam, 60. 

^ Laws, 340. 

Miner, Miraculous Escape of, 70. 543. 

Miller's Dale, 110. 

Mill-stone Edge, 176. 

Mists and Clouds, Observations on, 9. 

Mock-Beegar Hall, 240. 

Moot HaH, 340. 

— Mine, 246. 

Mompesson, Rev. Wm., 35. 

Mrs., 37. 

. her Tomb, 39. 

Money Ash, 226. 
Monument in Ashboum Church, 320. 

in Edensor Church, 149. 

" in Youlgrave Church, 228. 

in Glossop Church, 202. 

■ for Ham Church, 331. 

Monumental Sculpture, 332. 
MonsalDale, 120. 

Morning Scene from Great Finn, i25. 
. near Hassop, 223. 

.. in Hope Dale, 216. 

— . in Matlock Dale, 253. 

Mouse-hole Mine, 258. 
Mother of Buonaparte, Statue of, 26 1 . 
Motion in Landscape, 24. 
Murder at Wardlow, 71. 
Museum, Matlock Bath, 255. 
Musical Mania, 243. 


Needle Manufacture, 179. 

Newton William, 112. 

Night Scene in Small-Dale, 215. 

Walk to Ashbourn, 317. 

Norton, 270. 
Norton Hall, 271. 

House, 273. 

-— _» I^ees, 269. 



Norton Manor of, 374. 

Oakes, the Seat of Sir W. Bagshaw, 

Oldknow Saml.» Esq., 909. 

Padley Hall, 220. 

—Woods, 220. 

Paintings at Chatsworth, 155. 

at Hardwick, 350. 

Palterton, 353. 

Park, Chatsworth, 153. 

Hardwick, 350. 

Peak Archerj, 362. 


Flora, 366. 

Forest, 212. 

Minstrel, 112. 

Pentrich Common, 347. 

Men 348. 

Perilous Path, 116. 
Petrolium Marble, 129. 
Peveril Wm., 60. 

• Family, account of, 304. 

Picturesque Beauty, Observations 

on, 8. 
Plague at Eyam, 31. 
Plantations Modem, 202. 
Poole's Hole, 93. 
Portals of Dove-Dale, 326. 
Postcript, 371. 
Prelimmary Chapter, 1. 
Procession from Whitdngtoo, 290. 
Purs^love.BiAop, 74. 


Quintus Cicero, Letter of, 236. 


Rape of the Sofaims, Rctuve ^f, 16 1 , 
Raven Tor, 110. 
Renishaw Hall, 359. 
Retrospective Review, 360. 
Revolution House, 289. 
Revolutionists of 1817, 47. 

Reynard's Cave, 325. 
Riley Grave-stones, 32. 
Riber Top, 259. 
River Ashop, 217. 

Bradlord, 229. 

- Derwent, 216. 

Dove, 96. 322, 

Etherow, 205. 

Goyt, 96. 209. 

- Hamp, 55S, 

Lathkill, 227. 

- Manyfold, 335. 

Now, 217. 

Wye, 96. 

Robin-Hood's Stride, 240. 
Rocks near Brassmgton, 314. 
Rocky Portals, 326. 
Road-making, 212. 222. 
Road Sketches, xv. 
Roman Altar, 143. 
Coins, 27. 

' Remains, 216. 

Station, 348. , 

Romantic Rocks, 250. 
Rousseau J. J., 327. 
Rotton-stone, 129. 
Rowter Rocks, 240. 
Rowsley, 147. 

Rush-bearing, Custom of, 202. 
Russian Prophecy, 50. 
Russell J. Watts, Esq., 329. 
Rutiand Cavern, 255. 


Sampson Meurrills 

Scenery of the Derwent, 217. 

Dove, 322. 

Etherow, 205. 

Govt, 209. 

Lathkill, 227. 

Winpats, 192. 

Wy^, 96. 

Sea-coast Views, 9. 
Second Excundon, 81. 
Seven-Rakes Mine, 259. 
Seward Miss, 56. 
Side-Mine, 259. 
Shirbrook Dell, 90. 
Shore Samuel, Esq., 268. 
Short Dr., his Theory, 94. 
Shuttieworth Ashton, Esq., 179. 
Snow Storm, 178. 



Small-Dale, 215. 
Snake-Stones, 239. 
Snow-Btorm Scenery, 262. 
Source of the Derwent, 216. 

■ Dove, 96. 

Lathkill, 227. 

-. ' -Wye, 96. 

South Winfidd, Ruins of, 300. 

Siege of, 303. 

Slickensides, 68. 
Speedwell Mine, 195. 
Staden Low, 98. 
Stage Coach, 89. 
Stanton House, 235. 

• - - Pictures at, 238. 

Visit to, 233. 

• Lees, 237. 
. Moor, 237. 

Statuary at Chatsworth, 160. 

Statue of Canoya's, 261. 

Strange Cfttherine, Notice of, 297. 

Stranger at Buxton, 95. 

Stoke Hall, 25. 

Stonnis, View from, 251. 

Taddington, 126. 

. Dale, 127- 

Tale of Murder, 194. 
Tapestry, 144. 159. 
Theory of Dr. Leigh, 190. 
-Dr. Short, 94. 

Whitehurst, 23. 

Third Excursion, 175. 
Thornhill Bache, Esq., 232. 

Sir James, 161. 

Thorpe Cloud, 320. 
Thunder-Storm, 82. 
Tideswell, 76. 

Church, 74 

Dalci 73. 

Top, 72. 

Tissington, 315. 

' Ancient Custom there, 315. 
Toadstone, 23. 111. 
Tomb of Sampson Meurrills, 5S. 
Topley Pike, 89. 
Totley, 15. 
TravcliffMine, 191. 
Tufa Rocks, 230. 
Tunstead, 107. 


Unlucky Mistake, 253. . 

Verrio, Anecdote of, 156. 
ViaGellia, 311. 
View near Belper, 346. 

Birchover, 241. 

— — from Castle Hill, 156. 

ofCastletonDale, 193. 

in Chee Dale, 85. 

near Crich, 308. 

of Derwent Dale, 16. 

of Dove-Dale, 321. 

from East-Moor, 15. 

of Glossop Dale, 200. 

from Great Finn, 124. 

■ the Grounds at Ham, 553. 
near Hathersage, 178. 

into Hope-Dale, 16. 

of Ham Valley, 330. 

from Masson, 252. 

of Matlock Dale, 248. 

from Millstone Edge, 176. 

on the River Wye, 88. 

from Stainage, 294. 

'■ Stanton Moor, 237. 
near Stoke Hall, 20. 

■ from Stonnis, 251. 

. theWinnats, 193. 

near Winster, 244. 

Village Custom, 181, 202. 315. 
Volcano, supposed Crater of, 243. 


Warm Baths, 102. 
Wardlow, Murder at, 71. 
Water-Hull Mine, 191. 
Water-Swallows, 107. 
Waterfall, Lums-Dale, 247. 
Watson Samuel, 163. 

White, F.L.S., 131. 

Well-flowering, 315. 
Wet-Withens, 63. 
Wheston, 71. 

Ancient Cross there, 71. 

Whitehurst, his Theory, 25. 
Whit-Monday, 299. 308. 
Whittington, 289. 

Procession from^ 290. 

ATild-Cat Tor, 250. 
"Wllersley Castle, 257. 
Winnats, 192. 
Winster, 242. 
Winter Scene, 262. 

INDEX. 579 

Wolyehunt, 85. Wye River, 96, 
Wonnhill, 8S. 

Dale, 109. ' Y 

Wonnius on Ancient Sepulture, S5, Yew-Tree at Darley, S45. 

Wirksworth, 559. Youlgrave, S28. 

Wye Dale, 90. — ^—^ Church, 228. 

THfi END. 


FrUited>y A. A; R flpottiiwoode, 



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