•liKiiif LIBRARY ONIVnsiTT Of GAUIOIHIA ^ / \.^ V ^ L ^ /) f^ D=0 m m ^ a ^ 1 7 , 5 S=3 ^ a ^ Days in Derbyshire. Dr. spencer T. HALL, ^'^ THE SHERWOOD FORESTEr/' AUTHOR OF "the FORESTER's OFFERING," "RAMBLES IN THE COUNTRY," "the PEAK AND THE PLAIN," "LIFE AND DEATH IN IRELAND," "mesmeric EXPERIENCES," AND OTHER WORKS. WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS BY GRESLEY, DALZIEL BROTHERS, BAILEY, WARWICK, AND OTHERS. LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. DERBY: RICHARD KEENE. 1863. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/daysinderbyshireOOhallrich PA (^70 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. U^lfl^^ It is due to the publisher of this book and the public, as well as myself, to explain that it was commenced above three years ago, and partly printed with a prospect of its being out in the course of a few months. By domestic sorrow, imperative duties, and difficulties that for the time robbed the mind of that elasticity and cheeriness by which any work intended to gladden others should be character- ised, all progress beyond the middle of the tenth chapter was for a long time arrested, and from similar causes there have also been occasional interruptions of the remainder. This will account in some degree, not only for the delay of its issue, but for a few apparent anachronisms and other discrepancies which will be found partially corrected in the closing chapter ; yet is it hoped that, notwithstand- ing these delays and faults, the work may realise, in the main, what- ever may have been anticipated of its usefulness as a Tourist's Com- panion, and of its interest by the Fireside for all who love descriptions of Nature in some of her sublime and beautiful aspects as well as in her more gentle and retiring moods. Adding to that interest are many artistic contributions, which it would be wrong to pass over without the most kindly acknowledg- ment. To Mr. J. A. Warwick and Mr. Keene, whose efforts to bring the beauties of the county into the homes of the people by their in- dustrious and tasteful use of photography ; Mr. S. J. Gresley, of Derby, by his exquisite drawings ; Mr. G. Bailey, who executed many of the wood-cuts ; and Mr. S. Hammerton, so popularly known by his " Artist's Camp in the Highlands," the work is much indebted for 053 iV. AUTHOH'S PREFACE. its pictorial aids, wliicli the publisher lias spared no expense in ren- dering as effective as possible ; while Dr. Bigsby, and Mr. Thomas Walker, of Matlock Bath, have added the loan of two or three en- gravings to the number. For a few books of reference and useful suggestions I have also been indebted to literary and other friends. And now a word, in conclusion, on the locality in which the volume has been completed. Yielding to inducements which had long been resisted, and which there is no need here to particularise, I went about two years ago to reside on Matlock Bank, trusting to get good only by doing good, and having no feeling stronger than that of love for all that God had made. That the endeavour did not succeed is for many reasons to be regretted. The friendly comment has more than once been made, that the experiment was right enough had it been tried in the right time and place. Be that as it might, there is one favour I have earnestly to beg of the reader — that in conning over my description of the neighbourhood, he will remember it was written before my residence there ; whilst I, among distant scenes and future labours, seek to remedy the mistake, believing still, with William Wordsworth, that, under her Author's influence, " Nature never did betray The heart that loved her. 'Tis her privilege Through all the years of this our life to lead From joy to joy. For slje can so inform The mind that is within us, so impress With quietness and beauty, and so feed With lofty thoughts ; that neither evil tongues, Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all The dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith — that all that we behold Is full of blessings ! " March 31s*, 1863. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER CHAPTER THE SECOND. A DAY AT CRICH CHAPTER THE THIRD. GOING TO MAfooCK BATH ... CHAPTER THE FOURTH. MATLOCK DALE CHAPTER THE PIFTH. MATLOCK BANK AND DARLEY DALE CHAPTER THE SIXTH. YIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX CLOUD CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. RIBER, DETHICK, AND LEA ... CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. LEA HURST AND HOLLOWAY CHAPTER THE NINTH. WINGFIELD MANOR CHAPTER THE TENTH. A GLANCE AT SCARSDALE ... CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH. BOLSOVER CASTLE CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. HARDWICK HALL PAGE 1 ... 20 ... 33 ... 47 ... 56 ... 74 ... 81 ... 87 ... 94 ... 101 ... 108 VI. CONTENTS. CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. OYER THE MOORS ... ... ... ... ... 116 CHAPTER THE EOURTEENTH. DOWN THE DERWENT 125 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. UP THE WYE ... ... ... ... ... ... 134 CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. TOUR OF THE DOVE 140 CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. THE LATHKIL AND BRADFORD BROOK ... ... 153 CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. HADDON HALL ... ... ... ... ... 158 CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. CHATSWORTH 167 CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. RAMBLE IN THE HIGH PEAK... ... ... ... 177 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. A GOSSIP ABOUT BUXTON 206 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. DAYS NEAR DERBY ... ... ... ... ... 212 Allestree 213. Quarndon 214. Kedleston Hall 215. Mack- worth and Markeaton 216. Littleover and Mickleover 217. The County Asylum 221. Repton and Knoll Hills 226. By Osraaston to Melbourne 243, Round by Elvaston 253. Pilgrim- age to Dale Abbey 255. Return by Ockbrook 263. Other Rambles 265. CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. SCENES ON THE BOUNDARY 276 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS 283 ILLUSTRATIONS. STEEL PLATES. PAGE. Matlock Bath, from the Lover's Walks ... ... To face the Title. Lea Hurst, the Home of Florence Nightingale, ... ... 81 Euing of South Wingfield Manor House ... ... ... ... 89 HardwickHall 112 Chatsworth 167 Ancient Cross in Eyam Church-yard ... ... ... ... 185 Ashwood Dale, near Buxton ... ... ... ... ... 209 Derby County Lunatic Asylum ... ... ... ... ... 221 View in Melbourne Gardens ... ... ... ... ... 250 WOOD ENGEAVINGS. 1 A Peak Tourist 2 Crich Stand 3 View of Belper from Park-side 4 Matlock Bath Church ... 5 Matlock High Tor and the River Derwent . . . 6 Ancient Yew-tree in Darley Dale Church-yard 7 The Black Rocks, near Matlock Bath 8 Bonsall Cross ... 9 Dethick Church 10 Cellar-door at Dethick Old Hall 11 The Nightingale Je wel 12 Wingfield Manor House — the Great Tower 13 „ „ „ Bay-window 5 19 26 34 48 55 56 73 77 80 86 87 89 ILLUSTRATIONS. 14 Effigy in Scarcliffe Church. ... 15 Bolsover Castle — West front of the Ruins 16 Hardwick Old Hall from the Park ... 17 Arms of the County of Derby 18 Higgar Rocks, on Hathersage-moor... 19 Scene on the Burbage Brook, near Longshaw 20 Town and County Arms, with views of Derby and Dovedale 21 Poole's Hole, near Buxton 22 Dovedale, shewing Reynard's Cave and Thorpe Cloud 23 Old Fire-place, Beresford Hall 24 "Walton and Cotton's Monogram 25 Haddon Hall— The Eagle Tower . . . 26 „ „ From the Terrace 27 „ „ Dorothy Yemon's Door 28 „ „ Banquetting Hall 29 Crest of the Duke of Rutland 30 Eyam Dale 31 Mompesson's Well, Eyam 32 Riley Grave Stones 33 Chapel Ruins at North Lees, Hathersage 34 The Winyatts, or Winnats 35 Peak Castle, from Cave Dale... 36 The Great Peak Cavern, Castleton ... 37 Crest of the Duke of Devonshire 38 Repton Church and Old Arch 39 Anchor Church — Interior 40 „ „ Exterior 41 Foremark Hall ... 42 Dale Abbey 43 Etwall Hospital 44 Reynard's Cave, Dovedale DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Jttttirrdinjtorg d^ha^t^n I VERY landscape has its own life as well as body ; and while its form is metagraphed upon the gazer's brain, it breathes its spirit, if he but love it, into his very soul, and helps at once to enlarge and beautify his intellectual being, un- til he becomes, not only " a man- sion of all lovely forms," but a reflex of all the heavenly princi- ples — an echo of the truths — of which those forms are but on earth the visible emblems. It is this perhaps that makes the long-pent dweller in towns feel such an emancipation from all that ordinarily depresses him, and such a comparative "resurrection to life," the instant he finds himself in the fresh and luxuriant country. And to add one more to the many promptings to such enjoyance, I have resolved on writing this little book, and inviting the reader to wander, 2 DAYS IN DERBrSHIRE. not only through its pages, but through the Hving scenes of which they are the Hterary index — hoping that every day he may spend among them will give a charm to long years of his normal duty, wherever or whatever that may be. Let us first, then, away together to the Peak — land of ro- mantic hills and pastoral dales, woodlands wild, wilder rocks, and waters many, where " Nature, queen o'er change and time," delights to receive her most loyal devotees ! But — where is the Peak ? If you ask a dweller on the plain of the Nottinghamshire border, (the site of what once was Sherwood Forest,) he points to where the evening sun is just dipping out of sight, over a picturesque range of hills, stretch- ing from Crich to Ashover; he also directs your eye to the still loftier ridges of Wirksworth and Middleton Moors beyond that first line, and to the dun cap of Masson rising over Mat- lock Bath, about which the last red gleam of day will linger latest, and says the Peak is there ! But if you are sauntering out in the neighbourhood of Moss-side, or TrafFord, near Manchester, some fine morning at sunrise, and ask any one acquainted with the view, what or where may be yon line of dark hills filing along the horizon from east towards south, he tells you that it is somewhere about Chapel-en-le-Frith and Buxton, and that it is the Peak of Derbyshire ; — while the sportsman on Blackstone Edge, the wayfarer wending slowly up from the Huddersfield side of Yorkshire, or the spinner escaped from Glossop Mills on his holiday stroll, will each point up to the summit of Kinder- scout, where the snow — it is so high— has sometimes been known to linger till near midsummer, and will tell you, ex- ultingly, that there is the Peak ! Go down to Sheffield, and ask any one you may meet, from the woodman on Wincobank, the poet loitering on ShireclifFe, or the herdsman at Ecclesall, to the milk-boy descending from Chantrey's Norton, or the bilberry-gatherer beyond Ringing Low : and they will severally direct you to the Pole on North INTBODUCTORY CHAPTER. 6 Stanedge, the high moors that stretch away from the Rivihn, by Mosscar, Burbedge, and Longshaw, towards Baslow, or to far hills beyond, (the whole including more country than you could march across on a long summer-day,) and call it all the Peak! Again — you shall stand on Bardon Hill, or on the rocks near the monastery of Mount St. Bernard, in Leicestershire, gazing far, far out to the north-west, as the azure sky of after- noon softens into violet, and from violet into liquid gold, and you shall see six horizons, ridge rising gradually above and beyond ridge, as I have seen them, to the remotest ken; and next you shall see those ridges still more defined, in con- sequence of the gentle films of evening-mist rising slowly from the valleys between them, but not as yet high enough to obscure their tops; while anon the sky above is becoming marbled with bright streaks of crimson cloud — " Like Jacob's ladder tracking the way to heaven ;" and the whole scene, so vast, so grand, yet so soft, in its many minglings of light and shade, is indelibly impictured upon your soul, as the intelligent historian of Charnwood Forest at your side, tells you that the second and sixth of those horizons embrace the Peak ! Once more— the traveller by rail, whether from Cheshire or Staffordshire, arriving at Alton Towers or Rocester, going thence to Ashbourn, and scaling Thorpe Cloud, that so con- spicuously sentinels the lower entrance to Bovedale, looks abroad from right to left, and all around. Gaze wheresoever he may, his eye rests on beauty ; and, (though how exceed- ingly remote from Crich or Kinderscout, Matlock or Buxton, the map will show you,) he too exults in the glowing con- sciousness of having already reached — the Peak ! Finally : the stay-at-home traveller in books, — or, as things go, it may perchance be one of the modern writers of them, — who derives his topography from novels and his history from romances, and knows all about the Peveril from Sir Walter 4 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. Scott, is as sure as it he had been botn, like Jerry Royse, in one of the caverns there, that the Peak is at Castleton, and nowhere else ; — while, curiously enough, each of many of the people who inhabit the region bearing that name, although it comprises about half the county, devoutly believes the Peak, par excellence, to be the particular locahty where he happens to reside ; yet wherever, the wide world over, you may meet a man from Wirksworth, Bakewell, or Buxton, his heart will give an extra throb if you happen to mention his native Peak, and he will speak as proudly as if he owned them of ancient Haddon and modern Chatsworth, its far-famed palaces. The name of Peak, in a minor sense, — or, as it is variously pronounced by the inhabitants, Peyhe and Pike, — is certainly sometimes given to specific objects: as Middle Peyke, near Wirksworth; Calver Pike, near Stoney Middleton; Topley Pike, between Taddington and Buxton; and Pikeous Hill, near the sources of the Dove, some miles above Hartington, Any one standing near the Hydropathic Establishment at Matlock Bank will easily see how Middle Peak acquired its name, rising conspicuously as it does between two other lofty hills. Calver Pike and Topley Pike are more insulated and elevated cones ; and Pikeous (corrupted to Parker's) Hill is a still more distinct and interesting object in the neigh- bourhood where it is seen. But it will by this time be pretty evident that the name of the Peak as generally em- ployed does not apply solely to any single rock, knoll, or mountain, but to a large district of country abounding with such, — and adorned with all that nature could accom- phsh to render it, now wild, fantastic, or savage, and anon serenely pastoral — here most beautiful, and yonder sublime — that, in short, as you may see by the ordnance map, it is an important section of that broad and lofty range commencing in Staffordshire, south of the Churnet Valley; extending into Cheshire, but more widely and picturesquely still into Derbyshire, and th«n spreading out through West INTRODUCTORY CHATTER. 5 Yorkshire and Lancashire ; next embracing all Westmoreland and the greater part of Cumberland ; interrupted for a space by the Frith of Solway, but rising again in Dumfriesshire and Galloway; and though once more broken by the Clyde, striking up more sublimely than ever- in the Western High- lands and Isles of Scotland ; and furnishing, altogether, from Alton Towers to Argyle, (for any one who might have the spirit, fancy, and leisure,) room to ramble in for life, and find something new every day. But for the present we must con- tent ourselves with scenes near home, and not while re- membering the Peak altogether forget the Plain. (I[lia}}kit Ifti ^^mL A DAY AT CRICH. )0 let us start from Derby — not by the way that the Rebels came to it with Prince Charlie, though that might lead us through scenery very lovely, to the old town of Ashbourn, to Ham Hall, or Dovedale ; nor the way on which Dr. Samuel Johnson came thither on horseback to his bridal, though that would conduct us to his native city of Lichfield, of ancient fame; nor that on which William Hutton first went from it to seek or make his fortune in the world, for in less than ten miles it would set us on the not uninteresting confines of Nottinghamshire — land of Robin Hood and King Lud, lace and stockings, and many poets. Nor is it needful we should go by AUestree, though it is not far from the end of that village that the Peak first breaks on the gaze, over miles of beautiful country stretching between. But, without delay, let us get into the train, and save time, in the first twelve miles or so, by rail. Towers and spires, and all the mass of many-gabled and many- windowed buildings of the old borough are fast receding. Little Chester, once a Roman station, is passed. A glimpse of the New Cemetery-chapels, and another of the Race-stand, and then of the Water- works, on the east of the Hne ; and the A DAY AT CRICH. 7 verdant rise of Derwent Bank, Darley, Allestree, and Burley on the west ; and anon the glinting spire and smiling homes of Duffield, are left behind us. The river was crossed before we came there ; and now by a tunnel of no very great length we penetrate the first hill; break again into the vale at Mil- ford, and find the country on all sides growing more pic- turesque, as we approach and leave Belper, threading that thriving town by such a long and many-arched cutting as to give us not much opportunity of getting even a "hurri- graph" of it as we move on, — a matter of less moment, as we intend to see it in a different aspect on another excur- sion. Then, a dash over meadow and mere, through a region of "pastoral farms, green to the very door," and a dive through another short tunnel; and halfan-hour after leaving Derby, we are set do\Yn at Ambergate — one of the principal thresholds to the Dales of the Peak, near where the little river Amber finds its way into the Derwent. But, what of all the objects that here catch the eye, is the strange line of buildings whence issue those columns of smoke, and down to which comes an inclined plane from the top of that lofty hill beyond them ? They are lime-kilns, owing their origin, as we are told, to the famous George Stephenson; and if you will wait but a few minutes you may perhaps see a train of wagons, loaded with stone from Crich Cliff, sliding down that plane with awful velocity, but so under the control of nicely-adjusted apparatus, worked by steam, as never to over-shoot the right mark. Once, by lying head foremost on the top of one of the wagons, and vigorously clasping a ponderous stone, I was enabled to descend the steep with that train, as it shot down with something less than the speed of a thunderbolt. The vale below has ordinarily a very beautiful appearance from the hill; and the sensation was, so far as one may fancy, not unlike that of fiying, eagle-fashion, from some lofty eyrie, into its depths. It was an experience in which the whole 5 BAYS IN DERBYSniBE. being became intensified. All the objects in the scene im- pictured themselves on the sensorium — distinctly, it is true, yet so simultaneously as to leave no time for selection; and ere any analysis of ideas or emotions could begin, I was down at the kilns, glad, as no doubt had been all my pre- decessors in the experiment, of being safely deposited there. There is just enough at and around Ambergate Station to make us eager to proceed as soon as the train for Rowsley is ready, and by it we go to the first little station in that direc- tion, which is done in about five minutes — catching several rich glimpses of pasture and stream, high-reaching woodland and jutting rock, by the way. And now we find ourselves at What-stand-well Bridge — why so called it is so hard to say, that we are half-disposed to believe the name a corruption of one with more sense in it: just as the fine, significant name of the grey old hamlet of Horston, further up the country, has been corrupted into Harston, then into Hearthstone I Per- haps, as this is on the estate of the ancient family of Hurt, it may originally have been Hurt's Stand-well. But we are only speculating. Pleasantly stands this clean little inn at the end of the Bridge. Pleasant, too, those upland homes around us. We commence our ascent to Crich by the eastern road, but have not gone far before we pause with wonder and delight. From a bridge over the Canal, near the Blacksmith's shop, we glance to the north, where Lea Hurst, the Derbyshire home of Florence Nightingale, first steals on the eye. We turn to the south, which breaks upon us in still greater loveli- ness and magnificence, as we proceed higher up the road. Strange, that the guide books have, hitherto, comparatively so little note of this view from Crich Carr, — Chase CHfF, Hollow Booth, and the fir-crowned heights about Heage and Belper, forming a picturesque boundary to the left ; and Shining Clifi flinging out its woody luxuriance, and stretching away to close with them in harmonious perspective, fi:om the right — forming altogether an outline that, in its filling up, has a significance A DAY AT CRICH. \) of its kind unrivalled perhaps in all Britain. Come hither, and read the history of England in five lines ! There sweeps along the vale, with a beautiful curve, the river Derwent, just as it flowed in the primeval wildness of the land, ere the Romans came and disturbed its early inhabitants from their hunting, fishing and picking of scanty fruitage; and parallel with it runs the old road, where travelled our Saxon ancestors from town to town with their bullock-wains and pack-horses. There, too, flows the Cromford Canal, memo- rial of the time when England's great genius for engineering and commerce was as yet scarce half-developed ; and com- panion to them the Railway, and along with it the Telegraph- wires, now that genius is ripening, to complete the wondrous history. How appropriate are the illustrations of this idea as we ponder on the prospect ! By the river stands that solitary fisherman, flinging in his line. Yonder, diminished by distance to about the size of a child's go-cart on the road, a cart or a wagon is ready to vanish from sight, while faintly comes into it a boat, gliding along the canal so slowly that one wonders how it can be worth while for it to ply at all; just as the train rushes by, and is gone in an instant, leaving nothing but its dissolving wake of white steam, and its brief echo among the hills, to tell us it has been; and along the telegraph-wires, could we but see them, are probably passing fleet messages touching life and death, rapid, how infinitely more rapid still ! And surely, as we rise higher and higher, leaving that scattering of humble cottages and sunny homes behind us, and near this more patrician mansion, of " Chase Clifle," the whole scene grows more and more enchanting at every step. What a fine foil do those long-drawn parallels form — the white turn- pike, the ironed and gravelled rail, and the two lines of bright water, all so proximate that you might throw a stone across them — what a fine foil do they form for the rest of the land- scape : the green slopes and winding drives about Alderw^asley 10 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Hall, the rounded hills, the dun outlines of the distant moors, the gabled farm-steads, and all the other features of a painter's paradise! Let us now turn to the left, on the road striking off from the neighbourhood of Chase Cliff, along the back of the Carr, towards Coddington and Crich Cliff. The scene is very different, but very lovely. Lea Hurst, to the north, is open- ing in all its beauty little more than a mile before us — the smiliag hamlet of HoUoway keeping it pleasant company. It is sweet to see the homes of the poor not far from the mansions of the rich in such a landscape — very sweet to think of them in connection with the history, the visits, the humane interest and kindly labours of Florence Nightingale. Well stands her father's house in the centre of that scene, with wooded hills, and the deep vale, and green pastures, on every hand. The most luxuriant landscapes lack interest for the heart, whatever they may give to the eye, unless touched with signs of the presence of humanity in its various relations — its industrial endeavours, its moral endurances, its spiritual aspirations, and loving sympathies ; and nature must ever be most dear when her fair lineaments are blended with, but not overcrowded by, the hopeful signs of social life. Yon sunny Hall of Alder- wasley, to our left, with its park-like pastures, dashed with rising plantations and fringed with dark old woods, here com- ing down to the river, and yonder striking up to the very sky, loses none of its dignity for those outstanding farmsteads that share * with it the verdant scene. Is the view westward, towards Round Wood and Masson less picturesque, because we have all these cottages, and those quarries, and the Cupola Furnace sending up its curling wreaths of blue smoke, be- tween? Will this new residence we are just leaving behind us on the Chase, be less dear to the future tourist, when it grows old, because of the studied relation between its archi- tecture and that of several of the little cottages below it? Certainly not; and hence it is we could linger at Crich Carr A DAT AT CRICH. 11 the whole day, and long to come again on many a morrow. But our time is passing, and we must ascend yon tower- crowned steep, and take advantage of the present sunny hour and the cloudless sky ; for life itself would be too short to let us embrace and historicise all that is comprehended in the space that we shall contemplate there ! And now, after a two-mile's slow walk from What-stand-well Station, we find ourselves on the top of Crich Stand — one of the most far-seen and conspicuous observatories in England; and great portions of the counties of — Derby, with its knolls and peaks; Nottingham and Lincoln, with their woods and plains ; with some of the dim-blue hills of Yorkshire to the north, and those of Leicestershire and Staffordshire to the south, — are spread around us, not in bewildering confusion, but at once various and harmonious, magnificent and calm; for we have chosen a season suitable to the scene, when earth and sky unite to make us think of infinity, and to feel how infinity itself is filled with a Spirit of Love and Wisdom, that clothes itself everywhere in a vestment of beauty. Crich Stand is a round tower, with parapet, and is ascended inside, by a winding stair. It is on the site of one that was for some years in ruins. It has a tablet at the top, with the inscription — " This Tower, re-built in 1851, is 955 feet above the mean level of the sea, according to the Ordnance Survey." Over the entrance, which is on the west side, is a small tablet of limestone, from the old building, inscribed "F. H., 1788.'* Underneath is a new one, recording the date of the present erection. If the name of Crich be a contraction, as 1 suppose it, of an old Celtic word, meaning a place of crags, or rocks — like Carig and Carrick, in Ireland — it is one of the most appropriate names that could be. Its having once been spelt Caruch, and afterwards Cruch rather supports this hypothesis — the ch being articulated like ch in Scotland and gh in Ireland — a sound that has become foreign to the English throat since 12 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. the arrival of the Normans, who could not articulate it^ and the common people having lost it, with much besides, from imi- tation of the conquerors. Let us look down and around us, gradually expanding the sphere of vision. Under us is the cragged and quarried hill, strangely and picturesquely upheaved by nature, and now scarcely less strangely and picturesquely diminishing by the supply of material for those enormous hme-kilns we saw at the bottom of the inclined plane, near Ambergate. Mr. Adam, in his " Gem qf the Peak," calls it " a conical hill, of no ordinary interest to the geologist, not only from the rich veins of ore found in it, but from the fact of its being an isolated mass of the carboniferous limestone, thrust up and protruded through all the sandstone and shale measures — of late years proving it to be by far the richest mineral field in the whole wapentake of Wirksworth, or indeed in the entire Peak of Derbyshire. This fact (he adds) may perhaps be considered a proof of the intimate connexion subsisting between the in- tensity of volcanic action and the formation of mineral veins, as this cliff exhibits the most striking proofs of those gigantic forces which have been originally brought into such extensive operation to break up and elevate the earth's crust. Certainly nowhere (Mr. Adam concludes) have such rich lodes, as they are called, of lead been found as in this field, and nowhere are the strata more strangely disturbed." There is now working, on the north-east side of the hill, a lead mine in which are men, with bodies and souls as precious as our own — precious not only to themselves, but to the women and children who smiled at us from their cottage doors as we came along — toiling at a depth of 270 yards ; and no less than six have been killed there during the last three years. Poor Jim Spencer was one : I knew him ; he was on a visit to me in Derby but a day or two before ; and a better lad, or one more kindly, never trod the hills. He lost his own life, I believe, in trying to save another's. A DAY AT CRICH. 13 This Hill — or Cliff, as from its steepness on one side it is more commonly called — has, with its observatory, "the Stand," many touches of interest, independent of its mere altitude and geology. As a guage, by comparison, for the size and distance of other objects; as something specific whereon the eye of the traveller may rest as he descends from the western hills or approaches from the eastern plains ; and more recently as the occasional scene of popular gatherings, it has an extensive fame. I was upon it when peace was celebrated, after the close of the war with Russia, in the month of June, 1856. The weather was delightful ; the assemblage of people was both numerous and joyful; and with plenty of refreshments, some good bands of music, patriotic and philanthropic ad- dresses, and various reasonable and seasonable amusements, it was an occasion to be pleasantly remembered for many a year. A large telescope, through which a peep at Lincoln Cathedral might be purchased for a penny, was in great request ; and when the sun went down in glory, it did not leave the land- scape altogether in darkness : for the moon shone full and clear ; rockets ascended far and fast into the heavens ; large beacon-fires, lit on each side of the Stand, were answered by other fires from distant places; the great iron furnaces at Butterley and elsewhere in that direction belched up their volcanic flames ; and thus was the night beguiled of half its attributes, until many who had been loth to leave a scene so animating began to " See to-morrow in tlie marbled skies." But lo ! the sun is westering, and we must not fail to take advantage of the favourable view his descent will give us of objects which but a few hours ago were lost in excess of light. Turning our faces towards the east, how primitive and quaint looks the little town on our right, with its venerable church and tapering spire all beneath us, and clustering or straggling homes, with their roofs so old and grey that they seem almost as much a part of the natural scene as the rocks and trees. 14 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. Very ancient is the town of Crich, and so little changed by modern influences, that one might almost think it a sort of social petrifaction. Yet there is something about the old place one likes to see; and it has been the home of many bright-thoughted, warm-hearted, worthy people. Sacred be their memories, and long may their names and genial virtues be kept in mind, by native writers like the author of " The Village Feast." Primitive, too, looks the little belt of country in the fore- ground. True, the grass of those pastures is very fresh and green ; but the walls that separate the fields are old and grey. Grey also is the hamlet of Park Head more distant, as is nearly every isolated cottage that dots the intermediate view. But, more venerable and hoary than all besides, are the ruined towers and turrets of Whinfield Manor, peering out from the dark trees somewhat less than two miles off, and adding greatly to the quiet charm of antiquity that characterizes the whole scene. What a different aspect has the range of country just be- yond, where the land of lime and lead is lost to view in that of coal and iron — where anciently ran the Roman Road, on which pranced the legions of the Csesars in their military pride, but where now runs the great North Midland Railway, along which is tearing that fiery horse with the white-flowing mane, drawing its long, long train of the chariots of commerce — the Bucephalus of Peace! Hark! do you not hear it, -at one moment leaving Ambergate, and crossing the end of Buckland Hollow — the vale where, in days of old, browsed undisturbed the wild buck — and then next breaking into view from behind the ruins of Whinfield Manor, that relic of the stirring times of Oliver Cromwell, and near to where occurred the more recent operations of Oliver the Spy ? And now again it hides itself, where Clay Cross spire gleams up like a starting rocket from the dusky mass of mineral industry that has suddenly made a large town of what in the days A DAY AT CRICH. 15 of our boyhood was one of the smallest hamlets in the coun- try! The whole landscape abounds with historical meaning. Winding rivulets, little remnants of moorland that have never known spade or plough, bits of woodland in the hollows that man never planted and that his axe has but little altered, and many another sign of nature's sylvan reign, again recal to our minds the aboriginal races. We have already touched on one important testimony to Rome's imperial sway. Yon ironworks conjure back the Danes, whose occupation, there is reason to believe, was in such labours there. Alfreton Hall, white-gleaming, conspicuous to the eye, reminds us of King Alfred — " That Oak o'er all the trees — That Alp among the hills of History," from whom the town hard by is said to take its name. South Normanton beyond, tells us by its name that it was founded by the conquerors who came with William of Normandy ; while the dark outline of country on the horizon, where once flourished Sherwood Forest, tells tales alike to the memory and the imagination of Robin Hood and his times. Nor is this all. The ages of ancient piety, as well as of remorse for tyranny, bloodshed and plunder, and of subse- quent devotional enthusiasm, are severally recorded by — I was almost ready to say, numberless churches, including that which looks down on the spot where I was born. In some places they nestle half out of sight amongst umbrage- ous trees, in lowly vales. Others have, to use a figure of my poetical friend. Crofts, " Their foundations on the hills, And their summits in the skies," darkling or gleaming to the remotest ken, and not inaptly closing, if a good telescope be employed, with a sight of Lincoln Cathedral "beyond the horizon's verge." Chivalry, patriotism, and old English hospitality, too, have magnificent monuments here. Whinfield Manor so near, and 16 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Bolsover Castle afar, with the famous hunting palaces of Hardwick side by side — one in ruins, the other, though three centuries old, comparatively new — between ! And now we have only to turn a little southward to com- plete the history. Where stretches along the landscape yon far line of smoke is the Erewash Valley, in which, and for miles on this side of it, as near as Oakerthorpe, are various works of the Butterley Iron Company and many other en- terprising firms, sending coals to most parts of England, and iron to all parts of the world. Beyond that line — ^ beyond where the wooded hills of Bramcote give their dark and pic- turesque dash to the fading scene — is a still lighter streak of smoke, stealing up from the town of Nottingham, of the suburbs of which, at least, slight glimpses may be caught. But linger not there too long ; turn more southward still ; let your eye start again from the deep quarry and the old town beneath us; while all that stretches thence to the blue hills of Charnwood Forest is mapped in due order on your mind. How distinct, and how green in comparison with the scenery on each side, — narrowing to a point, as if Nature in her geometry had resolved on placing it in an exact triangle, — extends the table-land of Crich Chase, so formed by the converging vales of the Derwent and Amber. We look be- yond, and commencing at three miles, or thereabouts, from where those vales are wed, the sight is arrested by a growing town and its tall church-tower — large factories and their taller chimneys — and all that bespeaks the throbbing and restless pulse of a manufacturing population. That town is Belper, with Milford retreating beyond it, where pastoral life smiles down from the hills on trade, and the blessing of steady and increasing productiveness is awarded to both. But we gaze some seven or eight miles farther still, where " dim in the distance blue,*' yet considerably more extensive and not unpicturesque, stands our old town of Derby, — the noble tower of All Saints rising finely firom the maze of minor A DAY AT CRICH. 17 buildings, and St. Alkmund's spire, with many other favour- ite objects, being distinguishable by their familiar outlines, especially if it should be on some holiday, when there is no smoke from the factory chimneys. Nor does our pros- pect close at Derby : its horizon in that direction is sufficiently far off", in Staffordshire and Leicestershire, to make the tower of All Saints a central object in the picture. Perhaps one of the greatest advantages on Crich Cnffj in addition to clear weather, is a powerful telescope. It not only enlarges the sphere of vision, but multiplies the number of objects and enables us to gossip with them, as it were, friend with friend. There is a joke which neither you nor 1 will easily beheve, about a rustic asking if it would bring Lincoln Cathedral so near as to enable him to " hear Great Tom strike twelve ; " but considering how familiar it makes one of the senses with objects so remote, the others might certainly be forgiven if wishing for some small share of the enjoyment. So thinking, we turn lastly to the glowing west, where nature grows heavenlike in the track of departing day. The east and south have become shaded with a deeper hue, and anon will fade from blue to misty grey, until the objects we were just contemplating grow dim and undefinable ; while west and north-west — for it is in the month of May — the mountains will rise one by one more grandly and solemnly to view, in the last golden flushes of evening light : " *Tis evening brings the distant hills more near." The trill of the lingering lark falls sweetly into our souls from above, as the wild dove's lullaby and the cuckoo's good-bye come responsively up from the woods below. The undertone of the rushing Derwent furnishes a fitting bass to the breeze's tenor and the lark's light treble ; and all nature seems to join the evening hymn. " The moon is up, and yet it is not night ;" Sunset hath still a large share both of sky and land ; and 18 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. while the valley below is losing its lineaments in the deepening shadows, there is a rich remnant of light still dweUing over Alderwasley and Wirks worth Moor, and the country thence stretching away towards the hills that look down on the dis- tant Dove. Yet more beautiful even than this, and of far greater extent, is the view outstretching a little more to our right. Over Oxhay Wood, are Lea Hurst and Holloway, Lea Wood, the Coombs, and, still more north, Darley Dale and Tansley Moor, on which Masson, crowned with its dark fir-trees, looks some- what proudly down, the monarch of them all. And as we gaze farther still, and farther, — far as the eye can reach, along the line of the winding vale, to where it commences near the sources of the Derwent, — on each side we see mountains beyond mountains intersect each other, not in confusion, but with that geometrical exactitude and harmony bespeaking everywhere Omniscient Design. And what a heaven of splendour throws its canopy over all! From violet to vermilion, tint deepens into tint, hue gives place to hue, till, not in fancy but literally, from the zenith to the horizon, the sky "forms one vast iris ; " and the earth beneath, and its rising mists, are softly touched with a sympathetic glow. Such is the expanse : but has it had its due effect upon our immortal spirits ? As we descend the hill which thus stands between the beautiful realms of the bygone day and the morrow — the stars gleaming out one by one above, the scat- tered fires of the eastern coal field growing bright below — the last crimson belt of twilight still hemming the far west — the moon gliding serenely through the southern sky, and those two planets, companions of her reign, hung down like burning lamps fi*om heaven — does no sense of the miracle of our ex- istence, and of the wisdom and bounty of the Great Creator, take possession of our heart ? How wonderful that we can carry away in our little souls such a magnificent spectacle, A DAY AT ClllCn. 19 embracing as it does an area of so many thousand miles, yet occupying within us no perceptible space at all! Why, now we have comprehended it, does it not disturb or dis- place our previous knowledge of things? Why does it not overlay and obscure our former memories ? Why does it confer more beauty and joy, instead of oblivion, on all we ever enjoyed before ? soul ! thou wondrous reflex of the Great Being w^ho comprehends all things, and knows all their relations and uses and harmonies ! As thou didst gaze on the external landscape in the light of Nature's sun, look now upon all its imagery, thus transferred to thee, in the light of Truth Divine : then shalt thou, if meek, be taught in all its meaning — and these charms shall aid thy eternal health ! For the present we bid Crich Cliff farewell ! (|hapkit ih^ i^hir^l GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. ))ET us now walk to Matlock; and if you will allow me to be so egotistical, I will tell you something of a trip to it in my youth, as we go along. It was in the bonny spring-time, when May was just ready to blush into June, that I mounted one of the old stage coaches at Nottingham for Derby. The previous night had been passed, not in sleep, but in hard intellectual labour. The morning breeze, however, was fresh and sweet, wafting all drowsiness from the brow, lending vigour to the young blood, and adding life to life, as sitting by the coachman's side, I inhaled the breath of hawthorns, laburnums, and chestnuts, then in full bloom, mingled with that of all the varieties of field flowers which gemmed with silver and gold the green waves of grass, seen as we sped along the well-macadamized road, by Wollaton Park and Lenton Fields, at the then not despicable rate of eight or nine miles an hour. It would have been rather painful to leave some of those pleasant scenes behind, but for the new beauties which flashed into sight for compensation at each new turn of the road. Bramcote, with its pine-plumed hills and old druidical stone, looking across the rich meads of the Trent to Clifton Grove; Stapleford's hall and church, and GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. 21 smiling lawns, by the wandering Erewash; R-isley, with its harmonious blendings of old and new, sombre and bright, elegant and rustic, in one lovely picture never to be for- gotten; the wide prospect bearing away over Elvaston to- wards Donington Park and Charnwood Forest, on nearing Hopwell and Draycott, and leaving Borrowash; Spondon spire fitly crowning the fair country extending down to Chaddesden; and Derby, at length, with its church-towers, old shot-tower, and its range of other objects, already made familiar to me in the pages of Hutton and Davies, all pre- sented so many vignettes, long to be treasured in memory's portfolio, but all subordinately to the one great end of the trip — a Day at Matlock. Derby even then — and it is scarcely thirty years ago — was very different from Derby now, containing much less than half its present number of inhabitants. No Arboretum for the living, nor General Cemetery for the dead. No Railway Station nor Railway. No Midland nor Royal Hotel. No Temperance Hall, nor public Baths and Wash-houses, and the Town-hall a structure very unlike the present. The Jail then in Friar-gate, and not a house where Vernon-street forms so fair an approach to where it is now. The Infir- mary on the London-road was quite in the country. The mile to Osmaston was as lonely as is now the mile beyond it. The mansion of Derwent Bank, so finely seated, had no neighbours in Duffield-road; and Kedleston-road, past the Elms, was as thinly inhabited. Babington House, now presenting so com- mercial a physiognomy, was then a most respectably dull old family residence. Exeter House, in Full-street, once the head- quarters of the Prince Pretender, was still there, but has since been demolished to make an opening for a road. St. Helen's House, then noted as the residence of a family worthily dis- tinguished, with its ample gardens and beautiful pleasure- grounds — how changed ! the house now in decay and the gar- dens covered with streets. There was not then a single church 22 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. in Derby with a spire— neither had the Roman Catholic church a tower, nor was the present Nunnery built. The ivied tower of old St. Alkmund's, like the stumpy one of its neighbour, old St.- MichaeFs, was in singular contrast to that which was thought worthy to be dedicated to all the Saints. Many a private mansion then, is a public institution or place of business now. Stage-coaches and post-chaises were arriv- ing at and departing from every large inn ; and not a single omnibus or cab could be seen. Along Victoria-street ran the Markeaton Brook uncovered; Green -hill was a com- parative solitude; Burton -road had the appearance, and al- most the character, of a little town apart. The Old Silk Mill was still looked upon as a building of magnitude and importance, and Windmill Pit a place of historical interest that strangers were expected to visit. Taking such impressions as time and circumstance per- mitted, and being joined by a friend who had followed by a later coach, we went forward together on foot — much as you and I are supposed to be going now; and while walk- ing quietly along, between the first and second milestones on the Duffield-road, we came so suddenly upon the charming view of the vale on our right, as to feel startled by the fine effect with which Breadsall Spire strikes up from its centre, — a sort of object-in-chief, with which all the rest of the landscape harmonizes, just as in music a whole concert is made to accord with the key-note. It is impossible to pass it without lingering awhile. Pleasant to see are the trees of Darley Grove, and the mansions, mills, and work-people's homes just below us, with the elegant church standing near and overlooking them all. Very graceful are those wind- ings of the Derwent in the rich meadows further on, and luxuriant yon pastured slopes over which conspicuously rise Morley and Spondon spires, while many other interesting objects mark the scene, that at length fades away, beyond where Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire and Leicestershire meet — GOING to MATLOCK BATH. 23 beyond where the Derwent from this side and the Soar from the other mingle their waters with the Trent, and the country swells up, and then again fades off, over Kegworth and Kingston, amongst the summits of the Charnwood Hills. And now we come to Allestree, and soon obtain a bird's- eye view of the regions we are seeking, over a country growing more lovely by cultivation every year. Let us turn aside to this gate, just beyond the end of the village, and see. Gently descends that hawthorn-dotted slope to the lake- let gleaming down in the hollow before us. In good keeping extends this belt of wood right and left. Fair is yon park- like lawn, relieved by occasional shrubberies and bounded again by thriving woods ; fair too Allestree Hall, looking forth with a smile so cheerful on th« beauty of its own pros- pect. And sacred is the memory of the fine old gentleman, its late owner, Mr. William Evans, and his kind-hearted life-mate. Though seen no more where they were known so long and well, may not their spirits, even yet, be sometimes happily haunting a place which their lives while in it made "a little heaven below?" But, resuming our survey, let us look still further, in a line almost direct, over the lakelet before us. Down there, in the valley, how prettily over the trees peeps Duffield spire ! From the heights over Milford Tunnel looks far abroad yon tall Tower — its use not easily known ; while Crich Stand afar, like a full-stop to some fair passage we love to read and ponder over, puts a period to the scene. Passing hence, we come in about another mile to a spot which one feels ought to be distinguished, at least in local history, it has such an air of eld. A forest-like scattering of ancient oaks about the fields ; some long terraces near, which time and the plough have not quite obliterated; and the name of Burley which, wherever occurring, as it often is in broad England, always bespeaks a place of note and interest — all make one think this must be the site of some forgotten 24 DAYS IN DERBYSniRK. park and mansion of the olden time. And looking up to- wards the village of Quarndon, of healthy fame, is seen a high green knoll, crested with trees, and striking the mind as one of the most beautiful features of the neighbourhood. But it is rather annoying to know that its ancient and proper name has been lost, owing to some foolish people of the reign of George the Third having called it (from an event in America by no means complimentary to England) Bunker s Hill ; and they showed similar want of taste in reference to some of the significant old names about Matlock, as witness " The Heights of Abraham." The man who without good reason alters an old name which may perhaps be in itself a history, is almost as culpable as one who unjustly "removes his neighbour's landmark/' We read that Duffield had once its Castle and its Forest; and as one descends into the valley in which it stands, it is almost impossible to feel otherwise than extraordinarily sensi- ble of the charm of rural ease. There are places in the world that seem as if they never knew a holiday — as if they had always on a work-day dress and would not feel at home in a Sunday suit; while others look as if basking in a perpetual sabbath — so quiet, well-to-do, and at rest, seems everything about them. One of the latter appeared Duffield to me and my friend, that afternoon ; and much the same, for that matter, it seems to-day, as we turn our glance from busy Little Eaton, over the meadows to the village, and along "the Bank" above it. We noted then, as now, the villas looking down, out of the rising woods, on the slow-flowing river; the neat old church, which has since been restored; the Gothic-arched bridge, and solitary angler near it — who proved to be Davies, the historian of the county ; the Hall and its cedars, where then dwelt Sir Charles Colvile; the genteel family houses alone: the clean, broad street ; the decent rows of more humble houses, and here and there a wayside inn or rustic cottage; with the calm of the place and the time relieved rather than • GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. 25 broken by an occasional passing coach and echoing horn. The only material difference is the substitution of the rail and the rushing trains for the old coaches and their, horns^ and the addition of a few villas on the woody upland — Edge-hill Towers rather picturesquely overlooking the rest. And pleasant still, and touched everywhere with beauty, is the continuation of that wooded and mansioned descent, by Mafceney, to Milford, where roaring weirs and resounding mills ^ paragraph the entrance to far different scenes, which in time to come may rank somewhat proudly among the memorials of England's national development. To me, as to my friend, there had ever been a touch of romance in the career of the Arkwrights, Strutts, and other families, who will stand in a relation to the future history of manufactures as marked and characteristic as that of the Douglases and Percys to ancient chivalry. The story of some of these, as told by the old country-people in my childhood, was as wonderful as a fairy-tale, not the less striking for being true. And even now, as we pass from the quiet vale just described into the busy scenes of their earlier achievements, the history of the Strutt family is as interesting as ever. Taking its rise, as it did some generations back, in that honest sagacity, perseverance and tact, which time and cir- cumstance required in the men, — and culminating, as we have recently seen it, in the peerage, — it may be said to have fur- nished a new device to the national shield, without defacing or disturbing there a single emblem of the past, but rather let us think, adding a not ungenial prestige to its olden lustre and renown. There is a rich little wooded slope to the left, terminating at Milford House, which we presently pass. We look down for a short time from the bridge on the foaming waters below, and up at the mass of factory buildings, divided by the turn- pike road, but curiously communicating with each other above by a covered archway ; and then we hold on through a mile 26 DAYS KT DERBYSHIRE. of beautiful meadows to Belper. Our walk there at the time I tell you of was in the calm of evening. The mills had closed, the week was closing : it was that sweet hour which seems to feel the coming of the Sabbath, and borrows some- thing beforehand of its happy spirit. The work-people about their doors, or walking along the road, smiled cheerily with the sense of liberty and rest ; a band of musicians was heard *, somewhere in the distance ; the sunshine lay with softened lustre on the heights to the west, and lent its golden glow to the river winding by us; and even men who had far to journey that night, slackened their pace and lingered, as loth to quit so lovely a scene. Anon we were in the town; and as it was market-night, the inns, shops, and streets, were all astir with such a free and easy, rough and ready sort of life, as presented the great- est contrast possible to the soothing quiet we had just left. But it was not unpleasant; and after taking some refresh- ment with a friend, we wandered forth to see what could be seen, — to talk of old times and new, and of humanity in its many mingling hues and shades — of John o'Gaunt, who in his day made the place his haunt — of the swarthy nailers, for which it in turn was noted — of the subsequent planting among these of spinners and stocking-makers, and the coeval rising of mills and warehouses and family mansions, in a district theretofore scantily occupied by a race proverbially unrefined, but now having engrafted upon it a throng of people, given to intel- lectual aspirations and acquainted with nobler joys. There was certainly no likelihood of mistaking Belper for a perfect Utopia — too many rough old Derbyshire elements lingering about it for that. But taken altogether, with its surrounding scenery, industrial history, rising intelligence, and spirit of local enterprise, it was a place to be remembered with in- terest, and seen again with pleasure as we see it now. The town and mills of Belper form a sort of break between two very different kinds of scenery. Before arriving there we GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. 27 began to see thorn hedges going out of fashion, and stone walls instead dividing some of the upland fields. On the north-west side of the town, about the beautiful domain of Bridge Hill, there is still a luxuriance of vegetation on the hill-sides — abundance of trees and several hedge-rows mark- ing, with their pleasant lines and dots and dashes, the rich and spreading pastures up to " the edge of the sky." Down below, too, some reservoirs of the waters of the Derwent, prettily islanded, and reflecting with much grace and vivid- ness the objects on their shores, with many agreeable features of suburban life, cheer the departing wayfarer as he glances around him. Of late the new Cemetery also, and its two chapels with their one exceedingly tasteful little spire between them, on the right side of the road, affords an interesting though pensive counter-charm to the scenery over the river on our left. But as we look further forward, the landscape has an appearance altogether more primitive than anything left behind — the hills more lofty — the fields almost universally divided by grey stone walls-— and the whole country seeming as if only just emerged from a state of comparative wildness and sterility into one of pastoral beauty and productiveness. Presently we come to Dunge Wood, so solacing in sultry weather to all who pass this way, not only for the cool shade it gives to the winding road, but for the inviting glades and doughs, and the lovely abundance of vegetation ascending, and the clear though tiny rills descending its steep sides, to the drinking-troughs, where men and horses sometimes rest and refresh themselves in such groups as tourists and artists love to see. And while the railway, by a tunnel, threads the opposite hill, it is sweet to contemplate the quiet meadow and ghding river, down on our left, as we leave the wood, and draw towards a little old hamlet, that looks across the narrow valley on the first rocky index to the picturesqueness of the Peak — a few low tors among some trees, the ivied outposts of Shining CHfF. The Cliff, on our passing further and turn- 28 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. ing under the arch of a viaduct, near Ambergate, looms more loftily on the eye, as we have already described it from another stand-point, looking down in semi-mountain gran- deur on the rushing waters and little bridges, waving a wel- come with its trees and flowers of all hues as we wend along, and giving us music from its thousand birds, its whispering leaves and murmuring waters — the road we tread, and the river by our side, winding along its base ; while now and then we catch glimpses of spots like gleams of Fairyland, including much we have already dwelt upon in our Day at Crich, but as novel as if we had never beheld it before, because now seen in a different aspect — from below, instead of from above. No one will ever leave Whatstandwell Bridge without wishing to linger there, unless drawn, as by fascination, up the winding road towards Alder wasley. Yet more and more enchanting at every step, grows the road before us. In my first journey this way my walk from Belper was on a sunny sabbath morning. It was just such a morning as Ebenezer ElUott thought of when he said — " Miles Gordon sleeps; his six days' labour done, He dreams of Sunday, verdant fields, and prayer: Oh, rise bless' d morn unclouded ! let thy sun Shine on the artizan — thy purest air Breathe on the weary labourer's deep despair. Poor sons of toil ! I grudge them not the breeze That plays with sabbath flowers, the clouds that play With sabbath winds, the hum of sabbath bees, The sabbath walk, the skylark's sabbath lay. The silent sunshine of the sabbath day ! " And there was that morning an accidental figure in the landscape, one which a painter might have longed for to give a finishing touch to its romantic interest— such a one as the Corn Law Rhymer would have liked only that he might denounce it — but with which I, thinking much of its pictorial effect, felt very delighted. Just imagine for yom*- GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. 29 * self yon woods of foliage so varied, with cotted fields be- tween; the converging hollows, and lofty and solitary crags over-topped with pines; and here below, the silent canal, the lapsing river, the Httle inn and hamlet, the well-arched bridge, and the green meadows with their grazing herds; — whilst descending as rapidly from the heights as would be safe only with a horse accustomed to such a country, his accoutrements glittering in the morning sunshine, and his whole appearance adding unexpected life to the scene, was one of the local cavalry, in uniform and well mounted, on the way to join his troop in some neighbouring town. Nor was there ever wanting some figure more or less ap- propriate to the scenery as I and my friend still journeyed on. Sometimes it would be the passing of a coach ; once it was the mail, the red coat of the guard harmonizing so well with the green landscape, till he vanished from view at a far-off bend in the road. Now, perhaps, it would be a well-poised hawk, hovering in mid-air, on cruelty intent, yet often in its motions as graceful as free. Sometimes a startled colt in the meadow would bound away, and then return and approach us, as if asking our approbation of his frolic. Anon fluskered from the wood-side, with wild screams, a pair of beautiful jays, or a wild dove sought its cooing mate with soft- waving wings. Once we saw a lonely farm, about half a mile off among the hills, where was a little gathering of religious people at their morning worship, their hymns, mellowed by distance, swelling sweetly on the breeze. Presently a ruddy servant boy or girl, carrying a tiny bundle, as if on a day's leave to visit parents or friends, would give us a modest but cheerful look ; or a local preacher, like Seth Bede, would bid us good morning, tell us how fine the weather was, and pass on as if pleased there was somebody enjoying such sabbath scenes and sabbath feelings besides himself. As we have hinted before, there are some districts in which human industry and enterprise may do much for men without 30 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. i very materially marring the works of nature. Every tasteful man, of course, feels disgusted with the spirit that, for the sake of a little pelf, without necessity, destroys a picturesque object, which might give delight to thousands from age to age. No words can express the indignation one feels at the destruc- tion of the druidical stones on Riber, a short time back, merely because they " lay handy " for some trivial use. Yet along- side the road we are travelling, how many signs are there of human habitation and device that add to rather than diminish nature's charms ! I speak not of the smelting works or forges, sending forth smoke and fire — though who shall find fault even with Vulcan for choosing a picturesque retreat ? But who can pass by this outlet from the great Wirksworth mining- drain, where the water gushes so freely and falls foaming into the Derwent, and not feel it an appropriate compensation for the lack of some more spontaneous fountain ? As we pass by these quarries, some still worked, and some forsaken, they awake no repugnance in the tourist's mind. He feels tha.t such works belong to such places— as do many other objects which to a stranger are very odd and mysterious, but all having a very practical signification to the miners, stone- gettersj navigators, or railway people, who contrived or use them, and of whom you can inquire their uses, pretty sure of a civil answer. Well, we have now passed the little Toll-house and the terminus of the High-Peak Railway, where it descends in an incline, like a parallel couple of ladders down the lofty hill side, to the Cromford Canal — its moving wagons making a strange clatter and awaking wildly the surrounding echoes. We have had glimpses of Crich Stand, CM House, Wake- bridge mines, HoUoway hamlet. Lea Hurst, and the subsi- diary vale, with its factories, running up from the Derwent towards Lea and Dethick; and at length we begin to find ourselves surrounded by a sort of miniature Switzerland, in which the rushing river, the majestic hills, the hoary rocks GOING TO MATLOCK BATH. 31 and hanging woods, with rural homes peeping out on every hand, all conspire to reward the gazer, and fill his soul as with some lovely dream. And the life of the people naturally takes more or less its hue and character from their occupa- tions and the surrounding objects. See you, far up to the right, on the ridge of the slope ascending towards the back of Riber, a httle dwelling— a speck in space — yet a human Hnk between earth and sky ? Once, as I was wandering up there with a friend, there came out of that cottage a little boy. He was going to a spring in the fields for water. We asked his name. He replied — ■'' Feyther call me Frank, but mamma call me Francois — Francois Sills is my name," added he with some vivacity, after a pause. " Then how came you here?" we asked. He informed us, in reply, that his father, an Englishman, went to work on the con- struction of a railway in France, where meeting with his mother they were married. He (the little boy) was born in France, after which they all came to England, and being employed in the formation of the railway from Ambergate to Rowsley, which was then just completed, they had set- tled up in this lonely but romantic spot, from which the little fellow had to go down daily to school at Cromford. Hence it was that his language was an extraordinary ming- ling of English and French, most amusingly and grotesque- ly, but by no means disagreeably, spoken with a Derbyshire twist ! If ever you have occasion to go up from Lea Works to Horston or Riber, strike off a little to the left, and look from those fields, somewhat below that cottage, down upon the Yale of Cromford and Willersley — the river, the bridge, the rocks, and the scenes all around. There are not many prettier views in Derbyshire. Our aim now must be to go by the end of Cromford town, leaving its famous mills on our right, and following the turn- pike road as it penetrates the Scarthing Rocks by an artificial gap, when Willersley and Matlock Dale break suddenly on 32 DAYS IN DERBrSHIRE. the sight with startling beauty and effect, and another half- mile or so brings us, with increasing wonder and joy at every step, to Matlock Bath. There are many ways of reaching Matlock from Derby. To those who can enjoy it and have leisure, I should recom- mend walking : it is so pleasant to linger where you like, or sometimes wander a little out of the way for a better view. The distance is but seventeen miles, and ought to be done by any healthy man under middle age in a day, and leave time for looking about him. It was a great treat when our picturesque old friend Burdett, the last of all the Derby coach- men, drove the Manchester mail, to ride with him through the whole valley to Buxton, and return next day ; but, alas, that fine old fellow's occupation is gone, and there is no regular conveyance now plying on the turnpike road, so far as I am aware — unless " The village -carrier's cart appear, Whicli comes so slow it seems as 't never would get there." Still, there is the alternative of driving your own carriage, if you have one, or of hiring. Or if you be disposed to make up a party for a pic-nic, you have only to get your friends to club with you for a " break," and it may be cheaply done. But if you have not the means for that, there is for every one the " express " or the " parliamentary," and frequently during the months of summer and autumn, the " special " train, by which you may go, and after happily spending a few hours, return the same evening. Better still, if you can, to make Matlock your centre, for a few days at least, wandering forth at your pleasure. Of what is to be seen while in the neigh- bourhood, we shall presently have more to tell. (l^Iia|}% iht Si^nvjih MATLOCK DALE, rNCE I saw a hill, in Scotland, belted and crowned by the four seasons in one. It was at the end of October ; and its base was all brown, red and golden, with autumnal ripeness and decay. Summer, with a tint less . faded, made a second zone. Spring-like greenness still girdled it above; while an early fall of snow had already given it the white coronal of winter. I wish it were possible for my readers to see Matlock in all the seasons at once with equal facility : its beauties have such different aspects in each. We come in early spring when the buds are just bursting ; the birds are beginning to build and sing ; the river that only whispers in one place gurgles or murmurs in another, and shouts further on, as it rushes and foams down the weir, then glides quietly away to bless the distant valley ; while the pulse of hopefulness is quickened by every sight and sound. The special trains have not commenced running, and the visitors are yet few ; so that, as we walk from Cromford, there is an opportunity for quiet admiration of rock and river on the right; wooded hill and grassy slope on the left; the Baths, Hotels, Museums, and abundance of comfortable Lodging- houses, before us ; Lapidaries' shops, and entrances to Petri- 34 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. fying-wells, here and there ; and, as if just to give a finish to the scene, the neat httle Church looking down on the river and up to the hills. And this is an excellent time for see- ing the isolated rocks which stand out, ever and anon, among the woods, with just enough of green about them to give relief to, but not to obscure, their fantastic shapes— many of them in positions so curious, that you cannot but wonder how they ever managed to lodge where they are when no woods were there, instead of rolling right down at once to become islets in the river's bed. Or we come in the luxuriance of sunmier, when the hya- cinths and cowslips have given place to more gaudy flowers ; when the ferns have grown into palms, and the tall foxglove shakes its bells; when the white buildings, in strange and diminutive contrast to the grand and broken line of the Hag Rocks, here stand out in full reHef, or somewhere else just MATLOCK DALE. 35 glint forth from the bowery trees; when the old rook caws lazily as it sails slowly along the calm sky above, while the river, skimmed by many a busy swallow, sends up its pleasant voice from below— a gentle air stealing softly through the valley the while ; the whole at once invigorating and sooth- ing the wanderer through that little world of wonders, and making him sometimes feel as though he had found his way into Fairyland. And if it were not for the occasional want of taste and keeping, in some of the contrivances of men who have too much studied their own partial convenience instead of the general harmony of the scene, there is nothing one has ever read of Fairyland that might not here have been rivalled. It would require the genius of a John Allen — its own tune- ful poet — to describe the contrast between Matlock Dale as it was two centuries ago and is now — to picture it as it was in its original wildness, loneliness and beauty, ere artifice had marred in the slightest what Nature had so well accomplished. Gazing from the regions now known as Upper Wood and Harp Edge, what an air of sublimity and eld must have rested on all the landscape then ! The river, here tranquil and smooth as glass, with its noiseless glide ; anon, as " blue and arrowy" and loud as the rushing Rhone, tor reiterating to tor, and hill to hill, the wild echoings of its many voices ! How lovely and peaceful when sunshine rested on the ample slopes of Masson and green Riber, or streaked with light the grey rocks between ! How sublime in the hour of storm and tempest, when " from crag to crag leapt the live thunder," as if Nature were commemorating the freak by which she first gave such picturesque brokenness to the whole country, — dark Stonnus quietly contemplating the fray from afar, and the High Tor not less imperturbably raising his hoary brow, and daring the warlike elements to come on ! How one would like to have been contemporaneous, were it but for a few hours, with the sensible people who gave such significant names to the different places and objects within view, — de- 36 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. scribing these sombre and dreary rocks below us as " Dun- geon Tors ;" yon rock on the other side of the river as " Wild- cat Tor," "Cromford," {i.e. the Ford at the River's Bend) beyond; with "Fox Cloud" more distant still; while the name of " Matlock " itself is richly descriptive of the place — namely, the Mead (anciently, Msedh*) where the water lingers, or forms a " loch," as it does at the feet of the curious rocks on which stands Matlock old Church — MedlocJc, in Lancashire, being but another rendering of the same name ; and the Medway, winding among the hop-yards of Kent, or the Meden stretch- ing out from Pleasley Vale into the sylvan plains of Notting- hamshire, being names of very similar origin. Yet, let us not give way to mere lamentation of changes, but enjoy as much as possible the charms that still linger. Let the good folks who have poured in by the special train commit themselves to the care of the I guides. Some of them will soon be having plenty of fun at Walker's Ferry- boats, on their brief voyage to the "Lover's Walks;" those who like more grotesque and frolicsome pastime, may have a donkey race in the street, or a dance to the strains of yon happy but half-witted rustic, who is swinging his accordion by the causeway-side. Other groups, more fond of the subhme than the ridiculous, though haply not averse to a touch of either, will find it on their way to the different caverns ; while you and I ramble where it may happen, filling our minds with little landscape pictures, to take home with us and ponder over in future days. But we will borrow the poet's license, and pass at once from summer to autumn ; and let us, if you like, go back a * Meadow-grass, after hay-tin^e, is still called after-math. MATLOCK DALE. 37 little, and commence our imaginary ramble — a favourite start at any time with me — from the Cromford Railway Station. Is it possible to fancy anything in a landscape more lovely than this bright river, as it comes rippling along from that grace- fully arched bridge ; unless it be the scene that follows, when the bridge is reached, and Willersley Castle, on its knoll before us, looks across the water at Scarthing Tor — while all that is not rock or river, green slope or dun peak, patri- cian mansion or sacred church, work-building appropriate to the neighbourhood, or rural home, is filled up with woods and shrubberies, or scattered trees — dark, golden, silvery, green, or russet — forming exquisite foils to the hoary cliffs and ivied crags, and as we look around us, filling the soul with an extasy that some one has called " silent music." It is only on special occasions, or by permission, that stray passengers are allowed to pursue the river-side path up from Cromford Bridge to Scarthing Nick ; but get leave if you can, that from the towering rocks on one side, and the mansioned slope and joyous river on the other, you may feel in society at once with sublimity and beauty ; or if that be not possible, linger long on the bridge itself — this quaint lodge and the newly restored church close by — with Nature's own poetry, her music, painting, sculpture and fantastic drapery, all har- monising well, and filling you with a love of all creation and praise of the great Creator. I have suggested this course, because naturally — and I wish, for many reasons, it were allowed always to be so practically — it is through the beauties of Willersley that the contemplatist can be most fitly inducted to those of Matlock Dale. To enter the Dale by any other way, is like going into a cathedral by some side-door instead of the true porch. Yet, if we must go by Scarthing Nick, a glance at what is to be seen by the way of Cromford is far from uninteresting — since it will ever be a place famous in the history of manu- factures, and is a clean, neat and healthy-looking little town. 38 DAYS IN DERBrSHIRE. In its course from Matlock Bridge to that of Cromford, the Derwent has many graceful windings ; and every bend is through very different scenery. Soon after leaving Cromford by the artificial cleft made through the rocks for the turnpike, we make pleasant acquaintance with it as it comes rushing along, nothing but a low wall and a little verdure being be- tween its waters and the road; and while leaning over the wall we get a view of Willersley and its meadowy slope, with the rocks in front, exactly the converse of that we had from the bridge, and scarcely less charming. Presently, with wooded and cragged Harp Edge rising high on our left, we come to a place of worship called Glenorchy Chapel, its neat brick manse and shrubbery hard by, and Masson Mills, with their large foaming weir, suddenly bursting on the eye and ear together, — grey old rocks, like the ruins of a mighty castle, in the back-ground, and (if it should hap- pen to be £v first visit ) a most excited feeling of wonder com- ing upon us as to what, with such a curious initiation, may next steal into view. A neat and cleanly, if not very large inn, the Rutland Arms — a house dear to me for some pleasant associations with days that are gone to return no more — and a number of miscellaneous homes, chiefly rustic, are on our left ; on our right the old familiar paper mill ; a toll-house in front, and the mansion of Mr. Clarke, a local magistrate, looking abroad from its most exquisite site, above : these are shortly passed, and a few more steps bring us to a scene of which I have elsewhere said— "When Nature had completed Switzerland, there was left one beautiful fragment for which she had no further use in that country; so she set it in Derbyshire, amid a framework of romantic hills, and in time it came to be called the Gem of the Peak : that gem is Matlock.'* As I am not writing a Directory, it is not required that I should specify all the accommodations and comforts for in- vaUds, loungers, tourists, or visitors of an hour, at Matlock MATLOCK DALE. 39 Bath. Perhaps there are few places where the outward index is better justified within. Amongst the hotels, which however are not hotels merely but most comfortable boarding-houses, the New Bath, (Ivatts and Jordan's,) Walker's, the Temple, and Hodgkinson's, take the lead. The Rutland Arms we ha^e already mentioned. From any of these, very romantic and pleasing views of the adjacent scenery may be taken as you sit quietly in your room. The same may be said of a great number of quiet villa and cottage lodgings— not forget- ting special mention of Mr. Broadfoot's— ^Ae Villa par excel- lence — which can reckon on being the oldest residence of any pretension in the place. The Old Bath, famed for more than a century, is, at the time I am writing, closed, but perhaps not for long. In a house attached to it dwells Dr. Adam, who has one of the most interesting, if not very large, private mineral collections of any gentleman in Derbyshire. Ask him to let you see it, and you will never forget either it or its owner's courtesy. Nor shall I enter here into a minute description of the Baths themselves — the Old Bath, the New Bath, and the Fountain; nor of the great Caverns — the "Cumberland," the "Devonshire," the "Rutland," and the "High Tor Grotto " — all of which have been so often and so fully de- scribed by Mr. Adam, and by many pre-Adamite and subse- quent writers, and about which you can learn everything you need on the spot. The same may be said of the " Petrifying Wells," where you can find everything turned into stone that whim or fancy might crave — from a bishop's wig and a broken lantern to a linnet's nest and eggs. My advice in a word is to see them all, if you have time, and when you have done so, set each of them down for that which in itself is worthy, since each of them has some special interest of its own. Here are lesser inns and shops, too, in abundance, for everything you are likely to need— most conspicuous of all " the Museums," for the exhibition and sale of spar- work of matchless skill. 40 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. And it would be wrong while glancing through Matlock Dale, not to speak, in general terms at least, of the increase of private residences, several of which are very picturesquely situated. There is a neat and modest one here, by the Fountain Bath, where dwells that true poet, John Allen, a gentleman whom you might travel far to find surpassed, either in eye or ear, for what is beautiful and harmonious. It is he who singing of the Derwent— and he might be almost de- scribing it from his own window — says that it ** There o'er its rocky bed foam-crested flies, And there, entranced, in waveless beauty lies, And forms a mirror, trembling in the breeze, Where pendant shadow mocks the living trees. Beneath moist Alder's quivering shade it creeps, "Where pensive Willow dips her hair and weeps ; And gently whispers from the leafy screen, Like playful childhood, hiding to he seenJ* Here is another of his pictures : — " Mirror' d within the dark and silent river, Calmly as if its course were mark'd for ever, Still as the snow-fall, traceless as a gleam. Yon pleasure-freighted boat glides down the stream." Again — " Of height old Masson boasts not — Peak can show Far loftier crests, and nobler scenes below> Yet not in hills, black, rugged, heathy, bleak, Is found the beauty or the pride of Peak, But in his vales, where Nature sat and smiled, Tired vnth the heaving s of her mountains wildJ^ And while we look abroad upon all he describes from Masson, how thoroughly can we sympathise with the old worthy when he says — " Awe-breathing Grandeur sits not on our hills, No avalanche thunders, and no glacier chills j Yet are they noble scenes, wherever trod, That lead the thoughts, and lift the soul to God.'* MATLOCK DALE. 41 Let US imagine ourselves to be climbing Masson now, — first by the " Zig-zag Walk " towards yon Prospect-tower, which we should love all the better if it were less like a gigan- tic chimney and more like a ruined fortalice, or a place for devotion. What exquisite pictures do we get as we glance back from each rest on our way, of the little spire so prettily pointing up from below; the Baths, Museums, and Hotels, reduced by distance to mere vignettes ; the long and finely broken Hne of the Hag Tors ; and "The hills, wood- crown' d or dark — the grassy knolls — The stream which now unseen, now radiant, rolls — The village homes that midst the foliage breathe Their smoke light curling." And now we have reached the tower, whence far expands " A fair and varied scene Of golden fields, and groves of massive green, And hills, and knolls, and streams that winding run, And tell historic tales of Babington ! There Riber's mount recalls the Druid's fame, Altar, and idol-rite, and blood-fed flame ; Mount stretches over moor, and there o'er all, Faint as a setting cloud at daylight's fall, Axe-edge appears ; and o'er yon champaign wide, Once, Potter, waved thy Charnwood's forest-pride ! "* And now we descend from the tower, and find our way by Mr. Robert Chadwick's pleasant rural residence, " the Lower Tower," into Upper Wood Lane. How delightfully steals on the eye this view from the first reach above the West Lodge ! The " Heights of Abraham " with their varied tint of foliage and flower are on our left, and a little to the back, while we gaze ; woods of every possible hue are below us ; fields with grey stone walls are spread out beyond, over the breast of Riber ; the houses at Starkholmes, old and rustic, are in har- mony with all that lies about them; and the lands beyond * Lines quoted at random from Allen' 3 ^^ Matlock.'^ 42 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. them are growing grey by distance. But how very beautiful is all that stretches along, between us and Riber's side, of ^ woody bank, and rock, and waving pine, or of river and road, and collected or scattered habitations, with their little fields and gardens, and such winding foot-paths as Samuel Plumb once called " the old brown lines of rural liberty," but which have from time to time been sadly interfered with here. Yet more interesting still grows our walk as we wander along the straggling lane, where fir-trees on one side, and thorns on the other, harmonise well with the old walls so mossy and grey, as we draw near to the homely yet picturesque cottage of two rooms, over the door of which is a board as homely, telling us that it is the dwelling of " Richard Hallam, Botanist." And any painter or poet, to say nothing of botanists, might, if it were not a breach of a holy commandment, covet Richard Hallam 's tiny house, with its little garden and the tall trees below ; with the Hag Tors beyond, and woods and fields fading away in the distance beyond these again — where old lines of road, winding slowly off, seem to vanish at last into the very sky, somewhere to the right of Crich, but where, the rustic in the lane, of whom we inquire, " conna exactly guess." From the third reach in the lane, we see the High Tor and the Heights of Abraham, with Tansley Moor beyond. There is a lead-mine just below us; and the voices of the village come cheerily up the hill. Were it spring instead of autumn, that sound would be sweetly blended with the songs of innu- merable birds, as we passed on to views as varied and more expansive still. How delightful to me has sometimes been the melody of the throstle and the twitter of smaller birds, from yon trees so festooned with mistletoe and ivy, while lingering here ! And now we come to a sort of natural platform on the hill, the seat of a grey old hamlet— the residence perhaps of miners and peasants and district guides. What pretty Uttle pastures MATLOCK DALE. 43 are these at hand ! What a grand view of the whole line of rocks, stretching from the High Tor round to Willersley ! The fields and woods further on, how fair, with the heights, and " stand," and church, and village of Crich, far-off to the right ! What would I not give to be able to paint a scene like this ! " Oh ! for a hand to sketch the beauteous glen ! But Nature laughs at pencil and at pen. Who that has never trod those verdurous rocks, That rampart v^hich at Time and Tempest mocks ; Who has not look'd into the stream beneath, Dark, and to vision, motionless as death ; Nor view'd the cheerful winding vale's extent. With lawns and houses, trees and spire besprent — Nor mark'd (for who may, undelighted, see The quiet beauty of a noble tree ?) Spread in the grandeur of a richer clime, Thy form — itself a grove — majestic Lime ! Nor cast, far over all, admiring eyes. Where distant heights, and wooded summits rise, Would due conception of their beauty gain. From Turner's pencil, or from Wordsworth's strain ?" — Allen, Nor is Upper Wood Lane the only walk worthy of Masson- side. There is one leading from the Prospect- tower to Bon- sall, and passing such sweet little bays and nooks, command- ing too such lovely views, as would well reward a much greater amount of toil than is required to gain them. Another field- path in a contrary direction, gives a fine view of the upper portion of the High Tor and the scenes thence stretching away to the north-east. It leads to Masson Farm, a very quiet and rustic place, but a favorite resort in his later years of Mr. Price, a tasteful architect, who having retired from his vocation came hither occasionally for his health and for meditation, till his life ebbed away at last amid its beauties and its peace; — and even now I could name an original-minded citizen of Derby, who seldom misses an opportunity of making it his holiday -retreat. 44 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. There is a continuation of the road, widening as it goes down, by Colonel Leacroft's beautifully seated mansion, towards Mat- lock Bridge. But these are not walks for the crowd — only for the lone loiterer, or for couples at most, of such as have a true love of Nature and her quiet teachings. Not always are the most noted places, even in a noted district, the spots likely to be valued the most by thoughtful and genial souls, who rather prefer " To climb the trackless mountain all unseen," or at all events to pursue the tracks less beaten. But we will now descend, if you please, and pay for a peep at " The Dungeon Tors,"* by the way; yet I like not the spirit that has put such a scene under lock and key. There is, unfortunately, a little too much of it throughout the neigh- bourhood — often driving visitors away much earlier than they would, and doing in^the end no great good to anybody. But let us not be too censorious : we came out to enjoy ourselves. And now, after looking at one or two of the " Petrifying Wells" — I think it is Smedley's that pleases me as much as any — let us pass on to Walker's Ferry-boats, and cross over to the ** Lover's Walks." If the hour be well chosen, and Nature in one of her calmer moods, how sweet it is to loiter awhile on our way, near the Church, looking down on the here-silent river, then up at those picturesque and mighty tors, half-mantled in verdure that seems ever young, while they are ever old ! Thou solemn blending of the beautiful and sublime ! Say, if my loved one in heaven was wont sometimes to gaze with me in such rap- ture here, — if thou, sweet scene of earth, canst inspire feelings that long not to die, but to live for ever, — what, must be the enjoyment of spirits like hers, in " the world without a grave ! " Sometimes I have been here on the sabbath, when * Named in recent times " The Romantic Rocks." MATLOCK DALE. 45 there has been scarcely a human being on the road, and hardly a sound but the psalm of the assembled worshippers, swelling and faUing on the ear like a strain from a better world . But it is not the sabbath now, and we have come to Walker's Ferry. How nicely fits the scene this lapidary's little workshop, as we reach the opposite bank. We linger here but for a short time, then wend our upward way. Wil- lersley Grounds are open only on special days, and on one of them we go thither. The " Lover's Walks" are open al- ways. They wind up among the crags, trees, shrubs, and flowers of the Hag Tors, and afford now and then the most picturesque sights imaginable of all that side of the river from which we have just come. Sometimes they lead us into hid- den bowers, but not for long, and we are presently startled to find ourselves on the top of some projecting rock, giving us a glimpse of half the beauty of the Dale. There is at least one point commanding a panoramic view of all that is embraced between Masson and Harp Edge, and from which the view of Matlock Bath may be said to be complete. And we wander on, from point to point, until at last we come to one of the most interesting views of the High Tor which can be obtained. I do not say the most interesting, because every aspect of that magnificent limestone-rock has some peculiar charm of its own. Nor is it altogether indepen- dent of the sky it woos for its various characters. Rising to an altitude of 360 feet from the bed of the river, belted mid- way with foliage and fern, draped here and there with braids of ivy, it courts acquaintance with all weathers, — frowns in one and smiles in another, as it may happen to be in shade or shine, — and whencesoever viewed, is almost always one of the most conspicuous objects in the landscape, making its own poet say — " Thou standest in thy greatness, solemn stone ! Kingly — not solitary, yet alone." 46 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Well, thus far, we have glanced at Matlock Dale in three of the seasons ; in the fresh green of spring, the warm flush of summer, and the golden ripeness of autumn ; but great in- justice should we be doing, both to it and ourselves, were we not to say something of its wild winter charms — when every little cascade has become a column of crystal — when every waving birch and spiral larch is feathered with spotless rime — when the evergreens assert their prerogative of unfailing fresh- ness amid the masses of rock and snow, and the holly-berry's ruddy glow gladdens the season's cheek. Above all, how grand and enchanting are some of these scenes in the silent night — when moon and stars conspire to throw over nature their soft mantle of light, — when lights from cottage and mansion, stars of domestic life and comfort, gleam along the hill-side in more genial reply ; and the river pours uninter- rupted through the valley its Christmas hymn. And so, Matlock Dale ! though we could not see all seasons upon thee at once, we have tried, in fancy, to visit thee in each, and hope to pass through thee again on many a pleasant morrow. Ck^tfiil tk c^ifk MATLOCK BANK AND PARLEY DALE. VISITOR at Matlock Bath, having climbed the Heights of Abraham, passed along Masson-side to Upper Wood, descended thence to the Ferry, and rambled about the Lover's Walks, will, if he has given time for the scenery to make due impression upon him, be more ready for quiet repose than for much further exertion that day. Let us imagine ourselves, then, to have rested for the night, and to be ready for another excursion in the morning. Starting from one of the Hotels, or from the Museum Parade, we soon pass the Railway Station, and mark the train just threading the High Tor with its long trail of white vapour ; and we linger awhile, (for who could help it ?) in "the shadow of the mighty rock." Then passing on we find that though the interest of the Dale may be said to culminate at the Tor, it by no means ends there. Many a time we loiter and look back — a wise thing to do occasionally, whichever way we may happen to be wending, the converse view of any scene being often as fresh and pleas- ing to the eye as one altogether new. Or, better yet, we can cross over from the " the Boat House," and going up by this old foot-path, obtain that view, almost southern, of the Tor, the Heights of Abraham, the river and the road between, and 48 DAYS IN DERBTSHIRE. the line of rocks and hills in the distance, of which the wood- cut below may give some faint idea, though neither pencil nor pen, nor both together, can do adequate justice to such a prospect. It would be possible to go hence over green and sunny pas- tures to Matlock Town or Starkholmes, or up to Riber's top. But let us rather return and walk along the turnpike to Mat- lock Bridge, because of the view we shall thereby obtain of the meadow and winding water from which the place takes its name, and of those most curiously waved and striated rocks, above which stands the venerable old parish church; while Matlock Bank, with its great and little Hydropathic Estab- lishments, its tasteful villas, its scattered cottages, and as- pect altogether sunny, airy and inviting, rises far up before us with a cheerful smile. If we turn a little aside into the old village — or town, as it is generally called — we shall find it in great contrast to " the Bath," from which we have just come. Down near the river are certainly some signs of modern change — villas, boarding- MATLOCK BANK AND DARLET DALE. 49 houses, shops, and the Matlock-bridge Railway-station. But the village itself, with its ancient church, almost equally- ancient houses, and aboriginal race of inhabitants, is a place altogether so different, that one might fancy it twenty miles away from the New Bath Hotel. Yet one loves to linger in such places and among, such people, awhile. Manners may be homely, but genuine ; life may be slow, but earnest ; the affections may have but little fire, yet are they stedfast and enduring, in such places; and in a village hke old Matlock, with its wakes, its fairs, its simple customs, its ancient tradi- tions " of moving accidents by flood and field," in mine or in cave, on cliff and in quarry, the wanderer, with a mind for it, may fill memory's wallet with a pretty good store of infor- mation during a few hours' stay, and feel none the worse for his little load when departing. And we now follow one of the several ways from the village to " the Bank." Any of them will do, so far as the pleasant views they afford are concerned. Twelve or fourteen years ago, when I sometimes wandered here, Matlock Bank was a place scarcely noted at all, but now it is acquiring — has already acquired, a history. I thought then what a healthy resort it would be for invalids, and had a notion of making it one. My attention during one visit was directed to a little un- occupied villa. It had a capital position, a good supply of water, and a most lovely prospect, but was too small for my purpose, and for several years afterwards I was far away from it in very different scenes. In the meantime a gentleman whose name has become a household word, Mr. John Smed- ley, was raised up to do great works in Derbyshire. Ex- tensively known and respected as a successful manufacturer — as was his father before him — he had nothing of this world's luxuries to covet, except good nealth, which had been for so long a time withheld, as to leave him at length in all but utter despair. In a state of mind corresponding pretty much with his state of body, he resorted, as a final experiment. 50 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. to the Hydropathic Estabhshment of Ben Rhydding, and was restored. This gave him an entirely new set of ideas and impulses; and with Mrs. Smedley, who seems to have been perfectly united with him in all his plans, he resolved thence- forth to devote a large portion of his time, his mind, and his wealth, to the promotion of Hydropathy, and to the stir- ring up of religious feeling throughout the district. It is not my duty here to enquire into the orthodoxy or hetero- doxy of Mr. Smedley's views, either as a therapeutist or a theologian. It is simply the recording of a matter of fact, when I say that the whole neighbourhood was startled, as from a long lethargy, when it saw places of worship rising in every direction at his will and cost; when a hospital for the poor was attached to his factory at Lea Bridge, whilst he went from place to place preaching to crowded audiences under a large portable tent ; and when, last of all, he took the little villa at Matlock Bank to which I had given the go-by but a few years before, and added to it gradually — until now, as you there see it, it is a bulk of buildings large enough for a castle, with abundance of comforts inside if not much grace with- out, and fitted up for the accommodation of a great number of invalids seeking recovery by hydropathic means. Nor is the hydropathic mode of treatment confined to Mr. Smedley's establishment. Scattered all over the Bank are other places. Down at the very bottom, near the Bridge, is that of Mr. Cash, a respectable surgeon. Up at the top is that of Mr. Frost, an experienced and kind-hearted person, who was formerly for a considerable time with Mr. Smedley. The Messrs. Davies, homely but earnest and long-experienced men, have others dotting the scene here and there ; nor is it improbable that, ere this chapter is before the public, I may, myself, have added another to the number, to be conducted, with mild and genial aids, on a plan of my own. Thus the whole region has, in a few short years, grown into a sort of hydropathic colony. Nor need this be wondered at, con- MATLOCK BANK AND DARLEY DALE. 51 sidering what a beautiful region it is. To walk or sit under cover and watch all changes of weather in so wide and picturesque a landscape, over which every passing gleam or cloud throws a totally different character — to contrast the peaks and knolls of the hills with the pastoral slopes and winding vales — to mark church and village grey — scattered villas smiling cheerily from among their trees, or clustering hamlet or lonely farm remote — the varying phenomena of the seasons and the arrival of fresh company every day — must be, themselves, in a great degree restorative to many a poor world- worn invalid, even should there be no specific curative treat- ment at all. But with all the advantages of that in addition, what wonder, if those who come and derive benefit, send others to swell the number from year to year ? But it is not every invalid who needs to be confined to his bed or his chair. For, to the patient whose newly-braced body and limbs enable him to make a brisk excursion, what a treat to ascend to the very top of Riber and gaze far, far abroad, and down upon the magnificent panorama of hills, and dales, and plains ;— to visit Riber Hall and hamlet, and stroll away in that direction to Lumsdale, or to Dethick and Lea; to go some day over Tansley Moor, as far as Ashover, or to the top of Spitewinter, and gain a view of all the vast outstretch of Scarsdale, with Bolsover, Hardwick, and Alfreton Hall on its distant rim ; — or to run down by Starkholmes as far as Cromford Bridge, and back by Matlock Bath; or, as good if not better than all the rest, to wander away for a mile or two along the upland side, and look down on bonny Darley Dale I What a lovely little realm to loiter in is Darley Dale — Wordsworth's Grasmere, only without the lake I Yet does it look as if ages ago it had one— and perhaps it had. One can easily imagine a little chain of such, — a sort of Rydal and Grasmere and Thirlmere in miniature, when Mat-ZocA was really a loch of magnitude, and this Dale another, with Oaker Hill for a sort of island — ere Nature divorced the High Tor 52 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. and the opposite Heights to make a deeper outlet for the waters. Fancy, if not geology, may be allowed to dally with such ideas, and perhaps, after all, be sometimes almost as correct as pedantic science itself, if we are to judge by the disputes of scientific men ! We spoke just now of Oaker Hill : what an interesting feature in the landscape it is, with its beautiful peak, and its coronal of trees — two trees, but at many points of vision so united that no one could for the moment imagine them two. There is a tradition associated with them which Wordsworth has recorded in this well-known sonnet : — " 'Tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill Two Brothers clomb, and, turning face from face, Nor one look more exchanging, grief to still Or feed, each planted on that lofty place A chosen Tree ; then, eager to fulfil Their courses, like two new -bom rivers, they In opposite directions urged their way Down from the far-seen mount. No blast might kill Or blight that fond memorial ; — the trees grew, And now entwine their arms ; but ne'er again Embraced those Brothers upon earth's wide plain ; Nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew Until their spirits mingled in the sea That to itself takes all, Eternity." Darley Church-yard, too, is noted all England over for its fine old Yew-tree, supposed to be one of the oldest standing ; the Church itself is worth a visit for its many antiquities ; and many a surrounding nook and hamlet, subsidiary dell and quiet lea, allures the tourist from the beaten track. York- shire has its Wensley Dale — a very beautiful valley. But Derbyshire has its Wensley Dale too, descending into this of Darley — and a sweet little retreat of Nature and of Humanity you will find it : for it has a population as well as picturesque- ness, but only thinly scattered. And many are the superior MATLOCK BANK AND DARLEY DALE. 53 mansions, as well as lone cottages, that sun or seclude them- selves in this rural realm ; but chiefly on the west of the river that of Stanton Woodhouse, a favourite retreat of the late venerated Buke of Rutland, as it still is of some of the members of his family. Not so much for the political allusion by which it is pointed, as for its fine appreciance of nature and old Enghsh feeling, do I quote Lord John Manners's graphic description of the scene from Stanton Woodhouse, knowing few if any writers with more true perception of the spirit breathing in a pastoral landscape : — " Up Darley Dale the wanton wind In careless measure sweeps, And stirs the twinkling Derwent's tides. Its shallows and its deeps. " Upon the breeze the hallow'd sound Of Sunday bells is borne, — That sound which ne'er a Christian hears. And hearing, feels forlorn. " O'er distant Matlock's lofty Tor A broken rainbow gleams, While the last ray of parting day Athwart the valley streams. " The waving woods that crown the banks 'Bove Chatsworth's gorgeous pile Repose in greenest gloom, nor catch The sun's departing smile. " Across the wooded knoll trips forth The milkmaid with her pail To ease the burden' d cows, that wait Her welcome evening hail. " From many an ancient upland grange. Wherein old English feeling Still lives and thrives, in faint blue wreaths The smoke is skywards stealing. " The simple cheer that erst sustain' d The Patriarch Seers of old, Still in these pastoral vallies feeds A race of ancient mould. 54: DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. " And should fell faction rear again Her front on English, ground, Here will the latest resting-place Of loyalty be found." Once on my lingering among these scenes, hospitality im- personated invited me up to the rural seat of Cowley — a place of which I had known nothing before, but where I was introduced to so much intelligence and taste, and to such a quiet hour of unexpected enjoyment, as will not easily be for- gotten. It was one of those momentary halts in the journey of Hfe that sometimes yield more pleasure than a formal visit ; and should this brief mention of it ever come to the knowledge of my entertainers, may it give them as much pleasure as their welcome gave me, a stranger except in name, on that calm autumnal afternoon ! My last ramble up there was in the present spring of 1861. I had been looking at Darley Hall, which stood empty, giving a glance towards Twi-dale (ridicu- lously corrupted into Toad-hole,) and more than a glance to- wards StonechfFe, thinking of Mr. Whitworth's terrible gun — for it is in this very scene, so peaceful as to give one an idea of an eternal Sunday, that its inventor resides. Then, cross- ing the river by Darley Bridge, striking up by Cowley, leaving Wass's lead-mine and the view of Winster on the left, and taking the right side of the hill into the fields, I soon found myself, as it seemed, pretty "far on the road to nowhere," a kind of truancy it is sometimes pleasant to indulge in, as one is almost sure by it to find out something fresh and interest- ing. And so it was on this occasion that my exploring ten- dency was at last rewarded, by bringing me to a place called Savin Hay, a lone farm-house, more like some of the remote and silent spots one sees in Westmoreland and Cumberland than anything I had fallen in with before in this neighbour- hood — a "mountain nook," looked down upon by Stanton Woods and Birchover Top, with a wild little clough and stream below, and pastures starred by myriads upon myriads of prim- MATLOCK BANK AND BARLEY DALE. 55 roses and daisies. The decent old farmer was quietly at work in his field, and cheerful eyes looked out from the homestead, where there was perhaps some wonder to see a stranger so far astray. A scramble across the clough, up to Stanton Woods and Lees, and down by Stanton Woodhouse to Rows- ley, flushed this happy stroll, in which the hours of boyhood seemed to have come back again, though not unmellowed by more mature associatious — Stanton Woodhouse, for several reasons, awaking memories more than usually pensive. The throstle and many a bird besides, added sweet melody to the under-voice of hidden waters, as evening came softly down, and " forget-me-nots " were the flowers it seemed moat appro- priate to bring away. VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. GAIN we quit Matlock Bath — this time by the south — for one of the prettiest rambles in England. In a previous chapter we mentioned Masson-mills, the Rutland Arms, and a cluster of cottages. Between those cottages and Mr. Newbold's law-offices ascends an ancient road — probably as ancient as any in the Peak, and in its days as useful. It then goes along Harp Edge, forming a fine natural gallery there ; crosses over VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 57 near to the Corn-mill, where Cromford ends in the Bonsall- road, and where it has been somewhat trespassed upon by private interests; and resumes its course through the fields towards Middleton and Wirksworth. At present we follow it only to the other side of Harp Edge, looking down, as we go, upon Masson-mills, the foaming weir. Wild Cat Tor, Willersley (which may be truly proud of being seen from this walk), S earthing-rocks and meadows, the bridge and church of Cromford, the lovely knolls and slopes on the way to Lea and Crich, and Crich-stand and church closing the distant scene — the Derwent curving beautifully right below us, much in the form of the letter U. Some attempts have been made to stop this road, this " old line of rural liberty," but have not succeeded, and it is to be hoped they will never be renewed. Independently altogether of the exquisite views it commands, the road is very useful to foot-passengers, many of whom on their way to work would have to go nearly half a mile round if it were stopped. If we are to be conservative of one right, let us be equally so of another. I do not think there is a man in England who would go farther round than myself to avoid an injurious tres- pass. I bless God for those laws and customs which have prevented estates from being divided and subdivided, as they otherwise might have been, till there was not an ample park or open range in the whole island. I believe that one of our statesmen was greatly misunderstood, when he was ridiculed for the noted couplet in which he prayed that whatever else might perish in England, ancient rights and privileges might remain. Let them remain : but let this be remembered, that property never more safely ensures respect for its own rights than when it sets a noble example of respect for the rights of the public. An old foot-path is a right as sacred to the pub- lic as is the soil on each side of it to the private owners, and ought no more to be interrupted or unduly narrowed than the land to be invaded. And now having vindicated our " right 58 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. of way " let us use it on our ramble. As the road by Harp Edge winds along, almost every step we take gives us such a different grouping of objects as not only to startle but to en- trance the gazer — presenting in one quarter of a mile a greater variety of landscape than many miles would give in the most picturesque neighbourhood I have elsewhere seen. Descending the other side of the Edge, we have a view of the Corn-mill, with its mossy wheel and dashing water-fall; but instead of passing over thither, we turn to the right, and by a Httle inquiry find our way to Bow Lea-side. This Bow Lea — so named in ancient time from its form — has latterly been most illogically corrupted to " Ball-eye." Had it been " Eye-ball " there would have been less reason for criticism : there is no reason whatever in calling it " Ball-eye." But never mind the name ; we will rest upon its green and flowery pasture, while the songs of birds and the wild bee's hum chime with the sweet murmur of waters coming up from below ; and with a landscape so lovely, clothed as it were with a mantle of peace — that chain of bright ponds pouring one into another, and rocks and trees forming a back-ground so romantic — let us dream that we are lingering a little on our way to paradise. The most conspicuous rock before us is called SUn Tor — pos- sibly a contraction of Slidden Tor — a name its appearance would somewhat justify. Half-hidden by the foliage were many romantic crags we passed on Harp Edge ; and yon rocks oppo- site might be fancied the petrified surf of another wild wave of such scenery. Old lead-mines, with their thatched coes and primitive machinery, abound in each direction; the road to Bonsall winds far below us like "a mathematical line," and just by crossing the heights along the path we have described, then lingering here, the wanderer may feel himself the tenant of a little world apart, which he would be loth to leave but for the chance of some day coming again, — perhaps when the tints of autumn or the frost of winter have changed without obliterating the quiet beauty of all around. VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 59 The bridle-road we are on passes away by a group of yews, where formerly stood a dwelling called the Hermitage, and where even yet are some remains of a garden — a scene about which linger curious traditions — but we descend to the main road, and take our way by it to Bonsall, passing spots that would make a Londoner feel as if he were in a foreign land. How Swiss-like this little wooden erection by the babbling stream ! Even Simons's old fashioned paper-mills and the other works we pass detract little or nothing from the wild and primitive air of the vale; while the mines and quarries considerably add to it. And now we arrive at Bonsall Village — the sign of " The Pig of Lead," bearing a bald picture of that plain but ponder- ous article, staring us in the face as we enter. It is a very homely house ; but we have often had good and sweet refresh- ment there. Bonsall is one of those ancient little towns that boast of " once " having had a market, and the market-cross remains. A very striking and picturesque old house is stand- ing near — no doubt a place of some note in days gone by ; the Church is a pretty object with its tapering spire ; man- sions and several superior cottages smile from their pleasant positions as we wander about ; and a rivulet flows down the street, supplying the inhabitants with water and a joke. It is said that a rustic from Bonsall being once sent to a great house in London, on some errand requiring a special messen- ger, the servants made game of his homely appearance and language, asking him from what part of the world he came ; on which he replied, with an affected air of importance, "from Bons-aZZ," laying great stress upon the closing syllable. "Bons- alU " said they, " where is that ? " " What ! " he responded — " you, so clever as you are, and have never heard of Bons- all — a place that can boast of a hundred-and-fifty marble bridges ! " Having by this piece of fun made them feel suf- ficiently abashed for their ignorance, he next won their good- will and respect for his wit, by telling them of the stream that 60 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. runs down the street, crossed at almost every house by a door- step of Derbyshire marble — thus forming his hundred-and-fifty marble bridges ! Many are the sweet rural nooks and pleasant walks about Bonsall ; but we return to " the Pig of Lead " and proceed up the Via GeUia — so called from the Derbyshire family of Gell, through part of whose ancient estates it runs. It is many a year since I first traversed the Via Gellia, on an early summer morn, companion of kind, impulsive Dan Shipley, who volunteered to be my guide, and of the wild rivulet which runs down between Middleton Wood and Bonsall Leas, from Grange Mill and Ryder Point, and receives a beautiful natu- ral waterfall from Dunsley -spring by the way. In May these haunts abound with " lilies of the valley," which people come immense distances to see. In autumn, it is enriched with abundance of wild-fruit and foHage of every hue ; and in win- ter with frost-work of the rarest forms, — especially at the cas- cade from Dunsley-spring, which throws off "angel's wings " all along its descent from the brow of the hill to the little Swiss cottage at its foot, — for "angel's wings" was the name my little friend, WilUe Pratt, (now dead, poor boy, ) bestowed on them one cold winter-day, as he tried to sketch me the scene, while a young mountain-maiden stood by and applaud- ed his effort with her dark, speaking eyes. On arriving at Ryder Point Toll-gate, the rambler, if he has time, may stroll on towards Grange Mill, turning off to the marvellous calcined rocks, and cave, and curiously hewn chair, on Brassington Moor; or up, through a beautifully shaded lane, to Hop ton Hall and Carsington. But lacking time for that, let us wind up this steep road that leads to Middleton- by-Wirksworth, pausing often and turning to ponder on the scenery around. What bright eyes have I seen gleaming — what subdued exclamations heard — of those round whom spread the wild and thrilling prospect, as they slowly climbed this winding road ! How throbs my soul as I think now of VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 61 those who last accompanied me there — two of my friends, one so artistic, the other so psychological — and above all, she of whom I have since had to sing — The Autumn days come round again ; The hedges redden in the lane ; The leaves grow golden on the tree. And golden memories glow in me. Yes, Autumn comes, but where art thou, Hy loved and loving Sarah, now ? 'Tis but twelve months since we were wed. And three months they have call'd thee dead. Yet dead thou seemest not to me, But living still in all I see : Ev'n Nature thy dear form doth take And look more lovely for thy sake ! Yon lake's deep blue, that mocks the sky, Hath caught expression from thine eye, Where oft I 've read such depth of love As could but come from Heaven above. Yon hill with sunshine on its brow Is not more noble than wert thou ; Ajid all the landscape borrows grace From the sweet beauty of thy face. And in those sounds so soft and low, That with the light winds come and go, It makes my drooping soul rejoice To hear the music of thy voice. Whence, too, these yearnings of the heart. That form of life the truest part, But that thy spirit comes to mine, Ajid upward points to joys divine ? Much beauty have I seen on earth. And much have known of human worth. But human worth to me hath grown More worthy, since I thine have known. Then, Sarah dear, die not to me ! But live thou still in all I see. 62 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. In all I hear, or feel, or love, Around, within, below, above — That I may come, in that bright day When all things false have pass'd away. All wrongs forgiving and forgiven, To be with Christ, and thee, in Heaven. And now we have gained the shoulder of the hill, let us look once more around us before we quit the scene. Mine- hillocks, almost as thick as mole-hills, show how the country- has been burrowed for lead in ages past, and yet are the miners burrowing and throwing out the results of their la- bours still. The Via Gellia winds below, and many a road winds down into it from the uplands, with such graceful curves as tell how even roads may help to beautify a rugged country. Yon waterfall, from Dunsley-spring, waves white and brightly down the opposite steep, and sends its voice to us across the deep vale. In one direction, the pastures spread away so far, as to make us feel, while they fade at last into union with the sky, the meaning of those familiar words, "the wide, wide world," — a lone farm there, somewhere else a remnant of dusky moorland, and now and then a da.sh of woodland, making isles in the else universal green of the landscape. To linger here, but for one new brick house, would be like living in times far back, there is something at once " so old and yet so new " about the scenery. It seems as if the pastures could only just have been rescued from the waste ; yet among the names of places are Ibol, Aldwark, and Grange, bespeaking British, Saxon, and Norman occupation. Nor is this feeling of an- tiquity much lessened as we come away through the large village of Middleton, with its rough-built houses, some of them in ruins, scattered among the groove-hillocks all over the hill- side. As the birth-place of my warm-hearted mother, a chap- ter of whose romantic history is embodied in " The Peak and the Plain," this village may probably have faster hold of my feehngs than it otherwise would ; but I love to linger among VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX CLOUD. 63 its grey old homes, to climb its steep and winding lanes, to talk with the simple people about their ancient traditions and curious mining customs, and to sympathise with their regrets, their humble hopes and pleasures. " Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure, Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor." I can remember when there were scarcely half-a dozen trees in all this place, and not a single corn-patch to be seen ; and as nearly all the income of the people depended on the scanty pasturage and their irregular ** gets " in the mines, they had necessarily to be very simple and frugal in their lives. Yet were they peculiarly clean in their habits, honest in their dealings, and hospitable to a degree that sometimes tried their humble means to the utmost stretch. But the times have greatly changed even here. A church, several chapels, par- sonage, and school, with here and there a house of a superior cast, gardens made the most of, trees waving in odd places, and now and then a small corn-field, have changed the aspect of the whole place since the old coach from Derby went through it, and across the deep Via Gellian Valley, to Man- chester. How the coach ever got at all across such a rugged country, is a mystery it would require our skilful old friend Eurdett to unravel — yet even he, though one of the best whips in England, once had his leg broken in driving on a much easier road since made through the Peak. From Middleton we walk to Middle Peak, and thence look down into the peaceful valley of Wirksworth — the town clus- tering round its quaint and ancient Church, the pastures, dotted with mines and rural homes, spreading up to the ham- let of Bolehill and the wooded heights of Barrel Edge, (or Barrow-ledge — which ought it to be ?) Returning thence, we come along the road towards Cromford — first examining the stupendous rocks, so curiously perforated by old mines, above 64 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. which Middle Peak rises. Or we ca.n, if you prefer it, walk along the High Peak Railway, until we come to the foot of the Black Rocks, sometimes called collectively Stonnus — a corruption of Stone-house. This mass of grit-stones, viewed from any point, is very impressive — dark, ponderous and sub- lime. Some of its component blocks are like the hulls of large dismantled ships ; many of them have a resemblance to other familiar objects, natural or artificial ; the highest of them pro- ject the furthest ; and the whole is picturesquely surmounted by a waving plume of old pine trees. We climb to the top, and gain one of the finest views in Derbyshire. Rhodes, in his " Peak Scenery," seems to regard it as the finest. That is a matter of taste ; but, without doubt, it is one worth going any distance to see. Rhodes says of it — " 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, embosomed in an amphitheatre of hills, one of the finest land- scapes that Nature anywhere 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 : the structures of man seemed as nothing amidst the beauty and grandeur of the works of God." I once lodged for about six weeks in one of the little cot- tages in the fields below ; and during the whole of that time never looked up in fine weather without seeing somebody on the top of Stonnus enjoying Rhodes's prospect. But there is a sort of little Stonnus below, about half a mile nearer to Cromford, called Fox Cloud, which though not command- ing quite so wide a prospect, seemed to me to have one equally, if not more beautiful — looking many of the prettiest objects of the landscape in the face, instead of frowning down upon their heads. Resting there and musing, the scene so VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 65 touched me on some occasions that I could not help rhyming about it. Here is the commencement of one of those little essays : — A DAY-DREAM ON FOX-CLOUD; OR THE HISTORY OF A LANDSCAPE. Warm was the day on liigli Fox- Cloud ; Bright was the blue sky o'er me ; Behind frown' d Stonnus dark and proud, And Matlock smiled before me. To Willersley, that, like a queen, Her summer state was keeping. The Derwent came from valleys green, And at her feet was weeping. Bold Masson rear'd his royal crown O'er all beside to heaven ; — A king is Masson, looking dowi; On mountains six or seven — Protecting well his queen below When wintry storms have found him — His girdle, clouds ; his turban, snow ; His guards, the wild rocks round him ! But winter lour'd not near him now : Its chillness all forgetting. The peasant upon Riber's brow His harvest- scythe was whetting ; The cottagers on Cromford Moor — (So named, though moor no longer, But pasture to the very door) — Ne'er felt the sunshine stronger. Bonsall's dim spire was hid in green ; E'en Middleton, so hoary. It bleakness lost in that warm scene And shared the summer's glory ; — While river-murmurings, deep below, With woodland breathings blended ; And natural music, soft and slow, — A summer hymn, — ascended. QQ DAYS IN DERBrSHIRE. All, all was summer ronnd me there : Ricli suramer blooms were peeping Among tlie verdure everywhere, With, fragrance all things steeping ; Until the drowsed and sated sense Its charms no more could number, So in that pleasant exigence Eesign'd itself to slumber. Now it will happen oft that when The sense is most suspended, The spirit's ever wakeful ken Will farthest be extended : 'Twas thus that mine, as there I lay- On that sweet bed of heather. Went back through many a bygone day. And brought this dream together : — The morning twilight of an early world — Darkness before it ebbing like a tide ; Great rocky mountains over mountains hurl'd, As though just launching on the prospect wide. Then poised and anchor' d by the Almighty Guide Where most for use and beauty they might rest ; While waters forth began to gush and glide, And vegetation strove to weave the vest^] With which, in length of time, the peopled scene was drest: Thus, hill and vale, crag, river, wood and wild. In contrast, yet in harmony, were spread On every hand below, or upward piled, — Lessons of love, and reverence, and dread. By man through long, long ages to be read ; Till fitted for that bright and perfect day When — every need for types material fled — His soul, relit by a diviner ray. Itself shall symbolise the Lord to whom we pray. ERA II. Hunter and warrior, here he comes ! a form Brown' d by the sun and batter'd by the storm ; VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 67 A spear his weapon, and a skin his vest ; His home a cave, hewn in the mountain's breast. His mate, more melancholy if less wild, Bearing upon her back their unclad child, Through the woods gliding, cautiously and slow, They pick the scanty fruitage as they go. At length upon the river's brink they part. For, lo ! his eye tracks far the startled hart, And with a shout, a bound, its mazy flight He follows fast, and keeps it still in sight. As first the dale they scour, then climb the hill, 'Neath the bright, burning noonday panting still j And on the morrow he returns to tell How twilight and his spear together fell Upon his prey, remote, by some lone forest well J "While robed and bearded, on his rock sublime, The hoary personation of old Time, High-priest of Nature, with uplifted hands To invocate her, now a Druid stands ; As o'er the wide land, gathering as they go. His votaries meet upon the plain below ; And while his fires at eventide ascend, In one acclaim their countless voices blend, Then wait till morning from the horizon's verge. Not without spiritual meaning, may emerge — Eloquent emblem in that twilight age Of holy tidings, when the world's new mom. Shedding its beauty over history's page, Should past and future with its rays adorn I ERA TII. Next with his signals guiding far Proud legions on to deeds of war. The Roman, see, on Riber^ standing And all the country thence commanding ; While Nature's children pass away, And leave him undisputed sway ! The hunter hies him to his grot ; The Druid on the rock is not, * There are still Remaina of a Roman Station on Riber. 68 DATS IN BERBTSHIRE. But where his fires were wont to blaze Another priest, to men-made gods, In other language prays. Yet, once again, a change — and lo ! The Roman even himself, must go ; While Dane and Saxon scatter wide Each remnant of his power and pride. EKA IV. The reign of Alfred — England's greatest king- Perhaps her only one worth calling great ! Is it not beautiful to see him bring A long-spoil'd country to so blest a state, That tyranny, and want, and fear forgot, Sweet peace and piety possess the cot ! The peasant in the valley tills the soil, His crop from all marauding feet secure ; The miner climbeth to his upland toil, Knowing protection for his treasure sure ; The maiden milks, the mother plies her wheel : How could they else than blest and loyal feel ? Thou grand old Monarch ! Oak o' er all the trees ! Thou Alp among the hills of history ! Proving that, spite of battle and of breeze, Good ruling need not be a mystery. O, that mankind could only learn of thee How loyalty is one with liberty ! Well— thus far, or somewhat farther, I had got with my reverie, musing on the long centuries through which the dis- trict flourished much as Alfred left it— save when disturbed by the wars of the Roses and the Commonwealth, in which some of my own ancestors had won and lost. And then I dreamed of the changes wrought in turn by Arkwright and others — the former bringing a tribe of people from the High- lands of Scotland, with their household gods and some of their cattle, to settle in the valley below, as the revolutions of his spindles revolutionised the character of the whole neighbour- VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 69 hood. I thought of his standing one day watching the motion of a great wheel, and saying that every time it went round he was a guinea richer; and of his meeting some objection to his family on the score of its want of antiquity, by quietly and wittily saying that "Noah was the first Ark-wright.'" But at this stage of my dream the shriek of the railway engine, " the horse with its long white mane," as it came up the valley and shot through the tunnel on its way to Rowsley, roused me to think of the still farther progress making in all things, and that I, too, ought to be doing something better than basking there, in such busy times, spinning idle rhymes. The walk down from the neighbourhood of these rocks, through a succession of little cottage-crofts, to Cromford, is almost as delightful as the view from their top. It is doubtful if Willersley Castle is anywhere seen more in harmony with the surrounding country than from some of the pauses on this path — showing the good judgment with which Sir Eichard Arkwright removed the huge rock that pre-occupied its site, to give it a position at once distinguished and retired. And any one wishing for an idea of what was once the more general character of this region, has only to go a little farther, across the Wirksworth-road, to find himself on another hill as rugged, as barren, and as clustered over with groove-hillocks as this is now covered with luxuriant herbage and cheered with pastoral life. In the steep mile between Cromford and Middleton there must be, one would think, at least a thousand such relics of olden mineral industry. But to me, I think, about the most picturesque object in all this landscape was my eccentric old landlady — Jenny Wild- goose — not the first name she had borne, for she had been thrice married, and was now again a widow. Poor old Jenny ! on my first inquiring for her, to ask about the lodgings, she cried out, before seeing me, " Whu wants me ? " A stranger, I answered, wanting lodgings. ** Hech, mon ! whu are ye ? let's hae a look at ye ! '' Well, was my reply, I*m a man at 70 DAYS IN DERBYSniRE. present somewhat lonely in the world, wanting a home, and a kind old mother who will be very good to me, and accept a little kindness in return : dare you take me in ? " Hech, mon alive ! I'm ber just a puir lonely old body mysen, and know what it is both to want kindness and gie it : dun ye stay out o' neets, and come home drunk ? '' Oh, no ! there's not much danger of that, for I'm there or thereabout a teetotal- ler : what are your terms ? " Six shiUings a week, and find yersen, and they're two o'th nicest rooms i' aw Darbyshire ; and aw've got some 'oth' nicest picturs in em, and th' best collection o' minerals yo'n e*er seen; an aw'n got th' front door made up to keep awth' beggars and riff-raff out ; an th' finest rose-tree up th' house-end y'n ever seen ; a good garden, an' the best milk frae th' nicest cow i' aw'th neighbourhood." And I soon found myself in a room with a floor charged with chronic dampness and rheumatism ; a pile of mineral speci- mens on the mantel-piece, large enough for a museum, but without much arrangement ; pictures on the walls daubed by a former lodger, whom she described as one of the greatest artists ; a bad atmosphere caused by the permanent closing of the door ; and in the sturdy little old woman herself a strong opinion that she was a sort of duchess out of place, and that she was descended from one of the most ancient and dis- tinguished famihes in Britain. In short, everything connected with her, immediately or remotely, had something superlative about it ; and she was wont to assert with great confidence and gravity that, if she "had her reets," she would be a person of very high rank arid fortune, and "able to visit Mrs. Arkwright with a carriage and four." According to her own account, her maiden name was Talbot; she was born at Linhthgow, and was one of the bonniest lasses in Scotland ; she had first, while very young, married a man from Cromford, a soldier in a marching regiment, "one o' th' finest lads that were ever seen," and had gone with him to Ireland where they staid some time. They afterwards came to reside here, among his native scenes, VIA GELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 71 when he had the misfortune to be killed by the machinery in one of the cotton mills. She then married another man, who according to her description must have been a strange com- pound of Wesleyanism and worldliness, with whom she was very unhappy, but of whom, and of the people who had tried to reform him, she had learnt abundance of religious phrase- ology. He in turn died, and then she was married to a very old man of the name of Wildgoose, " the kindest of them all," but who shortly left her, as I then found her, a widow once more. "Hech, mon alive! " she exclaimed, " I've had a world o' troubles — a world o' troubles ! " And in what, I asked, have you found consolation through them all ? " Why," she replied with the most candid tone and serious look imaginable, " in reading th' Bible and Scott's and Cooper's novels ! " I staid with the poor old woman about six weeks, occasion- ally rambling out, enjoying the scenery and some of the home- ly but intelligent society of the neighbourhood, sometimes writing and getting her — a concession of which she made much capital and interest of obHgation — to let me ventilate the room by opening the front door, for she seemed to have a positive horror of ventilation. But at length the time for my departure came, nor did I leave that old cottage by "the Cloud," without regret : for, whether by sunlight or moon- light, or when the stars alone gave dim visibility to surround- ing objects, it was certainly one of the loveliest spots I had ever dwelt in ; and the old woman said that I should never find another equal to it. She also assured me on parting, seventy years old as she was, that she should yet arrive at her proper position and affluence, and would then be very happy to allow me to come sometimes as a visitor ! Thank- ing her for her condescension, I left her — it was on the 3rd of August, 1849 — and gave her at parting the following very simple scrap of verse : — " Old cottage on tlie mountain's breast — The widow's and tlie wanderer's rest ! 72 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. Tlie wanderer leaves thee still to roam, The widow finds thee still a home. When all their toils and cares are past, May both find Heaven their home at last ! " Well — I had left the place scarcely more than three months, when a young and friendly acquaintance with whom I had had many a kindly joke about Jenny's eccentricities and pretensions, wrote me that she was really expected to come immediately, by the right of heirship, to immense estates, which would place her in the very position to which she had always said she was entitled ! In fact, a barrister of high standing, who had been consulted, was so sanguine as to offer her a handsome sum certain, and take all the risk of conse- quences, if she would give up the rest to him. But this she declined. A few years afterwards I was going through Cromford. It was on the day of a great horticultural show at the school- room, and there among the company was poor Jenny. We were of course very pleased once more to crack a joke together, which we did on her assuring me, in her old exultant tone, that a prize had just been awarded to her for " some of the finest parsley in England." But Jenny, said I, have you got your estates yet ? " Hech, mon alive ! no, not quite ! There's only a little whipper-snapper of a child, a weakly thing of about nine years old, between me and possession ; but I think he wunna live long, an' then I shall come to 'em ! " Alas, alas, for all poor Jenny's hopes ! A few years more had passed away, and I was again on Fox Cloud with my scientific and philanthrophic friend. Dr. C. T. Pearce. From the Cloud-rocks we went into the old woman's chamber, and there she lay, with no ambition left, but calling upon the name of the Great Healer of us all, for the only consolation she could now hope to receive in a lingering death by cancer in the breast ; — while " the little boy of nine years old " had grown up to promising youth-hood, with every prospect of VIA aELLIA, STONNUS, AND FOX-CLOUD. 73 enjoying the long-looked-for estates. Such, and others still more strange, were among the vicissitudes of Jenny Talbot, the soldier's lassie from Linlithgow, and who soon after that visit breathed her last, on the edge of Fox Cloud. Often, while lodging with her, I told her that some day I should write her history, when her general reply was " Hech mon alive ! it's sae wonderful, if it wor ber aw told, it' ud mak one o'th' finest bukes as ever wa' written ; but there's mony a thing in it I shanna tell you ! " €lmpkt[ th^ ^^tJ^nllt. RIBER, DETHICK, AND LEA. ^HERE are parts of the country in which, as you ramble about them, you cannot but feel that they possess a history. This is especially the case about Riber Hill. Righ-herg, (in modern Enghsh, Ridge- Hill,) I take to be the name that has been softened into Riber. But long before the Saxons gave it that name, the British Druid, and afterwards the Roman Cohort, had made it his haunt if not his home. In the me- mory of many still living, there were remains of a druidical monument upon it, and traces of an old encampment may still be descried. My intelligent publisher was there a few days prior to the penning of this chapter, and says — " The hamlet of Riber, with its grey old houses, is near the top of the hill, and commands a very extensive view. The Hall is a fine old Elizabethan building — though one part has been newly roofed with slate instead of stone, which somewhat impairs its har- mony. From the Cliff, which is not far from the Hall, a mag- nificent prospect spread out beneath us, and stretched far into the distance, till the Peak hills seemed to blend with the northern sky. Tansley Moor was on our right, with the rift of Lumsdale ; Matlock town and bridge, and the Hydropathic Establishment just at our feet ; the winding Derwent, Darley KIBER, DETHICK, AND LEA. 75 Dale and Oaker Hill beyond, — all basking in the clear atmo- sphere, and intersected with curving hnes of white roads and picturesque dottings of trees. After looking in vain for the * Hurst Stones,' thinking we might perchance find some small relic of these druidical monuments, and resting for a short time at the foot of the telegraphic pole, we wended down to Starkholmes. A lad from Riber, of whom we made inquiries, told us there was still a *druid's chair' in somebody's yard, and that * there had been a druid's table, but it get broke,' — which was all the information he could give about the Druid- stones once so famous on Riber." Should the rambler start for Dethick and Lea from Matlock Bank, and be disposed to walk the whole distance, he can scarcely do better than go over Riber, and down the road which leaves Horston hamlet on his right. But the easiest, as it would to many be also the pleasantest way from the Bath, is to go round by Cromford Station and along the turnpike- road, where the Derwent winds so beautifully by its side for company, and the wooded and cotted hills look down with an air so magnificent and calm as to fill the soul with wordless ex- tasy. Keeping this road past the Hat-factory, so far as what is called, as may happen, Lea-wood, Lea-bridge, or Lea-works — every name being equally indicative of the j^lace — you can then turn off, by Mr. Smedley's mills and hydropathic hos- pital for Lea village. You see some lead-works on one side and presently an old school-house on the other, and at length come to an ancient corn-mill, where Lea brook crosses the road — the very road you might have come by had you started by Riber — and a sweeter picture for a painter, should it be in the right season and weather, the whole ramble could not give him than that he may find here. How clear the little mill-pool, and how rural the mill and miller's house and farm- yard ! How finely climbs the sunny and varied wood behind, and how picturesquely rises out above all yon ancient tower ! You want to know what it means, for you feel quite uncertain 76 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. what it is, till told that it is the tower of Dethick Church — an object which, whatever the point from which you see it, can- not fail to be interesting. But let me quote again some of the notes of my photographic friends, taken on the 8th of April, 1861: — "It is clear, bright and warm in the sun, the roads not hav- ing had time to get dusty after the late long-continued rains. The country is beginning to show signs of spring's arrival ; blushing anemonies and pale primroses abound on the banks and in the fields, and the hedge-rows and trees are all a-bud. ***** Took the upward road to Lea, which was pleasant and well-remembered — finishing off at Lea village. The Me- thodist chapel there, backed on the hill-side by a beautiful wood, is a very pretty object in the landscape. Learning from a country-lad that we could get over the fields to Dethick by a nearer and prettier walk than the road, we passed Mrs. Wasse's house — its architecture in harmony with that of the chapel — and kept our upward way through the village, by grey and irregularly-built old houses and cottages, a deep wooded dell on our left, and the hill on our right, till we came to the Three Horse-shoes, a suitable sign for the landlord, who is also a blacksmith; but why he did not have /owr horse- shoes is a mystery. Making inquiries about the Old Hall at Lea, we were told it was a little further on, and now divided into two houses, and that it is about 300 years old. It was not this, but the original building we wanted, and found it behind the Three Horse-shoes, — a much older erection and now inhabited by a farmer. I should imagine the part re- maining to be the chapel of the old Hall, which is said to have been re-built in 1478. A very aged man whom we saw there, remembers the gothic window — probably the east cha- pel-window — bearing that date. On the south side of the cot- tage is a gothic window, still in good preservation. ***** Retracing our steps, we descended the steep little valley which divides Lea from Dethick, casting longing looks on many bits RIBER, DETHICK, AND LEA. 77 of scenery about the course of the brook, now full of water. This wooded dell will be a delightful retreat in another month, when the tree-leaves are expanded and the undergrowth more developed. Even now, the primroses and wood-sorrel enliven the banks with their dehcate flowers ; and vigorous bunches of strong leaves show where to expect a fine crop of foxgloves in due time. " Leaving the wood behind us, and continuing our ascent through a blooming field, Dethick Church before us, we soon come to a stand, *^ -"^^^ enchanted by the view we get of the grey old tow- er amongst the branches of trees as old, or older — for the church was rebuilt little more than three centuries ago, and who can say when these vene- rable trees were planted ? There is an air of anti- quity about this spot, which af- fects us the more powerfully the nearer we ad- vance. We enter the graveless church-yard — gravel ess, because Dethick is but a chapelry to Ashover — and though there is nothing remark- able about it except the tower, it strongly reminds one, with its turret at the south-east corner, of the bell-tower in the 78 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. lower court of Haddon Hall, Over the west door, now partly bricked up and converted into a window, is a tablet inscribed * Anno : Verbi Incarnati 1530,' and on the southern wall are sculptured the arms of the Babingtons. * * * * Descending some stone steps, we find ourselves in a farm-yard, and get a very picturesque view of the church-tower. The scenery from this place is most delightful. The eye after looking over the ruined walls, the last vestiges of ancient conventual buildings, and marking the noble yew of many centuries down the ver- dant slope below, wanders over the broad expanse of Riber, then follows, over the woody clough, the beautiful valley south- wards, away to the dusky eminence of Barrel-Edge and pine- crowned Stonnus, which stands in bold relief against the clear blue sky. * * * We next called at the farm-house by the east end of the Church, which is built from the ruins of the old Hall of the Babingtons. We found but little of the original building, the principal part being the kitchen on the south side of the house — the enormous fire-place, with its roasting- jack, being worthy of observation. We took a view of this side of the house from the adjoining field, whence we could see the chimney with the rusted iron- work and pulleys once connected with the jack inside. This and the entrance to the cellar, on the other side and detached from the house, com- pleted our views. The cellar-doorway is a very elegant relic, and with the ivied gable above it, forms the little picture given further on." Thus much I have quoted, because a more accurate de- scription of them in the same number of words could not be given. And now my reader asks if this cellar door-way is the most perfect index remaining of the once important man- sion of so historical a family. It is. But as Cuvier could infer the whole organism of any animal from a single bone, may we not infer something of the magnitude and style of a mansion that could boast of such a cellar door- way ? And does it tell us of nothing more than architecture — nothing RIBER, DETIIICK, AND LEA. 79 of ancient chivalry and revelry and hospitality without bound, and how it was that poor Anthony Babington, in his enthu- siasm for Mary Queen of Scots, came to believe that he could liberate her, and then raise the whole country-side in her favour, instead of letting her pine in the neighbouring towers of Wingfield Manor, on which he was wont so often to gaze from the nearest hills ? What a vision of the warm and young ad- venturer, his companions and his doings, comes upon us, as we mark these mouldering vestiges ! How one fancies their nightly reconnoiterings, their secret continental missions, their more daring social meetings, the ripening of their plot, and their final betrayal and execution, — when, though unforgiven by EHzabeth after his ingenuous confession and touching plea for mercy, Babington could look undauntedly on the cutting up of Baillard, while the rest of his companions turned away in terror, and then give himself up to the same fate, calling on Jesus alone for mercy ! May England never look on the like again; but may each one of the beautiful homes now rising and studding this lovely land, when it too, in its turn, shall fall to decay, tell Macaulay's New Zealander as he comes to take a sketch of its last vestiges, tales only of charity and peace, of true religion and household love ! Anything but tragic has been the career of some of the no- tabilities of this region already. An intelligent friend of mine, barmaster of the Crich mineral court, whose avocation neces- sarily brings him in contact with a great variety of character, and who is fond of all that relates to this picturesque neigh- bourhood, can entertain one by the hour with his narrations -of genial, cheerful, and comic incident. It is quite a treat to hear him describe old Billy Bunting, a man of days gone by, who besides being clerk of Dethick Church, went about to country wakes and fairs playing a pipe and fiddle. He tells with great glee how Billy once went to keep alive the fun at Ashover feast, and how, as late night came on, fearful that, from the crowd of strangers in the public-house where he was 80 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE . staying, he might not be able without timely precaution to secure himself a bed, he stole slyly away from the company and locked himself in one of the bed-rooms. Presently, on some of them coming to the door and thrusting and knocking, he demanded in loud serio-comic tones who were there and what they wanted. ** Oh," said they " of course, we want to come to bed." But there is no room, said Billy, making as great a stir as possible. " Why, who have you got inside ? " was the next inquiry, " Who ? " cried he, " The clerk o' DetHck, the piper o' Lea, Old England's fiddler, Billy Bunting and me !" On which the applicants went away quite satisfied, exclaiming that they were sure if that was the case there was no room for them— a joke which ever after made Billy more famous for his wit than his music. ^U^iiiX i\x^ (&i0h LEA HURST AND HOLLOWAY. SHORT mile from Lea is Lea Hurst, a spot scarcely surpassed for the natural beauty surrounding it, and with which the name of JFlqren.ce Nightingale will be associated as long as England has a history; for though her birth-place was Florence, her home during great part of her -life has been here, and pilgrims from many a clime will visit it in after ages for her sake. It is at a point, too, so- very easy of access from every quarter, by roads passing through such interesting scenery, as to afford a manifold attraction to the tourist and the devotee. Any one coming up from the North of England by the Mid- land Railway may alight at Wingneld-station, see Wingfield Manor-ruins, get the view from C rich-cliff by the way, and reach Lea Hurst in a walk of not more than four and a half miles by a very good road. From D^rby it may be gained easily by a short ascent from the Whatstaiidwell-station ; from Matlock by a converse ride via the same station; or a four miles' journey by the road, via Cromford, Lea Wood, and Ne- ther Holloway. Or the ramble from Matlock Bridge or Bank, by way of Riber and Dethick, may be extended to it with ease, if you are so inclined. For myself, I love to go up from Whatstandwell, either by Crich Carr or by that romantic and G 82 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE lonely pass through the Duke of Devonshire's stupendous stone-quarries, to a point between Cliff House and the Lead- mines, taking care to avoid falling into any of the disused shafts by the way ; then walk on by Wakebridge, taking a foot-path there is along the fields and the hill-top towards Over Holloway; and thence look down over the Lea Shaws, on all that God and Nature and Art have done to gladden the eye with a landscape that rivets the soul, and causes the gazer only one regret— that all the world cannot come and see it with him. It is but a few weeks since (in April, 1861,) I was on this walk, with Messrs. Fowler and Wells, the celebrated American phrenologists. Mr. Luke AIsop was our guide, and made every part of the view more interesting by associating with it some touch of history or personal incident, or of geology and mineralogy. That farm-house we had just passed at Wake- bridge was on the site of an ancient residence of a distin- guished family ; beyond it were small old groove-hillocks, not unlike petrified flocks of sheep on the bleak hill-sides; the more imposing machinery of modern mining was near, by the side of a little mountain-brook ; and unique and strange seemed all that eastward scene, culminating at C rich-stand which stood alone in the cloudless sky. But turning from this to the west, what a magnificent contrast spread itself before us ! Deep beneath went the wooded scaur, crossed mid- way by the white line of the turnpike-road, and finishing only where the canal and the river, spanned by picturesque bridges, with the rail- way and the old road, run side by side for several miles, — Shining Cliff and Alderwasley Hall beyond — the latter at that time awakening some touching thoughts from the fact that the chief of the house was lying dead within. Captain Goodwin's pleasant domain of Wigwell lay farther off to the west — Wirks- worth Moor, and the hills above Cromford and Matlock, embo- soming Willersley Castle, more westerly still. Harmoniously were blended masses of wood, blue water-gleams, and spots of LEA HURST AND HOLLOWAY. 83 pasture of lively green. Hollow ay hamlet, with its sweet old homes, its increase of new, and its two little chapels, was rest- ing and smiling in the sabbath-sunshine, to the right. The flashing waterfall, far dow^n the valley, sent up its voice with the river's to invite our notice of it and the cupola by its side ; while the lark sent down its music from on high to win our glance from earth to heaven, if so be one might find such a trembling little speck in space as that which could thus fill it so largely with song. The anemone, primrose, and violet, nestled among the moist verdure almost close at our feet ; and Nature itself seemed to rejoice that it could yield such joy to the human heart. "But what,'' said our American friends, "is that lovely place — that gem of the whole landscape, almost di- rectly beneath us — that many gabled mansion with its terraces and green lawns, harmonising with, yet unlike everything else we can see ?" " Thaty' answered I, "is Lea Hurst> the Der- byshire home of Florence Nightingale ; " — and I shall not soon forget the emotion with which they continued to regard it, taking away leaves and flowers, and even bits of stone, to treasure across the wide Atlantic as memorials of the time and scene. It is not my intention to give a very minute description of the house of Lea Hurst, the seat of Mr. W. E. Nightingale, it has been done by so many writers, but chiefly by that ardent antiquary and litterateur, Mr. Lie welly nn Jewitt, who in his " Stroll to Lea Hurst," and by allusions in other works, has noted pretty nearly every particular. He says—" The Hall is erected in the Elizabethan style, is most enchantingly situa- ted on an expansive sloping lawn on the outer edge of an ex- tensive park, and is surrounded and overhung with luxuriant trees. It is built in the form of a cross, with gables at its extremities and on its sides, surmounted with hip-knobs, with ball-terminations. The windows, which open beneath the many gables, are square-headed, with dripstones and stone muHions, and the general contour of the building is much 84 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. heightened by the strongly-built clustered chimney stacks which rise from the roofs. At the extremities of the build- ing, large bay windows stand out into the grounds, and are terminated with balustrades and battlements. The Hall, with its out-offices, gardens and shrubberies, is enclosed from the general park by a low fence, and is approached by a gateway, whose massive posts are terminated by globes of stone." Imagine such a building in such a spot, with a landscape as varied as landscape well could be — Holloway, a populous but very clean and peaceful hamlet, near — farms and cottages scattered broad-cast, so that seclusion without solitude seems everywhere a characteristic feature — and you have one of the scenes amid which Florence Nightingale first began to develop those feehngs that sought afterwards a more active field, and made her name a cherished word in almost every land. I well remember her in days gone by, visiting the cottages of the poor whenever illness was there, and doing all she could to soothe and bless the sufferers. There is one cottage by the road-side, and overlooking a good part of the Hurst and the scenery beyond, where, long before she became known to the world, a poor old relative of mine, a chronic invalid, delighted in nothing so much as talking of the way she visited and made inquiries about her without fuss or unwelcome freedom, and when any of the poor neighbours got hurt in the quarries or mines, she was always one of the first to offer them genuine help and solace. People wise in their generation, instead of imi- tating her, thought her rather eccentric ; but the wiser people of generations to come will pass a different verdict, and think nursing an honourable calling for her sake — especially after the fame she at length gained for the part she took in the Crimean war; since good nursing was getting sadly out of fashion in many quarters, until she arose and gave it new prestige by her heroic example. Holloway (commonly contracted into Howy) is a place that the wayfarer, of whatever rank, might long to loiter if not to LEA HURST AND IIOLLOWAY. 85 live in, a great portion of his days ; it is so sunnily situated, so clean and quiet, and one part of it is so well supplied with pure water by an upland rill. When first I knew it the in- habitants were but few ; but Mr, Sims has lately made such a great addition to the number of habitations for working people, and it is so convenient to Lea-mills as well as to the quarries and mines, that there is no wonder it should be grow- ing into a considerable village. There was something very agreeable to me, in my boyhood, in lingering among its simple denizens and listening to their traditions and passing experi- ences — none of which, however, were more interesting to a psychologist than what I am now about to relate, as happen- ing to a person still living there in Philip Spencer's cottage. Philip and his first wife, Martha, who was a cousin of mine, having no children of their own, adopted the little daughter of a young woman who went to live at Derby. The child called them father and mother as soon as she could speak, not re- membering her own parents — not even her mother. While yet very young, she one day began to cry out that there was a young woman looking at her, and wanting to come to her ; and according to her description of the person it must have been her mother. As no one else saw the apparition, and the child continued for more than half an hour to be very excited, Philip took her out of the house to that of a neighbour ; but the apparition kept them company, talking by the way. They then went to another house, where it accompanied them still, and seemed as though it wanted to embrace the child ; but at last vanished in the direction of Derby — as the little girl, now a young woman, describes it — in a flash of fire, Derby is about fourteen miles distant from Holloway, and as in that day there was neither railway nor telegraph, communication between them was much slower than at present. As soon, however, as it was possible for intelligence to come, the news arrived that the poor child's mother had been burnt to death ; that it hap- pened about the time when it saw her apparition; and, in 86 DAYS m DERBYSHIRE. short, that she was sorrowing and crying to be taken to the child during the whole of the time between being burnt and her expiration. This is no "idle ghost story," but a simple matter of fact, to which not only Philip, but all his old neigh- bours can testify ; and the young woman has not only related it more than once to me, but she told it in the same artless and earnest manner to my friend, the late Dr, Samuel Brown, of Edinburgh, who once called at the cottage with me, — repeat- ing it still more clearly to Messrs. Fowler and Wells on our recent visit. Those people who ridicule all psychical pheno- mena they may not themselves have seen, will possibly be disposed to explain away this fact; but all we need say to such is what Shakspere said long ago—" There are more things between heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Nor could I well quit Hollo way on this occasion without recording the story. mM '^^^^ "'^/i-'lr fmx -^^^^^^^^m ,»'•'' l^. '-im^i '{?'^^h m*^^ Ji "^^^m. 40% ^'^ the f inth. WINGFIELD MANOR. ^ T was in the pensive hush of a late autumn day, that these interesting ruins first struck my young eye and filled me with wonder and admiration : for until thus becoming acquainted with them, as they presented their antique and picturesque outlines in the softened light of evening, I did not remember even having heard them named, so that they had all the charm of a new discovery. It was impossible to have contemplated them in a 88 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. more favourable aspect. The little smoking cottages below lent an excellent foil to the lofty towers and turrets rising so statesquely against the silent sky; and there was a mellow tint on the remaining foliage of the surrounding woods — a corresponding music in the voices of rooks and daws gather- ing to their evening repose — a tenderness in the last rural sounds from the village behind me and the outlying farms — all helping to deepen and intensify the delight that had stolen into my heart, as I thus unexpectedly found myself in the England of an olden time. And this was Wingfield (properly Whinfield) Manor.* Of course its history soon grew familiar : for old people loved to talk about it to an inquiring lad; books came to my aid; its position between the Peak and the Plain, so near to where ran the old Roman road, awakened many speculative thoughts; the story of Mary Queen of Scots and of the battles of the Com- monwealth added abundance of interest; and so it became evermore to me a romance in stone, and moss, and verdure — a beacon on the shore of time, lit with "the light of other days." This dignified combination of castle and mansion was, ac- cording to Camden, built by Ralph Lord Cromwell, in the time of King Henry VI ; and Leland says of it that " yt far passith Sheffeld Castel." It must at all times have been an imposing feature of the landscape in which it stands, and in its original state a place of considerable importance. It is pretty well seen from Wingfield Station, approached from which by a walk through the village, it grows more imposing from every point at which it can be viewed. Its effect on the * I cannot fall in with the modem way of spelling this place with- out a protest : it ought to be spelt Whin^eld — the field of whin, furze or gorse ; as a neighbouring place is called Brackenfield — the field of bracken ; and another place not far ofi" Carnfield — from be- ing corn-growing land at the time these names were given. WINGFIELD MANOR. 89 eye and mind is very fine, after you have left the village by a shaded road, and come to the little stream winding at the base of the green eminence from which its old looped walls and hoary towers arise. There is one small portion just with- in the entrance occupied as a farm-house ; the remainder, which of yore resounded in turn with hospitahty and revelry, the captive's plaint, or the clang and thunder of battle, is now inhabited chiefly by the owl, the chough, and the raven — though the thrush and the dove are not altogether strangers there. According to Blore " the building consists of two square courts ; one of which to the north, has been built on all sides, and the south side of it forms the north side of the south court, which has also ranges of buildings on the east and west sides, and on part of the south. The latter court seems prin- cipally to have consisted of offices. The first entrance is un- der an arched gate-way on the east side of the south court. The arch of this gate-way being a semi-circle must have been erected subsequently to the rest 'itiiWififi^^^^^^HIIIStei.,--^ of the building. From hence the communication with the in- ner court is under an arched gateway in the middle of the I'JSBMI BHHHB^ II ^HE north side of the south court. One half of the range of build- ing to the right of the entrance into the north court seems origi- nally to have been used as a hall, which received light through a beautiful octagon window, and through a range of gothic win- dows to the south now broken away, and a corresponding range to the north. This part of the house, subsequent to its first erection, was divided and subdivided into several apartments, which have suffered the 90 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. same fate as the noble hall, whose magnificence their erection destroyed. In the other part of this range are the portal, and the remains of the chapel, and of the great state apartments, lighted through another rich gothic window. No part of the buildings on the east side of the court, (except a low wall,) now remains." From the north court is a striking view of the great tower ; while (continues Blore) of " the range of buildings on the west of this court, only the outer wall and some broken turrets survive." The woodcut at the commencement of this chapter will give an idea of one portion of these imposing ruins, but only a portion : it would be impossible to give the general effect in any single picture. The "great hall" referred to must have been indeed a noble room, seventy -two feet long and thirty-two wide. The crypt beneath it is the same size, supported by pillars. Its roof is beautifully groined, with large round bosses at the centres of the groins. The carved work is in good preservation, and the effect of the whole is to awaken admiration in every visitor. Such, in the latter part of the last century — and not much altered since in their general aspect — were the remains of a fortified mansion, in which at various times during nine years was confined, at the behest of Queen Elizabeth of England, Mary Queen of Scotland, in the custody chiefly of the Earl of Shrewsbury, husband to another redoubtable Elizabeth, subsequently the builder of Hard wick Hall. Queen Elizabeth was for more reasons than one jealous of her cousin Mary. She not only feared her as a possible rival for her throne, favoured greatly as she was by the Roman Catholics, but — vain herself of a reputation for some beauty which the poets of her reign had so profusely flattered — she disliked Mary's greater and more solid reputation for personal accomplishments and charms. This is remarkably illustrated in an anecdote that has often been told. Being one day tete-a-tete with Mary's ambassador, a most shrewd and canny Scot, and thinking that by her graciousness to him she had at last won him into the WINGFIELD MANOR. 91 mood for making an admission that would soon get bruited at all the courts of Europe, she put the question to him point hlanc, as to which he considered the most beautiful woman of the two. His reply, exceedingly characteristic of his diplo- matic office, was — " Why, if I must speak on the subject, I should say that your Majesty is the most beautiful woman in England, and Queen Mary the most beautiful woman in Scot- land." Mary's confinement at Wingfield (then spelt W infield) is supposed to have commenced in the year 1569, in which year an attempt to liberate her was made by Leonard Dacre. Her suite of apartments, it is generally beheved, was on the west side of the north court, the most beautiful part of the whole building, and communicating with the great tower, from which ishe could sometimes see the approach of her friends, with whom she carried on a secret correspondence that got many of them into trouble, and often aroused Elizabeth's jealousy and ire. This led at one time to the Earl of Shrewsbury being tempo- rarily superseded as her keeper by the Earl of Huntingdon. During the nine or ten years she was in Lord Shrewsbury's custody, she was at Chatsworth, Buxton, Sheffield, Worksop, (some say Hard wick, but that is doubtful,) Tutbury, Coventry, and other places, as well as Wingfield — one night at Derby, on her way from Wingfield to Tutbury, in a house that stood near the angle formed by what is now Gower-street and Bab- ington-lane. It is a remarkable fact, to which allusion is made by Mrs. Jameson, that every one of the numerous man- sions Mary was confined at in England, is now in ruins or en- tirely swept away. Even the old Hall of Chatsworth, where she stayed, was afterwards burnt down, and the old Hall of Hard wick (supposing she ever was there at all) was soon after- wards a ruin. She was at last beheaded at Fotheringay Castle, of which a very small portion only is left. Amongst those who attempted to liberate her here, besides Leonard Dacre, were a Mr. Hall, and the younger sons of the 92 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Earl of Derby, with others. Young George RoUeston, of Lea, a pensioner of Queen EHzabeth, — a neighbour, and perhaps a spy, on Anthony Babington, from whom he Hved only about half a mile, — seems to have acted the part of a detective on the occasion ; and, as we have said in a previous chapter, it led to Babington 's execution. From that time we have nothing very remarkable in the his- tory of Wingfield Manor till the days of Charles I, when it was alternately occupied by the Royalists under WilHam Caven- dish, Marquis of Newcastle, and the Parliamentarians, under Sir John Gell, of Ilopton. During that stormy period, there was much skirmishing and some hard fighting here. Prisoners of distinction were taken and retaken. One assault was com- menced on the north side, where no impression could be made ; but another, from Pentridge Common, directed by Sir John Gell, was successful, and Colonel Dalby, the governor, was killed during the siege, after which, June 23rd, 1646, Parlia- ment directed the place to be dismantled. In time it came into possession of the Halton family, by one of whom it was still more reduced for materials wherewith to build a modern mansion near ; but I have heard of a successor of his, in our own time, weeping because of some visiting goth having de- faced a single emblazoned stone. At present every care is taken to keep the whole fabric in the best possible preserva- tion, and strangers are admitted under regulations that secure it from further mutilation. In ancient time the domain of Whinfield was very exten- sive, and had two parks, one of which embraced a thousand acres, stretching as far as Pentridge in one direction and half way to Crich in another. No one with taste and feeling can wander near it without almost feeling as if he were reading history backwards, finishing at length with the Romans and ancient Britons: for the little river Amber winding through the vale, evidently received its name from the Romans ; and one half the name of Pent-ridge is as clearly British. Memo- WINGFIELD MANOR. 93 rials of the wars are frequently found in the fields, — cannon- balls and other missiles being taken home and treasured and much talked of by the people. And whether from Matlock or Cromford, by way of Lea Hurst and Crich ; or, by rail and up from the Wingfield Station ; the rambler will find a day spent in journeying and lingering here a day well worth remember- ing, whatever he may elsewhere see ; though much might be enjoyed in a single hour among the ruins, should time not allow him a longer stay. (Kkpter th^ §inik A GLANCE AT SCARSDALE. DISTRICT extending from Wingfield to the border of Yorkshire, and from the border of Nottingham- shire up beyond Chesterfield to Ashover, and includ- ing so large a portion of Derbyshire as a hundred and forty-four thousand acres or more, — giving also a title to a noble house, — cannot but embrace much that is interesting to the tourist, the naturalist, and the antiquary, though it has scarcely the fame of some other parts of the county. The rocks, or scaurs, from which it takes its name, are chiefly on its borders. Some of those near Ashover are very romantic ; but scarcely less so, on the oppo- site borders, are those of Pleasley Vale, where beautifully winds and spreads out the little river Meden beneath overhang- ing woods. Coming from the dells of Skegby, where lingers the classic name of Dodsley, the clear stream hastens on through this lovely defile ; and though it moves the machinery of several mills, its small lakelet and islet, as looked down upon from Mr. Hollins's mansion, are very lovely, where it pauses awhile, then winds away through opening meads into Sherwood Forest. Keeping still along the north-eastern verge of the hundred, we come to the village of ScarclifF, where another sweet rivulet A GLANCE AT SCARSDALE. 95 has sources among rocks that give the place its significant name. And by further pursuing the border of the county, we reach, in the course of a few miles, Markland Grips and Cress- well Crags, where, if one theory of geology be true, the country has been ripped into the most romantic ravines and gorges by some great convulsion of nature in ancient days ; or, according to another, and more modern hypothesis, the slow action of waters, now dwindled into a number of pretty tributaries to the Wollen, must have tried, as it has at last most richly re- warded, the patience of Time, Lonely, rugged, rifted and caverned— as I long ago described them more fully in " The Peak and the Plain," and very finely interspersed with ver- dure of every shade, are both Markland Grips and Cresswell Crags, causing me to speak of th^m in that work as " the un- obliterated footsteps of Nature, when, after superintending the erection of her subhme throne in the Peak, she passed into Nottinghamshire and planted Sherwood Forest." And how picturesque and delightful, as we draw nearer to Sheffield, and thence pass up through Abbey Dale, by the remains of Beauchief Abbey, towards Totley and Dore, whence descends that stream which Elliot calls " the Sheaf, that mourns in Eden ! " So back by Dronfield and Chesterfield, to Ashover again, and thence down the lovely vale of the Amber once more to Wingfield — we draw a somewhat oval hem round 'the district, corresponding in many places to that of the Romans, who made Chesterfield, in their day, in a cer- tain sense, its capital. No wonder that such a region should abound with the re- mains of old military roads and encampments, decayed castles and modern mansions — too many to note ; though one cannot pass them all without some inquiry about their names and to whom they belong or have belonged. The British road repaired by the Romans, and called Rykneld Street, coming from Little Chester to Chesterfield, passed along the ridge from Pentridge by Okerthorpe, Hallfield Gate, Higham, Stretton, (^.^., the town 96 • DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. on the street,) Clay-cross and Tupton. There is now a turn- pike road taking much the same track, and on which once ran the mail and several coaches from Derby to Chesterfield. In the days of our fathers, the Peacock Inn, at Okerthorpe, was a famous posting-house, from which a horse-post carried the London mail, by a branching road, to Alfreton, Sutton-in- Ashfield, and Mansfield. It is a great treat, in fine weather, to travel along this ridge, the Amber winding below among the greenest pastures, by Ogston Hall, (where Mr. Gladwin Turbutt has made many improvements,) and Ford House, where a ge- nuine specimen of rural gentility I once met at an agricultural dinner, old Mr. Langhorne, enjoys his own quaint thoughts, — wooded hills rising back till their dark masses fade at last into the deep blue of the North P,eak. And well would it be worth the rambler's while to diverge at Stretton, and go by Smithy- Moor Gate and Stubbin Edge to Ash over, glancing at the grey ruins of Eastwood old Hall by the way. A day round Ashover, spent on the dark rocks and sunny slopes, or among the pastoral homes and old lead-mines, would be its own reward. The valleys and surrounding hills abound with fair mansions and picturesque retreats, every one of which has a history of its own, sometimes extending far back beyond the conquest. From the time of Serb de Plesley, who was privileged to hold a manor here under the conquerors, to that of Milnes, occur the names of families, each of which marks an era in our national development ; and the names of places are also landmarks on the path of time. The family of Crich had once great possessions here, and one of the name, who died in reduced circumstances, in 1789, at the venerable age of 101, lies buried in the churchyard. — I dwelt at this place in the years 1852-3, and have given my impressions of it in the work already mentioned. It was a great pleasure to climb the country as far as the curious rock called Robin Hood's Mark — to look down on Overton Hall, where lived Sir Joseph Bankes, the botanist, after his voyage round the world with A GLANCE AT SCARSDALE. 97 Captain Cook ; to linger about the neat old Church, with its ta- pering spire, and look at the interesting memorials there ; to scale the rocks called the Fabric and gaze far abroad, Stubbin Edge, Stubbin Court, and Wingerworth Hall, near by, and the whole basin of Scarsdale eastward, with its towns, villages, churches, and ducal halls ; or to wander away up to Kelstedge by Marsh Green, where that brave old English parson, Mr. Nodder, a few years since, defended his house and family against some burglars from Birmingham, in a manner that will make his name famous as long as an inhabitant lingers in the valley to listen to, or tell the tale. Of Hard wick and Bolsover on the east I shall have more to say anon ; but keeping on the west side of Scarsdale for the present, a prettier day's tour could hardly be desired than to get out at Stretton station, and take the upland direction I have marked, then descend by South Stanage and Slate-pit Dale Bar towards Chesterfield, or by Deer-leap to Clay-cross station, and thence to Hard wick and Bolsover for a second day. The view from South Stanage, descending from Spite- winter, is one of the fairest among a thousand fair English scenes ; and come to it from whatever quarter you may, the walk or drive cannot but afford interest at every rise and turn. It is not more than four or five miles by the Chesterfield road from Matlock, and I suppose about the same distance from Chesterfield itself — that gathering of a spirited and intelligent population at the foot of the most crooked and singular church- spire that ever pointed from earth to heaven. Descending the vale of the Rother, by Staveley Works to Eckington, we reach Renishaw Hall, an elegant seat of the Sitwell family, on a rise to the left ; or turn to the right, up to Barlborough, where there is a dignified Elizabethan mansion built by Sir John Rodes, and approached by one of the finest over-arching avenues of trees in this part of the country. Southgate House, the seat of the Boden family, one of whom is the present Recorder of Defby, is among the last places of H 98 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. mark on the road to Worksop. Scarsdale ends a little way beyond it, at Whitwell, where the woody plain of Welbeck stretches out into Nottinghamshire. The district called the Hundred of Scarsdale has a character of its own very different from that of the country on either side. Until leavened by the immigration drawn hither by the opening of the railways, and by the extensive operations of the power- ful iron and coal companies, the population was mainly agri- cultural, and noted for being rather slow and sure, yet strong and hearty. Nevertheless there have been among its inhabi- tants many bright and quick men — scholars, poets, mechanics, and clever artizans — men of free thought and free action, who have done their country service ; and I am sorry that the space to which my pen is confined, will not let me enter upon some of their biographies. The famed Stephensons, father and son, chose Tapton House, near Chesterfield, for their residence. Of those I have known, the late Mr. D'Ewes Coke of Brook- hill Hall and Totley — a gentleman of great information and original talent — was a warm patron of whatever he thought useful in others ; and, though not without natural failings, he wore his worst side outwards, and in his ordinary dealings, was one of the most just and independent men I ever knew in the world. There was Thomas Brown, too, of South Normanton, with whom I have so often strolled down by the pleasant old domain of Carnfield Hall, and who composed many beautiful poems as he sat at work in his stocking-frame ; Samson the Potter, who travelled about with a donkey, scattering poetry broad-cast wherever he went ; and my old schoolmaster, Mr. William Mountany, who still lives at Hilcote, and who might be backed for classical and mathematical lore against half the schoolmasters in the hundred; with many others, on whose modesty, because they are yet living, I must not trespsiss. As for romantic legends, curious traditions, and historical incidents, Scarsdale so abounds with them that an entire volume might be filled with their briefest outlines. Topo- A GLANCE AT SCARSDALE. 99 graphers always love to dwell on that of the great Earl of Devonshire and his friends meeting in a little public-house at Whittington to plan the Revolution of 1688; and Miss Costello has founded a pretty but fanciful story on an effigy of the 13th century in ScarclifFe Church, of which Mr. Bateman in his " Mediaeval and Ecclesiastical Antiquities," says : — " In ScarclifFe church is a monu- ment representing the figure of a lady in a long gown and mantle, with plaited hair, and a rich coronet on her head, which is pillowed upon a lion, while some other ani- mal is placed at her feet. She holds a child on her left arm, whose feet rest upon a foliated crocket. On a long scroll held by the child is the following inscription in Leonine verse, en- graved in Lombard ic capitals : ' Hie sub humo strata, mulier jacet tumulta Constans et grata, Constancia jure vocata Cu genetrice data, proles requiescit humata. Quamquam peccata, capita ejus siut cumulata, Crimine purgata, cum prole Johanne beata. Vivat prefata, sanctorum sede locata. Am.en.' It is most probable that this lady was one of the baronial family of Frecheville, which possessed the manor of ScarclifFe for several generations, till it was forfeited to the crown in 1275." But, after all, though there are several places more interest- ing perhaps on the verge of Scarsdale, there is scarcely within it any spot more beautiful than Sutton. Sutton is merely another word for South- town, and it is said there are ninety- nine places of the name in England — several of them, including Sutton-in-Ashfield, not very far from this. This one is some- times for distinction called Sutton-in-the-Dale, sometimes Sut- 100 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. ton Scarsdale, The Hall and Church are together, near the centre of a scene that might have been copied from Arcadia, presenting to the eye the finest possible foil to Bolsover Castle and Hard wick Hall, to which it looks up — not humbly as if it felt great inferiority, but rather proudly, as if to say, " you are gainers rather than losers by having such a neighbour adding its beauty to your magnificent prospect." Yet modern as is the style of Sutton Scarsdale Hall, it stands on the site of one more ancient — so ancient as to have been given by Wulfric Spott, in the reign of the Saxon King Ethelred, to Burton Abbey. Through how many vicissitudes it has since passed there is not space for us now to record, though much might be said of the lords in whose hands it has been held, and the suf- fering it sustained in civil wars, till at length it came into the possession of the family of Arkwright, who have added some- thing to it architecturally, and that without detracting from its harmonious relations to the rural and historical scenes around it. Chapter ih (gifuenth. BOLSOVER CASTLE ijIVALLING each other in their command of the land- scape on which we have been already dilating — yet not dividing, but mutually adding very greatly to its charms — are Bolsover Castle and Hardwick Hall, so often mentioned together, and so often, like Haddonand Chatsworth, visited in one excursion, that we might not improperly have included them in one chapter. Leaving the populous town of Chesterfield, with its crooked spire, and all the interest that gathers round a place which, from the time it was occupied by the Romans till now, has ever been one of great local importance, we find our way by a rough and hilly road, through Calow and Duckmanton, — glad when the marks of mineral vanish, and are succeeded almost entirely by those of rural life, and the proud Keep of Bolsover 102 DAYS m DERBYSHIRE. Castle — an exact semblance, it is said, of the ancient Norman one which pre-occupied the same site— breaks on the eye so suddenly, that the effect would be startling to a wayfarer not already prepared for it. The feeling with which Hardwick is approached is very different, though Hardwick is quite as im- posing in another way. The Norman part of Bolsover Castle, though much more ancient and martial in the style of its archi- tecture, from some cause looks at once so new and old that the gazer feels himself a being of two distinct ages ; while Hardwick, though built nearly half of glass, has a frame- work of stone so hoary, and is altogether so unique, as to win him almost en- tirely to itself, and make him forget all times but that in which it first calmly and grandly rose over the wide champaign. There is a sound of eld in the very name of Bolsover —once spelt Belesover— carrying one back to days almost pre-historic. Wherever we find the prefix of Bel to the name of a place in England, unless it happens to have been given by modern whim or caprice, it indicates a spot known and occupied by the more ancient races and worshipped upon by the Druids, and many are the signs of British remains about Bolsover. The Rev. John Hamilton-Gray, vicar of the parish and resi- dent in the Castle, very felicitously started with this idea, and noted every link which tradition, archaeology and history could add to the chain of events, as the aboriginal Coritani, the Ro- man Cohorts, the Saxon and Scandinavian immigrants, the Norman conquerors, the Knights of chivalry, the merry men of Robin Hood, the feudal nobles and their retainers, the champions of the White and Red Roses, the courtly hosts and guests of the days which followed, the warriors of the Com- monwealth, the equestrian Duke and literature-loving Duchess of Newcastle, with the more familiar men of modern times, came in procession down long centuries to the scene where he was addressing, on the subject, a social mass of the people gathered for intellectual recreation within the Castle walls, on a summer evening in the year 1861. BOLSOVER CASTLE. 103 I was there that evening — a welcome guest. Having in the early morning left the fair plains of Surrey by rail, passed the Crystal Palace, and come through the throbbing heart of London, then across the ripe wheat -fields of Bedford and the green meads of Trent, catching sights of many a busy town and sunny village by the way, the whole face of old England seemed, as I came along, to be lit with a bright smile that day; and as at length I neared Bolsover from Chesterfield, there rested a golden light upon its castle-crowned steep, and such strains of music came forth from and died back again in its roofless halls, as might well in such circumstances, have kindled the coldest soul with poetic and patriotic fire. The Castle now consists besides the restored Norman fort- ress, (which is a square mansion, with turrets, and a high tower at the north-east corner,) of the vast range of unroofed buildings where, on that calm summer eve, the members of the local Mechanics' Institution, and visitors by hundreds, had assembled under the auspices of Mr, and Mrs. Hamilton-Gray, to celebrate its anniversary with a sober repast and speeches, followed by music and the merry dance. There was a similar demonstration, though on a much more magnificent scale, when the late venerable Duke of Portland entered on his eighty- first year. As day fight died away and an artificial illumination followed among the ivied walls, it was a great treat to climb with my host and hostess to the top of the Norman tower and look down and listen. To me there seemed to be rising the echo of a thousand years. Often when a youth I had visited the town below, and marked the relics of old fortifications extending outside it, or the beautiful country stretching far away. The church, with its many monuments and its far-seen spire; the large disused market-place, and quaint old inns; several shops turned into private dwellings and growing grass in some of the streets, and the castle on which I now stood looking down on all, — had touched me in those days with a feeling kindred to that which comes from the reading of ancient 104 DATS IN DERBYSHIRE. legends, and spoke of the contrasts there must have been when the lord of the place gave renowned hospitality to King and Court, and Ben Jonson was employed in affording them theatrical entertainment. And now thought went still farther back, to the times of Leuric the Saxon, and the Peveril of Doomsday-book, (one of whose descendants had to forfeit the lordship for poisoning Ranulph Earl of Chester, in the year 1153) ; to Richard the lion-hearted conferring it on his brother John, upon his mar- riage in 1189; to its being left, when Richard was absent in the Holy Land, in care of Richard del Pec— a Norman render- ing of Richard of the Peak ; to King John, two years after his accession, appointing Geoffrey Luttrell and others to enclose a large park for him ; and then while it was in possession of the insurgent barons, in 1215, to William Ferrars, Earl of Derby, raising troops and taking the castle by assault for the King, who thereupon appointed him governor. In the following year, 1216, we see Gerard de Furnival appointed by the King " to reside in it, with his wife and family, for the better preserva- tion of peace in those parts." Then how it came under the rule of governor after governor, in quick succession, to the Howards, Talbots, very briefly to the Byrons, and subsequently to the Cavendishes; next to John Holies, Earl of Clare ; after- wards to Harley, Earl of Oxford ; and finally to the Bentincks, Dukes of Portland, in whose possession it remains — and occu- pied not by a military governor, placed to keep the people round it in awe ; but by a clergyman, as we see, who hoists the beacon of intelligence, and invites them to come and scan the notches on its long calendar of national progress. Not the least interesting feature of the scene below, as we gaze down from this strong and lofty fabric, is the broad and solid " Bailey Wall " by which the Court is surrounded, and which in its turn was once again further guarded by a steep em- bankment. This rampart, ascended by flights of steps, anciently protected by a parapet, embattled and pierced with loop-holes. BOLSOVER CASTLE. 105 through which missiles could be projected, would be no mean addition to any place of defence ; and though, as Mr. Gray, in an interesting lecture he once gave on the subject, well ob- serves, this cannot be called an original specimen of a Norman fortress, because of the many alterations and repairs it has undergone, it has at least the merit of giving a good idea of one, because of the care with which the old features have been preserved in its restoration, even though a few Elizabethan ones have been added by the memorable Countess of Shrews- bury and her successors. Beyond the Bailey Wall, stands the magnificent riding- house, erected by the celebrated Marquis (afterwards Duke) of Newcastle. Its somewhat modern French physiognomy con- trasts strangely, yet not unpleasantly, with the Norman Castle and the ivied ruins beyond, to which it forms a foil ; and those ruins would of themselves, were there no other vestige of an- tiquity in the neighbourhood, be worthy of a long pilgrimage by archseologist or historian. The large gallery, 220 feet in length and 22 in width, had rooms corresponding with it to complete the suite; and now taken altogether — Castle and court, rampart, riding-house, and ruin — the whole may be said to give us such a history in stone as few places of the same extent could surpass in England. There have been so many speculations about the dates of different parts of these erections, that I embody with great pleasure some notes kindly furnished me by the Rev. J. H. Gray himself, who says : — " The castellated portion of Bolsover, which is still inhabited and is in perfect repair, is reared exactly on the early Norman foundations ; is of the precise extent and size of the Norman castle ; and is built with the ancient Norman materials. Not only are the foundations Norman, the lowest portions of the castle are original; and if the lower walls were divested of their external facings, we should find the Norman masonry. In traversing the upper shrubbery walk which winds along the 106 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. steep bank under the Bailey Wall and below the Castle, the original Norman building is plainly to be perceived far above the foundations. The Norman character, moreover, has been strictly preserved in many very remarkable peculiarities of the internal arrangements, as well as in the strong central pillars and arches which distinguish most of the rooms in the two first stories Any one conversant with Mediaeval English Archi- tecture will, at once, perceive in the interior of the mansion, the reproduction of Norman peculiarities not belonging to Elizabethan houses. " The more modern ruins on the terrace have given rise to many idle surmises. Some have asserted that they were not built by the Marquis of Newcastle until after the Restoration. This is sufficiently refuted by the engravings in his great work on Horsemanship, published during his exile, in which the buildings on the terrace are delineated as they at present stand. And moreover, how could the Marquis of Newcastle have en- tertained King Charles, Queen Henrietta Maria, their court, and the gentry of the vicinity, if his accommodations had been limited to the old castle and to the original dimensions of the structure on the terrace ? " Some persons have even carried the absurdity of their speculations so far as to doubt whether the palatial building on the terrace ever was finished ! This is sufficiently refuted by the fact that Bassano in his " Church Notes " mentions the apartments in this building as furnished about the year 1710, and describes the pictures which were then in the different rooms. It may be added that the Duchess of Newcastle in some of her letters complains of the shameful way in which the Republicans had irijured her Lord's new work on the terrace." And now, on taking leave, let us not forget the interior as it at present appears, in the dim but appropriate evening-light. Even the servants' hall and other rooms on the basement story are noble and lofty. In the first story, as it is explained to us, the pillars, though much more ornamented, rest so exactly over BOLSOVER CASTLE. 107 those of the basement, that they might almost be regarded as a continuation. The arched roof of the drawing room is most beautifully carved— the central pillars being as elegant as massive, and the walnut wainscoting richly carved and gilt. The furniture of this room is chiefly Elizabethan; yet objects more modern are not wanting to indicate the affections of its present denizens, as witness that exquisite statue of their only daughter, executed in marble at Rome. The ante-room, draw- ing-room, and dining-room, are tastefully furnished in the style of Elizabeth and James the First's reigns. The entrance-hall is fitted up with oaken cabinets. The only large room in the mansion is the " star chamber." It is on the second story, is more than forty feet long, and is fitted up as a library and mu- seum, including a splendid collection of Etruscan vases from Italy, and a number of interesting relics of the royal family of Stuart. And, indeed, the whole place so abounds with modern collections and adaptations of ancient things, as at almost every step to indicate the taste and research of Mr. Hamilton- Gray, who has resided in it more than thirty years. Though furnished somewhat differently, perhaps, yet in many features just the same, must this famous place have been when the first Duke and Duchess of Newcastle retired from public life, and making the most of their shattered fortunes, dwelt here — he, according to her own words " pleasing himself" with a few horse and manual exercises, whilst she devoted herself, though not without aid from him with the pen, to literature —to philo- sophy, poetry, and the drama — she dying in 1673, he in 1676, and both being buried in Westminster Abbey. Such is a brief outline of this striking place and its history. It is too much regarded as a mere outpost of the county to be visited by every pilgrim of the Peak. But those who having never seen it think themselves conversant with all the attrac- tions of Derbyshire, have still a great treat to come; and a day, or many days, at Bolsover, Hardwick, and the neighbour- hood, would well repay a visit from any part of the country. ^h^i^Y i^ Wvcdfik HARDWICK HALL. S a dark flashing eye to the human countenance, so is Hardwick to the face of the country — dark and bright at once, and glancing far and wide. Mrs. Jameson says its builder " must have had a passion for light." What truth there may be in the popular idea that it has as many windows as there are days in the year, with as many divisions as there are hours, and as many panes as minutes, I cannot pretend to know ; but the light of the evening, as of the morning sun, is flashed back from its vast windows, as by burnished mirrors set in an ancient framework of stone, and makes it, whenceso- ever beheld, the cynosure of the landscape. There are many places in England with the name of Hard- wick, but this is by far the most noted of them all. Its history from the beginning is curious and interesting. At first, as appears by its name, it was a herd-wick, or place for the hous- ing of the herd ; and whether it had that relation to some other place of distinction, as the neighbouring Hardwick of Kirkby had to Felley Abbey, I am not able to tell. But in early Anglo-Norman times it had become a place of impor- tance. In the year 1203, King John granted it to Andrew de Beauchamp, and eighty-five years after, William de Stanesby (Stanesby is a hamlet hard by,) held it of John le Savage, by HARDWICK HALL. 109 the annual rendering of three pounds of cinnamon and one of pepper. For what qualities the said John was known to win him the surname of the Savage, or why he should be so fond of spices, or why a Stanesby man should be engaged to supply them, and so magnificent a return should be made, does not appear ; but the manor, after passing to William's grandson, John, in the year 1330, was in that of the Hard wicks, (a family that might well be proud to take its name from the place,) for six generations. The last of the name to whom the manor belonged, was Elizabeth, known in history and song, and in many a popular tradition, as "Bess of Hardwick." She was married while very young to a youth, Robert Barley, or Barlow, who shortly died and left her wilh a large addition to her already ample estates. She then married Sir William Cavendish, from whom descends the noble Duke who now owns the domain ; afterwards to Sir WiUiam St. Loe, a Captain of Queen Elizabeth's Guard ; and finally the Earl of Shrews- bury, some of whose family marrying with her own, added to and consolidated her still greater possessions, and so completed the foundation of a house represented by a most distinguished line of Earls and Dukes — the Dukes of Devonshire—of whom the present noble Lord Lieutenant of the County is seventh Duke and ninth Earl. If Bess of Hardwick had a passion for light, she must have had at least an equal passion for building. The mansion she inherited from her forefathers was a hunting-palace of great magnificence, as its ivied ruins still standing by this more mo- dem house still prove. But it did not content her ambitious and strongly executive spirit. Phrenology and physiognomy plainly tell us that she had abundance of constructiveness as well as destructiveness ; and she here gratified them both amazingly, though not to her heart's content— -as witness Bolsover Castle and many another costly fabric which she made herself conspicuous in building or renovating. There is a well-known story of a prophecy that she would never die as 110 DAYS m DERBYSHIRE. long as she continued building, and that when at length she gave up the ghost, it was because the frost had made it im- possible for her workmen to proceed. But this was not while they were building the present Hall of Hardwick, in which, when completed, she could proudly sit and gaze on that of her ancestors, so capriciously dismantled and reduced to ruin ; for here it still flourishes under her signature of E. S., (Eliza- beth Shrewsbury,) repeated in every possible place, to show how determined she was to stamp with her own individuality whatever engaged her thought or hand. There are many ancient roads about Hardwick, strikingly characteristic of the places from and to which they tend — some winding up among old yews and oaks, from Sherwood Forest ; some through rocky and streamy hollows, by lonely clacking mills; some from the neighbouring villages and hamlets, crossed here and there by wide-swinging gates ; and others, beautifully laid out — broad, ducal drives and rides, proclaiming that the scenes they lead to, though ancient, are not too old to be usefully enjoyed. If you approach it from Bolsover Castle, it may be by Palterton, Glapwell Hall, and Rowthorne, while the rich view of Scarsdale, with Sutton Hall in its centre, and the hills of the North Peak beyond it, delights you all the way. If you come from Chesterfield, why, turn down from Heath village. If from Clay Cross railway-station, go up by North Wingfield, down by Astwood, and thence along the field-path, and be as happy as I once was myself, when con- ducting a band of boys and telling them local traditions as we went along. If you go from Wingfield or Alfreton, find your way through Tibshelf and Harstoft ; or from Mansfield, then up by Pleasley village and Newbound Mill. But if frqm the Sutton-in-Ashfield station, on the Erewash Valley Line, then you cannot do better than go by Skegby and Teversall, which would make a walk of about five miles for the willing pedes- trian ; while those not disposed to walk so far, may run by rail to Mansfield and there hire a vehicle according to choice HARDWICK HALL. Ill at the Swan inn. There is a good inn, the Devonshire Arms, (called in my young days the New Inn, though centuries old,) at the foot of the hill on the south-west side of Hardwick Park, to which carriages may be taken, and accommodation secured by those who require it. But whatever the way by which the Hall is reached, there is great reward as, with its ample park around it, well- wooded and well stocked with deer of various kinds, it more and more wins, then commands and rivets attention. In approaching from the south-west the ruins of the old Hall seem to form one mass with the new one ; nor is this illusion entirely dispelled till the place is gained. This done, the distinction is seen, and the contrast is very striking — the Elizabethan mansion, with its outposts quaint and formal, yet statesque and imposing, standing quite apart, as if ashamed to be one with, yet not altogether ashamed to own, its elder relative hard by ; the latter, broken, fragmentary, pensive, and highly picturesque, lingering as though it mourned having been banished before its time into the past, or as if it still waited till the newer house, already ancient and hoary, should be like itself, a ruin — which simihtude may Heaven long time forfend ! The effect is very different as you approach from the north-east. From that side the new House has a dignified and solitary look, and is so little defended or encumbered by anything external, as the antlered deer graze just before its low-descending windows, that one al- most marvels at the mingled air of dignity, security and free- dom which reigns around it. It unmistakeably testifies to hav- ing been built in a peaceful reign ; and how such a place could have escaped unscathed in the days of civil conflict and vio- lence, when Bolsover, Sutton, Wingfield, and even Newstead, suffered so severely, speaks well for the reputation of the owner, or the deferential feeling of the belligerents for so noble a pile. Standing on the verge of a plain, on the eastern border of the county, about seven miles from Chesterfield, six from Mansfield, and three from Bolsover Castle, — its park descend- 112 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. ing abruptly on the western side down to the there reserved waters of a little rivulet, and extending for some distance on the east in a perfect level — Hardwick Hall has great advan- tage of position, and is one of the finest specimens of unde- cayed Elizabethan architecture in the land. It commands views stretching far up into the Peak of Derbyshire and the hills of West Yorkshire ; and, in a contrary direction over the woody plains of what, in the days when it was built, was Sherwood Forest. It is a building of light grey stone, to which time, the weather, and vegetation, have here and there given a slight dash of green. The east and west fronts have low piazzas, and great square towers give finish and effect to the ends. Open parapets surround the roof, distinguished by a frequent recurrence of the initials E. S. and the coronet in stone. The flower-garden, at the west front, which is entered from the park by a gate between octagonal lodges, is laid out in keeping, with the style of the building; and horticulture, like architecture, is made to do homage to the memory of "E. S.," the date of the building being also preserved with the initials, in carefully cultivated verdure and flowers. You enter the great hall, and find most things there in keep- ing with the external aspect — much as the proud daughter of an ancient race of hunters left it. The dark wainscoting, the heavy gallery with its oaken balustrade, and a magnificent pair of elk's horns, branching out to a width of nine feet, all strike the eye, and modern taste also asserts its sway in a fine statue in Maltese stone, of Mary Queen of Scots, by Westmacott, on a pedestal of variegated stone in front of which is inscribed — "Maria Regina Scotorum, Nata 1542; a suis in exilium acia, 1568 ; ab hospita neci data, 1587." — You pass up to the chapel and note its rare altar-cloth, and the pictures of saints under canopies of wrought needle work, hung round the rails. You see the great dining room on the same floor, over the chimney-piece of which is the date of 1597 — the year in which it is supposed the edifice was completed. Then HARDWIOK HALL. 113 there is the state-room of audience, nearly sixty-five feet long, by thirty-three wide, and more than twenty-six high. At one end is a state canopy, and in another place a bed with most ancient hangings. The story of Ulysses is represented on the rich tapestry with which this room is hung, and plaster figures in bos relief add their mythical tale. On the same floor is the famous Portrait Gallery, a hundred and seventy feet long and twenty-six wide, containing tapestry probably brought fi:om the old house, or from Chatsworth, and bearing the date of 1478 ; and though many of the portraits are copies, some of them have great interest. There is nothing more invidious than, in a flying sketch, to specify a few in so great a number and leave the rest unnoticed ; yet are there some, not only in this gallery but in other parts of the house, one does not wish to forget — historical as well as family por- traits. Queen Elizabeth is there in her well-known costume ; Mary Queen of Scots, her beauty paling ; and gentle, sedate and sweet, the Lady Jane Grey. The Countess of Shrewsbury, the builder of the mansion, of course is there, and many mem- bers or connections of the Cavendish family distinguished both in earher and later times. And there is one portrait which, while kings and queens, gallant lords and ladies fair, are un- named, is always noticed by the well-read class of visitors — that of Thomas Hobbes, "the philosopher of Malmesbury,*' who lived some time as a tutor in the family, and of whom several curious anecdotes are related. One of them is, that every evening, when his duties of tutor had ceased and those of student commenced, that nothing might interrupt him, he was wont to have five or six pipes charged with tobacco and laid parallel on the table before him; then taking them up to smoke in the order in which they lay, and lighting each one in its turn as its precursor was finished, as soon as the last was burnt out he would quit his studies for the night and retire. He died in the ninety-second year of his age, and his remains are interred at the neighbouring parish church of I 114 DAYS IN DERBYSHIRE. Ault Hucknall, where also repose the ashes of some of the Family. It would require much more space than this little book will afford me, to describe all the tapestries with their stories, the historical relics, and the pictures that abound, or even the rooms that contain them, as they ought to be described. And indeed Mrs. Jameson, William Howitt, and other favorite writers, have rendered it needless here to make the attempt. Nor need I revive the old question as to whether Mary Queen of Scots was ever confined here or no. She might possibly have been in the old house, on a brief visit or call, while in custody of the Earl of Shrewsbury; but the new house was not built be- fore her death. It is true that over a door of one of the bed- rooms are her arms and cypher, and in another room are me- morials of the needle- work she is said to have done for the beguilement of her captivity — including a bed, a set of hang- ^ings and some chairs. But it is pretty certain that these must have been brought from Chats worth, or other places, since she was very long in the custody of the Earl, and at many places ; while nothing would be more natural than that, after her death, ^as many of her things as could be collected would be brought to one place as to a sort of reliquary ; and where so Hkely, after the old house of Chats worth was burnt and that of Hard- ' wick dismantled, as here ? There is no need to resort to fiction or fable to render Hard- wick, old or new, interesting : it has an interest of its own surpassing all coined romance— a charm felt by every visitor but which it is impossible to convey in words. Go in whatever season, or approach it from whatever quarter we may, there is ■ about it an air of its own— an unborrowed grandeur — that not many other houses, if any, of the same rank and age can boast. And passing on from the new to the ruins of the old house which has one room left entire, as an index to the amplitude an6 magnificence of its prime, what a day-dream might not the an- tiquary, the archaeologist, the painter, or the poet, enjoy! HARD WICK HALL. 115 That old room, fifty-five feet six inches long, by thirty feet six inches wide, and twenty-four feet six inches high, is said to have been a model for the large room at Blenheim ; and when one looks at the emblematic devices in plaster which still line its walls, and think of the noble landscapes the views from its windows commanded, it gives one more faith in the taste of other days than modern scepticism accords, and wins deep re- spect for the spirit that now delights in preserving it as much as possible from further decay. ^^^A ViJjfcV.vA'.iiC tejj'^i^HjBv----- - -/