mmm 
 
 W'i^Mm 
 
 %m&4^ 
 
 wk liw 
 
 
 
 y<- 
 
 Class ~M b^O 
 
 Book 3 V^q . $' 
 
 *«! 
 
 
 
 
 C ' 
 
 MS^ 
 
 djR Spiffed 
 

 
 mmmm: 
 
 
 Wfi^lKi^^^^ 
 
 
 ^&' : - 
 
 
 
 'ESiifflMp 
 

 # 
 
 L 
 

VIGNETTES 
 
 DERBYSHIRE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF ''THE LIFE OF A BOY. 
 
 A land of brooks of water: of fountains, and depth?, that 
 spring out of the hills. 
 
 DEUTERONOMY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR G. AND. W. B. WHITTAKER. 
 
 AVE-MARIA-LANE. 
 
 1824. 
 
I 
 
 
 *-: 
 
 ■40 
 
 L O N D ON: 
 
 PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET. 
 

 TO 
 
 F. L. CHANTRY, Esq., R.A., F.R.S. 
 
 To him whose talents have added dis- 
 tinction to Derbyshire, and destined Norton 
 to be immortalized with the name of 
 Chantry, even as Urbino became with that 
 of Raffaelle, these shadows of his native 
 country are most respectfully inscribed. 
 
 MARY STERNDALE. 
 
 Sheffield, 1824. 
 

PREFACE. 
 
 It has been generally admitted, that the inhabi- 
 tants of mountainous regions feel a livelier attach- 
 ment to their native home, than those who reside in 
 
 more fertile and cultivated districts and so it is. 
 
 The Swiss stand foremost on the record— the Scotch 
 follow closely in their local affections. The Arab 
 of the Desert is identified with the land of his birth 
 and why it is so, those who have felt and che- 
 rished this love of country can readily say, 
 
 Why the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, 
 But bind them to their native country more. 
 
 Separated at all times by toilsome heights and ex- 
 tensive moors, and half the year by vapours, clouds 
 and darkness, the intercourse of friends and neigh- 
 
bours, the glow of hospitality, the spirit of social 
 happiness, and the association of personal communi- 
 cation, exist with more ardency, and is displayed 
 with more energy, than where refinement polishes 
 manners, and complaisance supersedes feeling ; and 
 thus the social principle, from not being exhausted 
 in daily intercourse with indifferents, gains strength 
 and vigour from the interruption it is compelled to 
 endure. 
 
 Confiding that the inhabitants of our English 
 Apennines feel the same endearing sentiments to- 
 wards their own Hills and Dales, their Moorlands 
 and their Mountains, to them this little volume of 
 Derbyshire Localities, written from personal feeling 
 and observation, is offered. 
 
 To those who are not the children of its soil, such 
 glimpses of their own England may be accepted; 
 whilst to others who are far away from the White 
 Isle of their birth, they may come over their souls 
 like music in the night, awakening them to fond and 
 
home recollections ; they will feel, though the work 
 be simple, the subject is elevated ; that it is the first 
 and last sentiment that enters into, and presides in 
 the mind of man. 
 
 No where he thinks the sun so mildly gleams, 
 As on the banks where first he drank its beams : 
 So green no other mead, so smiles no other land ! 
 
 Where'er he wanders, his returning mind, 
 Feels without it, e'en Paradise unblest — 
 Oh be the boding true that swells his breast ! 
 
 To lay him in its lap, amidst his sires reclin'd ! 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Ashford-in-the-Water 1 
 
 Hathersage ♦ 8 
 
 MonsalDale, with Cresbrook...... 33 
 
 Wardlow-Meers a •• 51 
 
 Tideswell Church , 59 
 
 CheeTorr ...... 79 
 
 Stanton- Woodhouse 83 
 
 Norton ,. fc 90 
 
 Norton-Lees 99 
 
 Duchess of Devonshire *..... 106 
 
 Countess of Besborough 120 
 
 Eyam, with Miss Seward 125 
 
I 
 
 ASHFORD-TN-THE-WATER. 
 
 During a short autumnal visit, in 1822, 
 amidst the sweetest and most sylvan part of 
 the Peak of Derbyshire, the little village of 
 Ashford-in-the- Water was not the least attrac- 
 tive. Possessing those requisites that adorn 
 and accommodate a village residence — re- 
 quisites that, whilst they contribute to the 
 conveniences of its inhabitants, are pleasing 
 to the eye of the traveller, and gratifying to 
 the heart of humanity — a corn-mill, with its 
 appendages of water-wheels and water- falls; 
 an ancient church, with its grass-grown burial 
 ground; a long-extended bridge, neat cot- 
 tages, and a village green, with wood and 
 
2 ASHFORD-IN-THE- WATER. 
 
 water interspersed, as its significant name 
 denotes. Though placed at the extremity of 
 one of the wildest of the dales, Demon's Dale, 
 and in the vicinity of those mountain fractures, 
 through which the Wye forces its rocky chan- 
 nel, it is cheerful, open, and airy; presenting 
 amidst and aloof from its village houses, two 
 or three of a superior order, the association 
 of whose inhabitants must be of a higher 
 nature. 
 
 But the gem of Ashford is yet untold. 
 Passing the village on the Manchester road 
 we enter a gently marked hollow way, 
 bounded on the right by a steep orchard-slope, 
 and on the left by a high wall over-hung with 
 lofty trees, that skreen the roof and chimnies 
 of a house apparently the residence of some 
 of the gentry of the country, to which the 
 close folding gates that open from the road 
 present an access. If by favour or presump- 
 
ASHFORD-IN-THE-WATER. 3 
 
 tion you pass their barrier, and proceed a 
 hundred paces down a confined carriage way, 
 you will arrive in line with the front of the 
 house, and peep within the casket where lies 
 the emerald treasure. 
 
 The house, " above a cot, below a seat/' is 
 not alone the property of his Grace the Duke 
 of Devonshire, but the occasional residence. 
 It stands under the shadow of those lofty 
 trees that exclude all objects but those they 
 surround. The capacious bow- window of an 
 oblong dining-room expands upon the gravel 
 walk adjoining the soft green turf that almost 
 imperceptibly slopes to the water's edge ; not 
 an artificial lake or forced fish-pool, but the 
 sounding, sparkling Wye, that, with all the 
 freshness of a mountain stream, with all the 
 windings of its characteristic course, with 
 all the beauty of its living waters, rushes 
 through the sylvan domain. 
 b 2 
 
4 ASHFORD-JN-THE- WATER. 
 
 Fronting the windows a light bridge unites 
 the two savannas ; the opposite turf rising 
 gradually to its extremity, is also bounded 
 by its grove of trees, that skirts the extended 
 bank. The lawn on each side the river is 
 broken only by little patches of the choicest 
 flowers, and the mould from whence they 
 spring is covered with mignonette, whose 
 rich perfume fills the sweet air with its fra- 
 grance, rising as incense to hallow this temple 
 of the Floral, of the sylvan, of the lucid deities. 
 The house is covered, from the base to the 
 chimney's topmost ledge, with trellis; and 
 when the climbers begin to ascend, and the 
 creepers to run, the passion-flower to sanc- 
 tify, and the clematis to empurple, it will 
 indeed become a perfect bower of beauty ; 
 and it is a sweet reflection that he, who a 
 prince in the palace of his forefathers, upon 
 the banks of the Derwent, who is in posses- 
 
ASH FORD -IN THE- WATER. 5 
 
 sion of all that rank, and station can bestow, 
 that wealth can give, and ambition desire, 
 selects and adopts this rustic hijou> this verd- 
 unique, this little fishing-house, on the banks 
 of the winding Wye ; which, after having 
 run its race with mountain swiftness, through 
 the sylvan hamlet of King's Sterndale, by the 
 wild solitudes of Chee Torr, the rocky passes 
 of Miller's Dale, the deep clefts of Cresbrook, 
 and the fairy scenes of Monsal, wantons and 
 sports beneath the eye of the Lord of Har- 
 tington, from whence its native waters spring, 
 before it take its final way to the shining 
 east, and mixes with the classic waves of 
 Derwent. 
 
 There, perhaps, may the Duke of Devon- 
 shire look around, and say with complacent 
 feelings subdued from the world ; with the 
 hereditary feelings of she who bore him, and 
 whose memory he sanctifies : « Here is enough 
 B 3 
 
6 ASH FORD- IN- THE- WATER. 
 
 for the heart of man, the rest is my country's 
 and my forefathers' !" Perhaps, like the great 
 statesman of Elizabeth, may, after he has 
 passed the humble gates, take off his courtly 
 robes, and say, " There lie, my Lord Chancel- 
 lor !" and in sport, even as I did in thought, 
 amplify comparison upon the sweet enchant- 
 ment. 
 
 To Chatsworth, gorgeous Chatsworth, it is 
 but a light trinket hung to a costly watch ; 
 or a single blossom of the jasmine by the side 
 of the imperial rose ; or a solitary star, sail- 
 ing in the wake of the resplendent moon ; or 
 the scent of the violet, that rises upon the 
 air, which the perfumes of Arabia have ex- 
 hausted ; or the song of the robin, after the 
 full choirs of the groves had died away ; or 
 the emerald light of the glow-worm shining 
 upon the darkness that succeeded the blazing 
 torches ; or the shepherd's pipe upon the 
 
ASH FORD-IN- THE- WATER. 7 
 
 mountains, when the echoes of the brazen 
 trumpets had ceased ; or the still small voice 
 of grateful praise, when the pealing anthem, 
 and the loud response no longer filled the 
 cathedral's lofty arches : — it was all this, and 
 more ; itwas nature's lullaby from the tumult 
 of the world ; the eye revelling in its beauty, 
 and the mind reposing in its quietness, whilst 
 its balmy sweetness pervaded the purest joy 
 of sense, and all its green attractions, and its 
 lucid animations, took captive the heart of 
 woman, who saw in its combined delights the 
 reflection of her primeval home. 
 
 b 4 
 
( 8 ) 
 
 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 In Doomsday -Book £i Heather-edge" 
 
 Induced by the love of Derbyshire — love 
 connected with the unanalyzed enjoyment of 
 childhood, the conscious pleasures of youth, 
 the remembrance of beloved friends, and an 
 innate feeling forks peculiar scenery — 1 joined 
 a lady and gentleman in a little pedestrian 
 tour across the high moors, that rise westward 
 of the south of Yorkshire, having never pre- 
 viously passed them but by the whirling rapi- 
 dity of four wheels, upon the beaten road of 
 public communication. To avoid egotism so 
 circumstanced is impossible ; out out of re- 
 spect to my readers, / will be as unobtrusive 
 
HATHERSAGK. 9 
 
 as the relation will admit. It was a fine au- 
 tumnal afternoon, early in October, that we 
 entered upon " Flodden's high and heathery 
 side/' gradually ascending five miles from 
 Sheffield, its beautiful vicinity presented to 
 our ever- ad miring and retrospective view. 
 Two further miles of steeper ascent, brought 
 us to the summit from whence the first sight 
 of Southern Yorkshire is viewed by the tra- 
 veller from the West; whilst all the hills of 
 Derbyshire were seen before us, stretching 
 themselves in horizontal lines, or rising in 
 fantastic peaks ; some obscured in the hazi- 
 ness of distance, others bright in the glow of 
 afternoon. From this height a gentle descent 
 leads to one of those bridges of a single arch, 
 ♦ that so frequently occur upon these moors, 
 thrown across the deep gullies that the winter 
 torrents wear amidst the windings of the hills, 
 The channel beneath was then dry, but its 
 
10 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 stony bed was blanched by the summer's sun, 
 that marked its course. We sat upon the low 
 parapet to rest and to admire : — purple heath, 
 golden furze, and emerald moss, covered the 
 hollow space, whilst the brow r n hills rose, and 
 encircled us on every side; all was silence, 
 uninterrupted by bird or beast, by the hush- 
 ing 1 of winds or the murmur of waters, and 
 the intense solitude Would almost have be- 
 come painful, but from the consciousness that 
 the rise of the next hill would restore us to 
 our own world. We gained its summit, 
 looking over a valley of nine or ten miles 
 extent, at the termination of which the lofty 
 head of Mam-Torr appeared, but upon a level 
 with us, yet rising in maternal pre-eminence 
 over all her surrounding children ; its shining 
 front dark in its eastern aspect, whilst the 
 intervening peaks were glowing in the 
 radiance of the setting sun : the whole scene 
 
HATH ERS AGE. 11 
 
 bearings as I have heard a travelled friend ob- 
 serve, a striking resemblance to the vicinity 
 of Messina. 
 
 A winding descent of three miles leads to 
 Hathersage, a village in the very bosom of 
 the mountains. The church, a handsome and 
 ancient edifice, standing upon a conical hill in 
 its centre, and its taper spire presenting a 
 beautiful object from the different openings of 
 the hills, when no other denotes the proximity 
 of social life. Its church-yard is the reputed 
 burial place of the bow-bearer of Robin 
 Hood ; and as the birth-place of that bold 
 and generous outlaw, has been almost ascer- 
 tained to have been at Loxley (a wild dis- 
 trict that is a continuation of this moorland 
 continent), it is very probable that little John, 
 so called, because he was the very reverse, was 
 buried at Hathersage. Two ancient upright 
 stones stand at the distance of twelve feet, 
 
Y2 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 marking the" place from whence the gigantic 
 skeleton was inhumed, part of the bones being 
 yet preserved within the church. From my 
 chamber window, whose open sash admitted 
 the full tide of Derbyshire air, a bold moun- 
 tain presented its lofty sides, just nigh enough 
 to become an intimate companion, just far 
 enough, to form a picture for the painter'seye. 
 Several little hollows, on its side were filled 
 up with tufts of trees, principally ash, tinted 
 with the changing season. From those small 
 wooded recesses, the blue curling smoke arose 
 progressively, as the inhabitants of the hidden 
 dwellings, trimmed their morning fires, and 
 all animated nature appeared in action. A 
 distance of six miles divides Hathersage and 
 Castleton, and fairy-land lies between them. 
 Hope Dale seems the sport of nature, or ra- 
 ther the repose ; as if, tired of rearing rocks, 
 raising mountains, and extending heaths, she 
 
HATHERSACK. 13 
 
 spread out Hope Dale with all her sylvan 
 graces, and drew the beautiful Derwent, the 
 parent river of Derbyshire, through its soft 
 domain, its amber waters flowing in ample 
 breadth over its rocky pavement ; and one of 
 the most lively pleasures of this little walking 
 tour was, that we could follow its windings 
 and lounge upon its banks, that frequently 
 presented their various coloured strata washed 
 bare by the winter torrents, and fringed with 
 the alder, the ash, and the mountain-ash, 
 rich in orange berries, whilst the foliage of 
 its more delicate relation was a tender yellow. 
 No where does the Derwent appear so at- 
 tractive in its course as here, not even within 
 its graceful, bankless expanse at Chats- 
 \vorth, or in its rocky vista at Matlock, as 
 when bordered by the green meadows, then 
 bright in autumnal verdure, of smiling Hope 
 Dale. Thus led on, Castleton in all its rocky 
 
14 HATHERSAGK. 
 
 cavernous grandeur appeared, and the sylvan 
 graces — Dryads, Hamadryads, and Naiads 
 vanished, yet so entirely had their association 
 banished fatigue, that after having given the 
 usual orders at the Inn, we began to ascend 
 the mountain whereon the castle stands : the 
 castle of the Peverils; a name that once over- 
 awed the dwellers of the Peak, with all the 
 unrestrained power of feudal barbarism ; and 
 which, excepting a court of law, that may yet 
 retain something of the power to alarm those 
 w T ithin its jurisdiction, is the only relic of him 
 whom the Norman William invested with al- 
 most regal sway in the heart of conquered 
 Mercia. Fearing to look upwards, not daring 
 to look below, we crept up the castle hill ; one 
 side of which is a perpendicular rock, at the 
 base of which is the yawning mouth of the 
 celebrated cavern ; and upon the very brink 
 of its summit, the decaying walls of the 
 
HATHERSAGE. 15 
 
 castle. The opposite side of the mountain is 
 equally steep, descending into a deep and 
 narrow valley, formed by a similar ascent^ 
 wild, dark, and secluded, and separated from 
 all human interest. The area of the castle 
 occupies almost the whole space of the penin- 
 sular scite, which is joined to the neighbour- 
 ing hills on the east, by an isthmus, on its le- 
 vel. A thousand feet beneath is Peak's-hole, 
 with its hundred unknown caverns, unen- 
 lightened by day, and unexplored by man — 
 yet, in the pride of his might, he raises a few 
 stones upon their stupendous roofs, and calls 
 himself lord of the Peak. Nearly eight hun- 
 dred years have witnessed their gradual de- 
 cay, and the almost total oblivion of the bold 
 Baron, by whom it was reared ; but a mighty 
 mind has again raised the name of Peve- 
 ril of the Peak, and proves how omnipotent 
 
16 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 it is, that can thus call spirits from the depths 
 of time, and that calling, they will come. 
 
 The necessity of descending alone gave the 
 courage to its attempt, yet the young moun- 
 taineers of the place climb the steep sides, 
 run up the broken steps of the castle, and 
 hang over its decayed walls, apparently in- 
 sensible of the dizzy depth below. 
 
 Objects so well known as the cavern at 
 Castleton, need not be spoken of. We had pe- 
 netrated its furthest extent several times, and 
 therefore only explored its capacious entrance. 
 An elegant party was just descending the 
 sloping rock at its extremity, and the ladies 
 in their white dresses^ with handkerchiefs 
 folded on their heads, and tapers in their 
 hands, following each other through the 
 rocky chasm, as in processional array, pre- 
 sented an idea of cloistered nuns, whose rules 
 
HATHERSAGK. 1/ 
 
 ordained them to descend from the cheerful 
 light of day, to sepulchral penance. All that 
 Castleton presents to the curious traveller, 
 we had previously visited, but the ascent of 
 the Winnets was one of the objects of our 
 walk. Winnets is the provincial name, that 
 is written Wind-yards : whether from the 
 sinuous way, or that it is the opening by 
 which the western blasts rush down with 
 tempestuous force, is undecided. Its charac-' 
 teristics are very distinct from those of Mid- 
 dleton Dale, though both are winding rocky 
 ways. The road in Middleton Dale is broad 
 and firm, and the descent almost impercep- 
 tible 3 from its level the grey rocks rise 
 boldly to their summit, which terminate in 
 massy ramparts, upon which the ash waves 
 its beautiful foliage, and upon whose ledges 
 the golden stone-crop and the crimson ra- 
 nunculus unite their roots and blossoms. A 
 c 
 
18 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 clear stream of water takes its course at the 
 foot of the rocks, sparkling and bubbling on 
 one side of the road; and the windings of the 
 Dale is so gradual, as to present a beautiful 
 changing vista through the whole course of 
 two miles, from its entrance to its close. 
 Very different was the aspect of the via 
 terrorium we were entering, after having 
 walked half a mile of level road from Cas- 
 tleton, Mam Torr directly in our front, and 
 forming one side of the Winnets. The path- 
 way is not broader than will admit two car- 
 riages to pass, and is inclosed by lofty moun- 
 tains, the base of each seeming to cross each 
 other, as if to interrupt the progress, broken 
 by the peaked rocks of silver grey that start 
 from their sides. Thus apparently obstructed, 
 but still advancing, we wound along ; every 
 dozen paces presenting a different appear- 
 ance. No sky to be seen but that directly 
 
HATHKRSAGK. ]9 
 
 above our heads, the zenith and boundary of 
 our aerial view, and that was of the bluest 
 blue. One moment there seemed to be no hu- 
 man beings but our three selves, the next 
 shewed us one of our own species, like the 
 samphire gatherer of Dover cliffs, hanging 
 in the middle air, collecting the moss with 
 which the upper regions of mountains were 
 covered ; two patient asses waiting at their 
 base, for the verdant burden. A few steps 
 forward, and they were again shut out. The 
 pass terminated rn a wild and level country, 
 over which we took one look, and retraced 
 our steps down the Winnets. The difference 
 of ascending and descending was strongly 
 marked. The point of those rocks that almost 
 rose above our sight as we went upwards, 
 seemed on our return to lie beneath our 
 feet. The last opening is superlatively fine ; 
 two grand and pointed rocks forming its 
 c 2 
 
20 HATH KRS AGE. 
 
 side-skreens, and admitting the sudden, and 
 bursting sight of Hope Dale, with far distant 
 views, " where the purple mountains lie/' 
 standing like the flaming swords of the sera- 
 phims at the gates of Paradise, and turning 
 every way as you approach them. An ele- 
 gant work entitled, " Peak Scenery/' by Mr. 
 Rhodes, of Sheffield, finely illustrated by the 
 pencil of Chantry, contains a view of the en- 
 trance to the Winnets, and represents these 
 particular rocks with striking effect ; giving 
 the very countenance of the country, along 
 with their form and character. The declin- 
 ing day softened into twilight as we entered 
 the village of Hope, and we fulfilled the 
 promise we had made to ourselves in the 
 morning, of entering its church on our return. 
 Hope church stands on a gentle rise in the 
 centre of the village, shaded by old trees, a 
 few dark sycamores, and a grove of ash. 
 
HATHERSAGE., 21 
 
 Sweetly soothing was the shadowy pile at the 
 soft hour of twilight ! The solemn stillness 
 was only interrupted by the sighing of the 
 evening breeze amidst the surrounding foli- 
 age. After entering the middle aisle I found 
 myself deserted by my companions, and in a 
 few seconds, the sweet tones of the organ 
 disclosed their retreat. Never was Handel 
 more effective. Like the imaginary music of 
 the spheres, it was invisible and heavenly ; it 
 pervaded the comparative empty space of the 
 sacred edifice, and its soft closes united with 
 the gentle bushings of the wind amongst the 
 trees. But the time pressed, and the enchant- 
 ment must be broken ; we reached Hather- 
 sage in due time, and Poppy and Mandragora 
 never produced such balmy rest as the gentle 
 toil, and pleasing labour we had enjoyed, 
 shed over our night's repose. 
 
 The following day was destined to the vici- 
 c 3 
 
22 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 nity of Hathersage ; we rambled in its village 
 street, and loitered in its elevated church- 
 yard ; made acquaintance with its children, 
 and talked with its peasantry. Extending 
 our walk beyond the precincts of the village, 
 and passing through two or three enclosures, 
 the sudden turning of a projecting bank pre- 
 sented one of the loveliest scenes that was 
 ever beheld. At the top of a fine circular 
 meadow of the brightest green stood a low 
 white house, white as the blanched snow, 
 the meadow skirted by a gravelled path, that 
 formed a sweeping terrace-walk above the 
 banks of a trout-stream, that murmured as it 
 flowed beneath the alders ; the back of the 
 house was sheltered and shaded, and graced 
 by a small hanging wood, a little beyond an 
 Alpine bridge was thrown over a small cas- 
 cade, that poured its sparkling waters into the 
 stream below ; high above this cascade, this 
 
HATHERSAGE. 23 
 
 wood, and this house, the mountains covered 
 with brush- wood were rounded to the skies. 
 On their opposite side bold rocks arose in 
 savage grandeur, high as Derbyshire rocks 
 could rear, taking a circular sweep that 
 joined the rounder mountains, and enclosed 
 at their feet, Brookfield. Hathersage, I have 
 said, reposed in the bosom of the mountains ; 
 Brookfield, in their heart of hearts. One 
 other habitation alone was to be seen in the 
 ample area they enclosed, and that was a 
 most- singular building, standing upon an 
 ascent at the foot of the rocks. Half an hour's 
 walk brought us in approximation with its 
 lofty tower, that w r as a perfect parallelo- 
 gram, its roof and chimnies concealed by an 
 embattled wall that rose above them. It 
 stood amidst two or three pastures ; hence its 
 name of North Lees, and an orchard, dark 
 with old fruit trees; so old it might have been 
 c 4 
 
24 HATHERSAGK. 
 
 thought "they never had been young." There 
 was a gloomy solitude around, the very re- 
 verse of Brookfield, and we concluded the 
 place to be uninhabited; but as we were re- 
 treating, a man appeared at the door, which 
 he locked, and was departing by a different 
 direction. When he observed us, there was a 
 civility in his countenance that encouraged 
 us to express our wishes to view T the interior 
 of the building, which he readily complied 
 with ; assuring us, as he unlocked the en- 
 trance, Ci it was well worth our curiosity." 
 The house, or tower, or hall, the latter of 
 which it was called, contained four apart- 
 ments only, the whole of the ground plot 
 being taken up by the first, and the others 
 rising one over the other to the roof, the 
 ascent to which was by a stair way of bare 
 stone walls, the steps of solid blocks of oak 
 winding round a stone pillar, and which was 
 
HATHKRSAGK. 25 
 
 appended to the square building. The lower 
 room had been the principal apartment. A 
 redundancy of ancient plaister-work adorned 
 its ceiling, and formed Latin sentences over 
 its large and numerous windows, that occu- 
 pied every side but that of the capacious fire- 
 place ; appearing to have been one of those 
 dwellings which Lord Bacon observed had 
 no refuge from the sun; but this cause of com- 
 plaint no longer existed, for all the windows 
 were darkened but one. The view from the 
 level roof was very striking, diminishing by 
 its height every object below to fairy little- 
 ness. Our civil and assiduous guide ap- 
 peared versed in legendary lore, and justified 
 what I had frequently observed — the intellec- 
 tual acquirements of the Derbyshire rustics. 
 " Yonder little ruin that you see to the left/* 
 said he, "just below, almost hid by the ash- 
 trees, was a Romish chapel dedicated to the 
 
20 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 Holy Trinity ; and that snug white house 
 further down is Brookfield, where, many 
 years since, the vicar of Hathersage lived ; a 
 man that had no more guile in him than a new 
 fallen lamb." He then pointed out as objects 
 of great interest three different-sized out 
 lines of the human foot deeply indented in 
 the lead roof; " They were made " said he, 
 " by a gentleman who came here annually 
 for several years, and brought his two young 
 sons with him ; he told me he was the nearest 
 relation to those that built the house, though 
 he did not heir it. The last time he came, he 
 said, perhaps his sons would never see it 
 again, for they were going to the East-Indies. 
 Somehow or other I always feel sorry when I 
 think of them, though I never knew their 
 names/' As we descended, every separate 
 stair presenting a crevice through which the 
 depths beneath appeared, he added, « But I 
 
HATHERSAGE. 2/ 
 
 must get you to turn into the room below 
 again ; there is one thing I forgot to shew 
 you. You seem to be taken with this place, 
 and to know something about the country ; 
 did you ever hear of a Mr. Cunningham, a 
 clergyman ? He used to come here often, and 
 he made one remark upon the ceiling that 
 nobody else ever did/' We re-entered the 
 room, and he pointed out, amidst the dila- 
 pidated plaister-work, a repetition of what 
 the early pupils in writing would call " three 
 strait strokes," alternately placed along 
 with a circle ; observing that " Mr. Cunning- 
 ham explained it as referring to the Trinity, 
 the mighty Three in One, which, like the 
 circle, was without beginning and without 
 end, and to whom the domestic chapel was 
 dedicated. He used," continued he, " to 
 take great delight in this old place, and to 
 bring his books, and make his verses here." 
 
28 HATHERSAGE. 
 
 u And pretty verses they were/' I said, using 
 the medwise word, more to suit the idea of 
 my auditor's comprehension, than my own 
 appreciation. " Pretty !" retorted he, with 
 somewhat of a reproachful accent, "they were 
 lofty ;" and to my surprise repeated some 
 lines from an ode to Lord Rodney, and spoke 
 with admiration of another to Chatsworth ; 
 yet the appearance of the man was nothing 
 more than that of a rustic, his wife and 
 children were in the harvest-field to which 
 he was bound ; yet, with genuine good man- 
 ners, never appearing to feel that we were 
 encroaching on the sunshine of his day, he 
 spoke in the strongly marked provincialism 
 of his country, and it was the matter, more 
 than the manner, by which he was distin- 
 guished. We had intruded into his house, 
 and taken up his time, and we felt an ac- 
 knowledgment was due. He did not appear to 
 
MATHERS AGE. 29 
 
 think the same, for, on our indication to make 
 some remuneration, he said, " Surely a man 
 might show a little common civility without 
 looking to be paid/' and hastily wished us 
 " good day/' I have disavowed egotism, 
 but the feelings this morning excited were 
 
 4 
 
 imperative, Brookfield, when its master 
 was the guileless pastor alluded to, was the 
 occasional home of my earliest childhood, well 
 remembered with all the tenacity of a child's 
 memory. North Lees Hall was then the 
 scene where every sprite, or fairy, or spectre 
 that rose from the dead, if they appeared at 
 all, were to be seen ; and Mr. Cunningham 
 had been the friend of my youth, to whose 
 elegant muse, and enlightened conversation 
 I had often been the delighted auditor ; and 
 the whole scene was sanctified by the remem- 
 brance of the dead, and the tender recollec- 
 tion of departed pleasures. On our return, 
 
30 HATHKRSAGE. 
 
 we passed the house and chapel of the Catho- 
 tholic Priest ; the latter denoted by a large 
 cross of Derbyshire marble, built up in its 
 gable wall. A gravel walk led to the house, 
 and a parterre on each side was full of all 
 the autumnal flowers in gorgeous colourings, 
 a fine hedge of lavender dividing it from an 
 adjoining field ; a venerable figure was stand - 
 ing within its inclosure, with a large open 
 book in his hand ; he was bare-headed, and 
 was wrapped in a long brown vest ; and as 
 we looked upon his flowers, advanced to 
 meet us, invited us within the gates, desired 
 us to gather his flowers, shewed us the inte- 
 rior of his chapel and his garden, the reser- 
 voir of water he had made there for the pre- 
 servation of fish, and the large stone basin 
 into which its superfluity was conducted, and 
 from whence he permitted the good women of 
 the village to fill their tea-kettles, " because," 
 
HATHERSAGK. 31 
 
 he said : " there is no water else that makes 
 such good tea, besides its being more whole- 
 some/' Not any benediction the good man 
 might have bestowed upon the hallowed ele- 
 ment in his chapel, could have rendered it 
 more " holy" in my estimation than did this 
 benevolent dispensation. From the garden he 
 took us into his house, where we found a neat 
 little refreshment, to which he so gaily 
 pressed, and smiled, that we unhesitatingly 
 accepted his truly hospitable fare. It was 
 well he did not try to persuade us to become 
 good Catholics, for his manners and address 
 were irresistible. Many vestiges of the an- 
 cient religion appear at Hathersage. The 
 little ruined chapel at North Lees ; another 
 that is seen to the right, on the road to Hope, 
 in the opening of the hills ; the one we had 
 recently visited, and the added memorials of 
 an ancient and highly respectable Roman 
 
32 HATHERSAGfc. 
 
 Catholic family in the chancel of the church, 
 who had once possessed great property 
 around Hathersage, bespoke its prevalence 
 there, even long after the Reformation. Our 
 return gave a different appearance to the 
 same objects. We ascended the steep hill of 
 three miles measurement from Hathersage, 
 and regained the high level of the Moors, 
 when, in the shades of evening, their unvaried 
 surface spread far away on every side, and 
 uniting with the grey horizon, presented a 
 scene like that of a tranquil sea, its waving 
 billows sunk to rest, and the curtains of the 
 sky drawn around its soft repose. 
 
( 33 ) 
 
 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 To those who know it not, no words can paint, 
 And those who know it, know all words are faint. 
 
 Every visitor to Derbyshire has seen Mon- 
 sal Dale : they all make it the rallying point 
 of their admiration, and dwell with delighted 
 recollection upon the sweet surprise its sud- 
 den appearance occasioned, as they were pass- 
 ing the high level between Ashford-in-the 
 Water and Wardlow ; from whence it ap- 
 pears to lie far below them, and the concerns 
 of this world— presenting one of its own, 
 combined of all the loveliest attributes of na- 
 ture. The Wye seems to have changed its 
 D 
 
34 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 characteristics under the influence of this 
 sylvan vale, and no longer foams over a 
 rocky channel, or forces its way through nar- 
 row defiles, but expands its glossy surface to the 
 smooth banks of the beautiful meadow-land, 
 that divide it from the base of the mountain. 
 Two or three rustic dwellings, in perfect har- 
 mony with the scene, diversify the level of 
 the valley ; they are shaded by the finest Ash 
 trees that grow in Derbyshire, whilst their 
 descendants grace the rising hills in little 
 groups, or single trees, and throw their sha- 
 dows on the bright green turf from whence 
 they spring; the mountains rising above them, 
 from which the rocks start in light pinnacles, 
 or rounded turrets; the shining Ivy, at all sea- 
 sons of the year, decking their silver sides 
 with its ever-green beauty. The river, after 
 having spread itself in beautiful expanse, 
 winds eastward out of the Dale, its termina- 
 
MONSAL DALE. 35 
 
 tion hid by the projecting headland. Across 
 the broadest part of the river, the very sort 
 of bridge that unites with the features of the 
 scene communicates with the opposite bank ; 
 large blocks of native marble, tagged together 
 by their own inequalities, through the aper- 
 tures of which the water glides, their surface 
 blanched by the sun, and polished by the fre- 
 quent overflow of the rapid stream; their little 
 hollows and interstices covered with moss of 
 the greenest hue, and the impetuous Wye, 
 even there, in its chosen repose, fretting and 
 bubbling around them, as if to resent its in- 
 terruption. In the provincialism of the coun- 
 try, these stones are called lepping (leaping) 
 stones, thirty-two of which form this rustic 
 bridge. The sweet solitude of this valley, 
 this Derbyshire Tempe, has no gloomy ab- 
 straction. A fine road leads down the side of 
 the mountain, and continues along the Dale, 
 d 2 
 
36 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 meeting the course of the river ; few would 
 choose to descend its steep declivity in a Car- 
 riage, but no one would regret alighting, to 
 walk with such objects around. The most 
 seducing quietness pervades the soft domain ; 
 the water steals along so gently, that scarce 
 a murmur meets the ear ; the birds select it 
 for their early nests; the lambs sport upon its 
 narrow sheltered meadows ; in its bright wa- 
 ters the heavy fleeces of their dams are wash- 
 ed, and upon the banks, one who loves the 
 calm and quiet recreation, that in which old 
 Isaac Walton most delighted, may there be 
 seen in solitary enjoyment. I cannot imagine 
 that any stranger, who first surveys the pasto- 
 ral beauty of Monsal Dale from the heights 
 above its deep yet smiling seclusion, but 
 feels a passing thought, if not a wish, to be- 
 come its resident ; for there the fury passions 
 of mankind, u the vultures of the mind," sink 
 
MONSAL DALE. 37 
 
 to rest, and the all gentler ones are soothed to 
 balmy happiness; there it would seem that 
 Hatred should cease its malignity, and Pride 
 its folly, and Ambition its aspirations ; feeling 
 that all it had hitherto considered great was, 
 when compared with the majesty of nature 
 and the soft joys of rural repose, but little ; 
 whilst Love would erect its temple in Mon-sal 
 Dale, and Contemplation think down hours 
 to minutes, and mark them all for wisdom. 
 
 After descending the long circuitous hill, 
 in which is the quarry of black marble, 
 wrought and polished at Ashford, and pass- 
 ing beneath the shadowy trees, that form a 
 second roof to the few cottages, the Dale 
 narrows, the water is contracted between 
 deeper banks^ the hills draw closer together, 
 and Monsal Dale verges upon, and terminates 
 in Cresbrook Dale, the clear mountain stream 
 stealing over the soft bed of verdure from 
 d 3 
 
38 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 which it takes its name, to join the Wye. The 
 whole scene becomes more wild, the bases of 
 the mountains are composed of loose shingles, 
 but amongst which, long branches, that bear a 
 single white rose of peculiar beauty, intersect 
 themselves, and embroider their stony bed. 
 The Jack-daws wheel around the rocks, and 
 the Ravens build their nests amongst them, 
 
 A lofty promontory divides the course of 
 the two streams ; at their junction stands a 
 Cotton mill ! But as Monsal Dale remains 
 sacred, we will not quarrel with Cresbrook 
 Mill. The building is large and handsome in 
 all its parts ; and I have seen it under cir- 
 cumstances when imagination might be en- 
 listed under the banners of science, for 
 science is a concomitant of Cresbrook. When 
 darkness pervades the Dale, and the innu- 
 merable large windows are lighted up, not 
 even the outline of the buildings to be traced 
 
MONSAL DALE. 39 
 
 against the dark mountains, it might be 
 thought to be an illumined palace raised by the 
 power of magic \ whilst the abruptness of its 
 appearance on the first entrance to the Dale, 
 and the sudden glimpses caught through the 
 openings of the Hills, would lead to the ex- 
 pectation that its existence was as transitory 
 as its appearance. 
 
 Two or three hundred children are em- 
 ployed at Cresbrook, and reside in the spa- 
 cious buildings adjoining. The first feeling 
 this consciousness awakens is compassion, 
 that so many human beings, at that tender 
 age when all the fond affections are first 
 implanted, should be separated from their 
 natural connexions, and thrown upon stran- 
 gers, to whom they can have no other claim, 
 or who feel no other tie towards them, than 
 that of interest; but an acquaintance with 
 this large, and well-organized family, will 
 d 4 
 
40 MONSAL DALE, 
 
 soften those feelings, and rectify their erro- 
 neous conclusions. 
 
 No picture can be more sweet than the do= 
 mestic enjoyments of a happy home \ a peace- 
 ful hearth surrounded by affectionate pa- 
 rents, and dutiful children, supported by vir^- 
 tuous industry $ but whilst human nature is 
 what we know it to be, and evil permitted 
 to exist on earth, the consequences of vice 
 deface this beautiful picture, and paint its 
 own horrid features on the canvass. Children 
 abandoned by the profligacy of their parents, 
 unfortunate orphans, " born to misery and 
 baptized in tears/' heirs to all the melancholy 
 train of guilt that sin has brought into the 
 world, are thrown upon their country ; but 
 from utter destruction they are in some mea- 
 sure redeemed by its charitable institutions, 
 and judicious regulations ; by the latter these 
 children are relieved, not only with food and 
 
MONSAL DALti. 41 
 
 raiment, but with all the comforts and decen- 
 cies of humanity ; and if the good seed sown 
 in their minds happily takes root, a merciful 
 God may, and we trust will, withhold the 
 malediction of visiting upon the children the 
 sins of their fathers. At Cresbrook-mill con- 
 stant and regular industry is enforced, but no 
 unnatural labour. Their hours of work and 
 necessary relaxation are Kindly and judiciously 
 arranged; the former never exceeding what 
 ought to be exacted from those in their station 
 of life and of their tender age ; their food is of 
 the best quality, and amply dispensed ; they 
 have eight hours uninterrupted sleep, incon- 
 fortable beds and airy rooms ; the utmost de- 
 corum is maintained between the boys and 
 girls ; but if a brother and sister be amongst 
 the number, the affectionate relationship is 
 kindly encouraged; the relatives of the chil- 
 dren are allowed to come to the House, where 
 
42 MON'SAL DALE. 
 
 they are hospitably entertained, and permit- 
 ted to remain a suitable time, according to 
 their own behaviour, and the distance from 
 whence they came ; personal cleanliness is 
 inculcated and enforced with the most scru- 
 pulous attention. On particular Festivals, 
 and in fine weather, the children attend Tides- 
 well Church, the distance of three miles; but 
 in Winter they have a Sunday-school, and 
 the service of the Church of England read to 
 them, in one of their large rooms ; the boys 
 and girls having each separate apartments, — 
 such are their duties. I must now speak of 
 their pleasures, for pleasures they have, varied 
 and suited to their age, situation, and capacity. 
 Little gardens, twelve feet square and eight 
 wide, bordered with the silver-edged thyme, 
 and crowded with pinks, wall-flowers, and 
 sweet-williams, cover the banks of the Wye 
 around the mill ; which, though the winter 
 
MONSAL DALE. 43 
 
 torrents frequently inundate, the spirit of 
 voluntary industry and early enterprize, is 
 thereby awakened to restore. Side by side, 
 these little flowery plots remind the spectator 
 of the Church-yards in North Wales, where 
 the rural graves are so formed and so deco- 
 rated. The girls sit upon the banks, work- 
 ing at will with their needles, or wander 
 within their boundaries in the dale ; and as 
 they only wear bonnets at church, they gather 
 the large water-dock leaf, that, supported by 
 its long stem, forms a verdant parasol, shad- 
 ing many a pleasant, youthful, and happy face, 
 and presenting a picture, novel as it is pleasing. 
 But their highest species of enjoyment, the 
 highest that man can enjoy, is music ; this 
 delightfully intellectual source of pleasure 
 is improved, encouraged, and scientifically 
 taught at Cresbrook. Every boy that has a 
 
44 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 voice, an ear, or a finger capable of partici- 
 pating in the Heavenly science, receives ele- 
 mentary, and practical instruction ; and amidst 
 the cotton-spinners of Cresbrook, the outcasts 
 from parental care, the orphans of humanity, 
 the hallelujahs of Handel fill the valley, and 
 I trust rise with acceptable melody to Heaven. 
 There is also a tenderness of feeling displayed 
 in its arrangement, not to be passed over ; a 
 gallery has been appropriated as an Orches- 
 tra, so that the liberty of the younger children 
 might not be invaded by the restraint that 
 must have been necessarily imposed, or the 
 study and practice of the young musicians 
 interrupted by the gambols of their com- 
 panions. The girls do not learn music, for 
 reasons highly creditable to the judgment and 
 decorum that accompany the whole system, 
 that of keeping the boys and girls separate ; 
 
MONSAL DALE. 45 
 
 but their room being above that of the boys, 
 the sweet sounds ascend, and they participate 
 in the harmony. I can scarcely imagine any- 
 thing more striking than what must have 
 occurred, and what may often re-occur to a 
 benighted traveller, crossing the wild way 
 from Tideswell, that overhangs the deep and 
 rocky channel of the Wye, as he descends 
 into this apparently lone vale, to have the 
 dark silence interrupted by a chorus of sweet 
 and youthful voices, in all the harmony of 
 scientific precision, accompanied by the rich 
 notes of the viol, breaking upon his ear in 
 the words of " Lord, dismiss us with thy bles- 
 sing," the hymn that closes the musical ex- 
 ercises of the young choristers. The whole 
 economy of the mill is arranged and directed 
 by the Mr. Newtons 5 and this fine establish- 
 ment, this glory of a commercial nation, has 
 
46 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 been consummated in the space of twelve 
 years \ preceding which time I remember the 
 original house, around which all the appended 
 buildings have sprung, and which is yet the 
 habitation of Mr. Newton, " a lone and lowly 
 dwelling 'mid the hills, by a grey mountain 
 stream/' The Penates of the household are Mrs. 
 and Miss Newton, with a most active coadjutor, 
 to whom exertion, order, and subordination, 
 are familiar, having accompanied her hus- 
 band through the whole of the Peninsula war, 
 and who, like every other great commander, 
 rules with a steady, firm, but gentle rein. 
 Amidst the domestic deities of the place, 
 there is one whom it would be sacrilege to 
 omit — the sister of Mrs.Newton, Aunt Nancy; 
 aunt to every individual, who either resides 
 in or visits at Cresbrook, if Aunt means one 
 who, without actually being a mother, pos- 
 
MONSAL DALE. 47 
 
 sesses all the endearing attributes, and per- 
 forms all the duties of one ; who passes all 
 the day, and day after day, in providing for, 
 and anticipating the wants of others ; who is 
 all kindness, compassion, gentleness ; who 
 though, like the Speaker at St. Stephen's 
 Chapel, may not call to order, yet is the ge- 
 neral moderator. Such is the Aunt Nancy 
 of Cresbrook. Several erections have been 
 added at different times to the first esta- 
 blishment : the last advances close to the 
 edge of the water, where a fine lake is 
 formed amidst the circular rocks, a little 
 above the Mill. This building is a well- 
 imagined gothic ; the curtain that divides 
 the two towers is the music gallery, to which 
 a flight of steps ascend from the boys' eating- 
 room. A few years will render this building 
 more impressive; its peculiar situation giving 
 
48 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 to it those tints, and clothing it with that mU 
 mite vegetation, that will soften its present 
 obtrusive freshness. It contains the sleeping- 
 rooms of the children over their eating-rooms, 
 that a long gallery divides on each story. At 
 its extremity is a gothic window. Burke 
 defines sublimity to consist in height and 
 length — which these galleries possess, with 
 just that softened degree of light, that 
 one window is formed to dispense. 
 Though the same effect may not alto- 
 gether be produced upon the minds of 
 its peculiar inmates ; though they cannot 
 compare its soft suffusion with the dim reli- 
 gious light of monastic cloisters, or the long 
 withdrawing aisles of the lofty cathedral ; yet 
 even they will not be wholly insensible to 
 external order and beauty, and will become, 
 imperceptible to the cause, humanized under 
 
M ON SAL DALE. 49 
 
 the effect of their pervading influence. As I 
 have ever considered persons pre-eminent to 
 places, and the features of the human mind 
 of grander interest than the features of in- 
 animate nature, however grand they may be, 
 I make no apology for peopling Cresbrook 
 Dale with its actual inhabitants ; for adding 
 an existing figure even to the scanty 
 boundaries of a vignette. The contempla- 
 tion of such an establishment is most honour- 
 able to those who are its proprietors, and 
 to those who preside over its prosperity and 
 its comforts \ whilst it may confirm the belief 
 that all cotton mills are not the scenes of 
 unnatural labour or harsh severity. Mr. 
 Newton is already known through the me- 
 dium of Miss Seward, as "The Minstrel of 
 the Peak," and, in the present times, by 
 Rank and Talents Cresbrook is not Un- 
 known. He, who is the pride of Derby* 
 
50 MONSAL DALE. 
 
 shire, with that graciousness so peculiar to 
 himself, has deigned to visit, and approve the 
 establishment there ; and the son of its soil, 
 the Canova of England, has left a memorial 
 of his pencil beneath its lowly roof, that will 
 perpetuate the mild countenance and features 
 of Mr. Newton as long as it is preserved, 
 not less valued as a testimony of respect, 
 than cherished as a faithful and spirited 
 resemblance. 
 
( 51 ) 
 
 WARDLOW MEEES. 
 
 " Harden ye may, but never humanize" 
 
 W. Newton. 
 
 Emerging from Middleton Dale, whose 
 winding defile had excluded all objects but 
 the sky overhead, and the rock-crowned 
 mountains on each side, whose broad bases 
 extending athwart the vale appeared to cross 
 its way, and impede the progress, a fine ex- 
 panse of country is presented, from whence 
 the pure breath of heaven comes fresh as the 
 ocean gale ; the heathy moorland stretched 
 far and wide around, and bounded in the dis- 
 tance by blue and misty mountains. To the 
 left the turfy hill ascends gradually to that 
 b 2 
 
52 WARD LOW MKERS. 
 
 unbroken line above, called Longstone Edge, 
 that intervenes between Longstone and Has- 
 sop, stretching its upland line to the little 
 alpine village of Wardlow, where house ris- 
 ing over house, interspersed with fine old 
 trees, skirts on each side the highway to 
 Bakewell; leaving to the right the loftier 
 mountain of Wardlow Heys, that towers above 
 the ainphitheatrical village, the steep sides 
 of which, neither tree, or house, or human 
 being diversifies. The opposite hills, on the 
 right of the Dale Head, shelters at their 
 base the little towns of Hucklow, Foolow, and 
 Eyam, softened and adorned by those beau- 
 tiful ash trees, that seem to enjoy their own 
 beauty and existence in Derbyshire. Upon 
 their level, but more advanced towards the 
 highway, stood the house of Captain Carleil ; 
 a modest mansion, such as was inhabited by 
 the gentry of England in the sixteenth cen- 
 
WARD LOW MEERS. 53 
 
 tiuy. Exposed as its situation appeared, yet 
 all the warm comforts were found within : 
 its accommodations were like the characters 
 of its owners — substantial, unpretending, and 
 uniform. At Broster Field, the friend, the 
 visitor, and the wanderer found affection, 
 hospitality, and relief. A few fine old trees 
 shaded its low white front, but the handsome 
 offices adjoining, and the neatness by which the 
 House and lawn were distinguished, evinced 
 the station and habits of life of its very gen- 
 teel and most respectable inhabitants. The 
 aerial ridge above, strongly marked upon the 
 clear boundary by the tall cupola chimney 
 of a smelting mill, whose light pinnacles are 
 frequently so picturesque in Derbyshire, was 
 the only object that broke the horizontal line 
 that extended to the far off distance, terminated 
 by Mam Tor, the mother of mountains, dimly 
 seen except when the morning sun enlightens 
 e 3 
 
54 WARD LOW MEERS. 
 
 its bold arid slaty front — such were the bar- 
 riers of the open plain we entered upon ; 
 an excellent carriage road- descending almost 
 imperceptibly a mile in extent, leading to 
 Wardlow toll bar-house, and one other 
 adjoining ; their whitened walls cheering 
 the sombre brown and green by which they 
 were surrounded, and reposing, at the foot 
 of the steep hill, upon the ascent of which 
 the village of Wardlow commences. The 
 toll-bar seeming to unite these u two or 
 three " inhabitants with the distant world. 
 The rapid Mail-coach, the creeping Waggon, 
 and the rattling Post-boy leaving their ac- 
 counts of the more busy scenes through 
 which they pass, for the wonder or condemna- 
 tion of their humble inmates. From this 
 point the firm high road in front ascends 
 two miles toward Tideswell ; but a deep val- 
 ley opens immediately on the left of the 
 
WARDLOW MEKRS. 55 
 
 Bar, and winds its narrow way between the 
 hills, marked by a rivulet of the purest 
 water, that falls into Cresbrook at its ter- 
 mination. At the entrance of the valley, 
 before its opening recedes between the hills, 
 stands a rock of singular form and appear- 
 ance ; its base completely insulated and 
 severed from any surrounding object ; it is 
 of considerable height and circumference, 
 and rises perpendicularly on all sides; its 
 top is level and covered with verdure, from 
 the centre of which a second rock arises, 
 with a circular base considerably less, that 
 terminates in a lofty dome : the whole ap- 
 pearing in the distance like a Church in a 
 wilderness, which, if unenclosed by higher 
 objects, would seem of far greater height and 
 magnitude ; but what is lost in individual 
 grandeur, is gained in local solemnity ; the 
 hills appear to recede fo^ its sanctuary and 
 e 4 
 
56 WARDLOW MEERS. 
 
 to aspire for its gaurd ; the sun shines not 
 on its dark grey sides ; no trees wave their 
 boughs around ; the wild herbage on its 
 lower summit is never cropt by beast, or 
 trodden by man ; but in solitary majesty it 
 seems to say, " I am, and there is none be- 
 side me !" This object, so striking in ef- 
 fect, united with the surrounding scenery, 
 was the prospect from Broster Field, the 
 house of Captain Carleill, situated a little 
 above Wardlovv Myers, the abode of old 
 English hospitality in all its genuine grace 
 and virtue. Were it possible not to regret the 
 extinction of such an abode, and that of its 
 most amiable inhabitants, it would be when 
 we look upon the local change that has 
 arisen, where it seems as though the genius 
 of horror and desolation had marked the 
 once happy domain, and its admired prospect 
 ivith the most awful ravages. The house of 
 
WAIIDLOVV MEfiRS. 57 
 
 Captain Carleill is levelled with the turf, 
 and the valley of the rock is stained by 
 the most frightful recollections : crime has 
 breathed a darkened horror upon its guilt- 
 less surface, and banished contemplation 
 from its peaceful haunts. Never could the 
 infamy of that crime have been obliterated, 
 though its abhorred memorial had not 
 existed — a memorial that wounds the in- 
 nocent alone (the guilty feel it not) j that 
 offends the eye of man, and "defiles" the 
 works of God. From amidst clouds and 
 thick darkness the Almighty gave his canon 
 against murder ; and he also said, through 
 his servant Moses, " And if u man has com- 
 mitted a trespass worthy of death, and he be 
 to be put to death, and thou hang him on a 
 tree, his body shall not remain all night on the 
 tree, but thou shalt in any wise bury him 
 that day, that thy land be not defiled, which 
 
58 WARDLOW MEERS. 
 
 the Lord thy God hath given thee for an in- 
 heritance/' — Deut. xxi. verse 22, 23. 
 
 In defiance of the express word of God, 
 and in outrage of the best feelings of man, 
 that tree yet stands in all its vengeance 
 amidst the scenery I have attempted to de- 
 scribe. Would that the blast of the desert 
 might lay it low ! or the flash of the thunder 
 cloud level it with the dust, beneath which 
 the remains of the wicked, as of the weary, 
 are ordained to rest 
 
( 59 ) 
 
 TIDESWELL CHURCH. 
 
 The church of Tideswell is a solitary 
 proof that the now dilapidated and deserted 
 place was once preeminent in the county 
 of Derby, and an existing monument of that 
 style of architecture of which it is so beauti- 
 ful, and so noble a specimen. That Tideswell 
 was held in parochial estimation at a very 
 early period of our history, there is more 
 than presumptive evidence ; through the in- 
 fluence and example of Ethelflida, daughter 
 of Alfred, Christianity gained more prose- 
 lytes in Mercia than in any other kingdom of 
 the Heptarchy ; consequently a situation like 
 that of Tideswell, which can scarcely be ex- 
 
60 TIDESWELL CHURCH. 
 
 ceeded by any other in the Peak of Derby, 
 would be selected for the building of its 
 temples, and the residence of its converts. 
 On the first propagation of the Christian 
 religion by Saint Augustin, crosses were 
 erected upon those places where he assem- 
 bled its votaries, until churches could be 
 built, or the ancient temples of the Saxons 
 converted to their holy service. Upon the 
 summit of a hill, immediately above Tides- 
 well, that has been called from time im- 
 memorial Summer Cross, a stone of the 
 rudest -workmanship is bedded, and almost 
 hidden in the earth : it has a deep socket 
 that appears to have been formed for the 
 insertion of an upright shaft or pillar. A 
 situation so elevated might have been chosen 
 for the opportunity of making signals to 
 those who were assembling. In a country 
 so bleak, the people could only be expected 
 
TIDESWELL CHURCH. 61 
 
 to attend in the summer season ; when the sky 
 was the roof of their Temple, and the Cross 
 the Altar of their sanctuary : hence I have 
 presumed upon the hypothetical designation 
 of Summer Cross. The shelter of the plea- 
 sant valley below, with the chrystal springs 
 by which it is refreshed, w r ould naturally 
 lead the devotees of the new religion to 
 establish themselves in so pleasant an heri- 
 tage, within the vicinity of the hallowed 
 symbol of their newiy adopted faith. About 
 the middle of the seventh century Lichfield 
 Cathedral was founded, and was the mother 
 church of all others within her diocese or pa- 
 rochia ; the few parish churches then existing 
 w T ere but considered as chapels of ease to 
 that more stately temple, probably built of 
 wood, or the rudest materials, as all the early 
 Saxon churches were. During the reigns of 
 Alfred and his successors, religion and the 
 
62 TIDESWELL CHURCH. 
 
 arts were progressively improving; but some- 
 time before the close of the Saxon dynasty, 
 William of Malmsbury observes, u that the 
 people had fallen from the virtue, religion, 
 and learning of the more immediate an- 
 cestors of their great Alfred; that their moral 
 characters were very much reduced; their 
 mode of living was become indolent, but 
 luxurious, and their habitations mean." The 
 Normans were the very reverse — abstemious 
 and delicate in their diet, and orderly in 
 their habits, but ostentatious in their dress 
 and houses, their public and private build- 
 ings; they endeavoured to restore religion 
 to its former dignity, built churches and 
 monasteries in the most sumptuous manner, 
 and in some measure repaired to the Saxons 
 the appropriation of their lands, by improv- 
 ing and adorning the country they had in- 
 vaded. Henry the Second was the first of 
 
TIDESWELL CHURCH. 63 
 
 the Norman line, who united beauty and 
 elegance with the cumbrous magnitude of 
 Saxon and Norman architecture : but it was 
 in the thirteenth century that its high repu- 
 tation was established, gradually arising to 
 that ultimate perfection presented in the 
 beautiful chapel of the Seventh Henry at 
 Westminster ; the heavy round arch yielding 
 to the graceful lancet shape, the massy un- 
 broken pillar to the slender shafts, that like 
 clustered reeds are bound together by the 
 most delicate foliage, and the large Eastern 
 windows diversified by the ramifications of 
 stone tracery in all its variety; whilst niches, 
 and canopies, and crockets without, and 
 skreens and pendants within, completed the 
 exquisite early English architecture of that 
 period. At the commencement of the four- 
 teenth century I should believe Tideswell 
 Church to have been built : probably, from 
 
64 TIDKSWELL CHURCH. 
 
 its yet existing evidences, collegiate to its dio- 
 cesan Lichfield; it is dedicated to St. John; 
 and its annual festival is that of its patrony- 
 mic saint. It has a fine western Tower, 
 surmounted by four octangular turrets, ter- 
 minating in light spires, and intersected by 
 crockets. A deep porch on the south con- 
 tains a winding stair up a round tower, that 
 leads to the upper battlements ; the but- 
 tresses are enriched with niches surmounted 
 by their canopies and crockets; and over 
 the fine East window the sacred symbol of 
 Christianity yet maintains its station. The 
 Chancel is evidently of later date, and that it 
 should be so was no unusual circumstance ; 
 the magnificent designs of the proud Nor- 
 mans frequently exceeded either their imme- 
 diate supplies, or even the life time of their 
 founders ; thus they began at the east end of 
 the Choir, which, when completed, admitted 
 
TIDESWELL CHURCH. 65 
 
 the performance of divine service, whilst the 
 other parts, the Tower, the Lanthorn, and the 
 chancel, were finished as their means and 
 the time allowed : but it was the enthu- 
 siasm of the people that greatly contributed 
 to produce such structures : the religion they 
 professed impressing the belief, that the very 
 labour of the hand, for such a purpose, would 
 ensure the saving of the soul. Every man 
 was impelled by the spirit of the crusades, 
 where religion was concerned 5 though his 
 station or occupation was in no wise con- 
 nected with its ivarfare. 
 
 At this period it may be concluded, that 
 the inhabitants of Tideswell and its vicinity 
 would, like their church, be of great local 
 importance; for either their residing influence 
 contributed to the erection of the Edifice, 
 or its completion drew the opulent gentry 
 around it, and contiguous places evidently 
 
GG T1DE.SWELL CHLilCH. 
 
 derived their names from its proximity. 
 Thus Litton was the little town adjoining 
 the larger one, Weston, the town west of 
 Tideswell. At the former place, a family of 
 note, of the name of Litton, resided at their 
 Hall as early as the reign of Henry the 
 Third ; and Sir Robert Litton was under- 
 treasurer of England under Henry the Sixth. 
 Litton Hall was sold by Rowland Litton, 
 Esq., 159/ ; their arms ermine, Or, a chief 
 indented argent, three ducal coronets, Or, 
 Crest a Bittern among reeds, Proper. Part 
 of the old building remains, occupied by a 
 cottager ; and houses of a much later date, 
 bearing the marks of former gentility, are, 
 with their owners, fallen into absolute de- 
 cay. The little town is pleasantly situated 
 one mile above Tideswell, sheltered byhigher 
 ground, but is deficient in the blessings of the 
 valley ; those living waters that, from their 
 
TIDES WELL CHURCH. 6!j 
 
 hundred hidden springs, flow down its pa- 
 rent town. Weston is similarly situated, 
 one mile from Tideswell, on the opposite 
 side. Many fine old trees mark what a 
 pleasant abiding place it must have been. 
 An ancient cross, of more than common 
 elegance of design, sanctifies Weston; it 
 stands in a small enclosure below the man- 
 sion-house, a commodious and handsome 
 dwelling, apparently erected in the begin- 
 ning of the seventeenth century; but no other 
 vestige remains of its more early inhabitants. 
 The interior of Tideswell church is of re- 
 markable elegance and beauty, possessing a 
 nave, with two side aisles, a north and south 
 transept, and a spacious chancel, lighted by 
 nine windows ; on each side is a row of stalls, 
 in the form of those at York Minster ; a few 
 remnants of carved work yet adhere to them ; 
 f 2 
 
68 TIDKSWKLL CHURCH. 
 
 a shelving seat within the stalls, called 
 miseries, kept the monks and friars in a pos- 
 ture between standing and sitting, and took 
 their name from the uncomfortable and tan- 
 talizing accommodation they supplied : the 
 board was so contrived, that it could be made 
 a firm horizontal seat when such an indul- 
 gence was allowed. A curious stone Pulpit, 
 on the north side of the nave, is an immove- 
 able ^testimony of having been a part of the 
 original structure ; but, as if in determination 
 to degrade the beauty of the longitudinal 
 view, a most impertinent gallery, of modern 
 erection, is made to rest upon it. The slen- 
 der piers and lofty arches, that in three-fold 
 grace spring from them, are of exquisite pro- 
 portion, unspoiled by galleries, rising in their 
 primeval beauty from the lettered floor to 
 the lofty roof. The tabernacle work, that is 
 broken and strewed around in the neglected 
 
TIDKSWELL CHURCH. 69 
 
 transepts, evince how richly the stalls, cha- 
 pels, and skreens, were once ornamented. 
 In a corner of the north transept is an an- 
 cient font, of heptagonal form, its circular 
 basin corroborating the early practice of the 
 immersion of the whole body of an infant in 
 baptism ; it is now regularly used by the 
 workpeople to mix their colours in, when 
 they beautify the church with blue and ma- 
 hogany paint. The south transepts contain 
 the vault of the Statham family, a loyal 
 knight, who resided in Tidesweil in Eliza- 
 beth's reign : their hatchments and armorial 
 bearings appear in various devices around. 
 The vault of the Beeches, of Shaw,, in 
 Staffordshire,, natives of Tidesweil, the ac- 
 cess to which is open. The coffin lid of the 
 last who was there interred has a sliding 
 board, beneath which, a plate of glass 
 displays what would have appalled the 
 f 3 
 
70 TIDESWELL CHURCH 
 
 stoutest heart in Udolpho, the countenance 
 of the poor remains within. In the extreme 
 corner of the same transept, hid by the sides 
 of a dilapidated pew, and covered with dust, 
 cobwebs, and the splashings of the white- 
 washer, are two recumbent figures, in ala- 
 baster, whose names, as handed down by 
 traditional evidence, are " Sir Thirlstone a 
 Bower/' and his lady : though mutilated by 
 ill-usage and neglect, their remains are 
 worth the notice and preservation of the 
 antiquary. The spurs indicate the knight- 
 hood of the male figure, and the regalia the 
 rank of the lady : for at that period degree 
 and station was designated by dress. Mr. 
 Dallaway observes, that " so essentially was 
 honour constituted by armorial distinctions, 
 that men of every rank under the sovereign 
 esteemed the title of " scutifee, armiger or 
 esquire," as previously necessary to all others 
 
T1DESWELL CHURCH. /I 
 
 and the collar of S. 8., allusive to that name, 
 as an ornament of " high dignity/' This dis- 
 tinguishing collar is worn by Sir Thirlstone 
 a Bower ; the period in which he lived may 
 also be deduced from what follows : Mr. 
 Dallaway adds, that " this degree of esti- 
 mation was first instituted by Henry the 
 Second, in 1159, and did not cease till the 
 reign of the fourth Edward." The total 
 neglect and utter disregard in which these 
 figures now remain, affords a melancholy 
 proof, how vain is the desire of mortality 
 to extend itself beyond its natural existence, 
 and how impotent its power to reverse the 
 decrees of Him who has said that " Man shall 
 go down to the dust, and be no more seen/' 
 Sententious as this is, yet were I the vicar, 
 churchwarden, or scutifee, if such a degree 
 remains there, of Tideswell, I would place 
 Sir Thirlstone a Bower and his lady in de- 
 f 4 
 
7^ TIDKSWELL CHURCH. 
 
 cent order in the Chancel, along with their 
 contemporaries. Perhaps they were amongst 
 the first benefactors of that church, which 
 now, scantily filled as it is, scarcely allows 
 their memorials a corner to rest in. "Thirl" 
 is the Saxon word, to pierce, to force an 
 aperture : this gallant knight might have 
 forced the very stones of the rocky country 
 into the service of religion, or domestic con- 
 venience, and graced his residence by plant- 
 ing the spreading ash around it : hence 
 " Thirlstone of the Bower " Local names are 
 frequently the only means by which events and 
 circumstances can be even speculated upon. 
 The monuments of Hugh Meveril and 
 Bishop Purslove were magnificent in their 
 day : both were benefactors to the town of 
 Tideswell, they occupy the area of the chan- 
 cel. Tideswell church possessed a noble 
 organ, the large pipes of which were re- 
 
TIDESWELL CHURCH. 73 
 
 moved to Lichfield ; and so lightly does the 
 mother church regard this her beautiful off- 
 spring, that report, I trust misrepresentation, 
 has asserted it has been in contemplation to 
 apply its valuable roof of lead to the funds 
 of Lichfield Cathedral, and substitute one of 
 slate in its place ; such an unmotherly act 
 I cannot believe will be committed. Indif- 
 ference and insensibility have suffered the 
 decorations and designations of this fine edi- 
 fice to fall into decay — a species of destruction 
 fatal in its ultimate effects as the ravages of 
 the Goths and Vandals \ the building of such 
 churches was a matchless proof of high de- 
 votion that is now waxed cold ; and their 
 neglect of them is a reproach upon pos- 
 terity, that ought most sacredly to be avoided. 
 Forsyth says, in his views of Rome, 
 " The Catholic religion is a friend, though 
 an interested one, to the fine arts ; it rejects 
 
74 TIDESWELL CHURCH. 
 
 nothing that is old or beautiful ; had ancient 
 Rome fallen into the hands of gloomy Pres- 
 byterians, we should now look in vain for 
 the more sacred parts of its ruins j their 
 inoclast zeal would have confounded beauty 
 with idolatry, for the pleasure of demolish- 
 ing both ; they would have destroyed the 
 temple and preached in a barn — the Catho- 
 lics let the temple stand, and gloried in its 
 conversion to Christianity." 
 
 On the south side of the church-yard, 
 under the high cliff below Litton, an old 
 oratory, or chapel, was standing some very few 
 years ago, of more early erection than the 
 Church. It was a very curious relic of an- 
 cient architecture, and full of the quaint 
 devices of the early times ; its walls were a 
 yard thick, of limestone, supported by but- 
 tresses that would have kept their station, 
 if unmolested, as long as the rocks from 
 
TIDESWELL CHURCH. /5 
 
 whence they were taken. But I will give the 
 relation I have received from one who re- 
 sided within its ancient walls, as best suited 
 to the subject ; one who was of consideration 
 in the better days of Tidewell ; the venerable 
 superstition attaching to it, in no wise indi- 
 cating either a vulgar or illiterate mind, for it 
 was the old instinct that still outlived the faith 
 of reason. « It was said to have been built 
 in King John's days, who made this town a 
 market by his charter, dated the first of his 
 reign, and granted it to Meveril, who was 
 lord of the fee ; it afterwards belonged to 
 the Foljambes, and then to the Aliens, and 
 lastly to the Middletons, who sold the same 
 to Colonel Gisburne. My sister Middleton, 
 who lived in the house, says, when the kit- 
 chen was new paved, many human bones 
 were found ; and that a very curious stone 
 basin, supposed to be for the holy water, 
 
/6 TIDES WELL CHURCH. 
 
 was broken up for sand by a servant-maid ; 
 that an arched passage went through the 
 house, w T ith a door at each end, and that 
 against the death of any of the family there 
 were always heard voices singing psalms in 
 the ancient tongue ; that the voices passed 
 through the arch- way, and continued singing 
 very sweetly till they reached the church- 
 porch, when the sounds died away ; affirming 
 she herself heard them a few days before her 
 husband's death, Mr. Allen Middleton, who 
 died in 1746 ; also that a picture of one of the 
 Aliens always slided from its frame previous 
 to the death of any one of the family." 
 
 The lovers of antiquity, of harmony, and 
 of the wonderful, must all regret that the 
 old oratory was taken down. Many very 
 respectable houses, of a much later date, 
 are now fallen to decay, or occupied for the 
 meanest purposes. The father of the cele- 
 
TIDESW&LL CHURCH. " 
 
 brated Lord Chesterfield resided at Tides- 
 well ; the Beeches, who afterwards went to 
 reside upon their estates at Shaw T , in Staf- 
 fordshire, and several of the descendants of 
 Sir John Statham, with many others, their 
 contemporaries and equals; but now its glory 
 is departed, and its people are gone; the 
 stately church yet stands, a temple in the 
 wilderness, a monument of ancient days ; 
 the brooks that flow through the vallies 
 never fail ; the roads are improved, and the 
 Lord of its manor, is the pride of its country ; 
 a little encouragement, a little support 
 might redeem, though it could never restore 
 its former aristocratical distinctions. The 
 exhausted riches of the mines, its natural 
 source of wealth ; and the fluctuating state 
 of foreign trade, its artificial means of pros- 
 perity, have contributed to its present de- 
 
78 TIDESWELL CHURCH. 
 
 gradation ; under these circumstances, mo- 
 ral example is diminished, and wholesome 
 authority interrupted ; and the consequent 
 results, are such as the existing state of 
 Tideswell present. 
 
( 79 ) 
 
 CHEE TORR. 
 
 The course of the Wye, the most roman- 
 tic flow of water in Derbyshire, is no where 
 so strongly marked by the wild characteristics 
 of the country, as beneath Chee Torr, four 
 miles from its source, near Buxton ; an im- 
 mense mass of lime -stone rock, three hun- 
 dred and sixty feet perpendicular from the 
 river, presenting its awful front, like a half- 
 moon battery, that only the hand of the migh- 
 ty Engineer who holds the golden compasses 
 could raise. The rocks in front rest upon a 
 grassy elevation that rises gradually from the 
 Wye ; they take a concave sweep through the 
 semicircular valley, answering to the bold 
 
80 
 
 CHEE TORIt. 
 
 projection of Chee Torr ; between its rocky 
 surface and the water there is not a footstep 
 intervenes ; from its base to its summit, there 
 is no lodgment for verdure or apparent shelter 
 for bird ; the solemn silence of the valley is 
 only interrupted by the sound of unseen 
 waters, mingling with those that meet the 
 sight \ like the years of eternity, they follow 
 each other in perpetual succession, appa- 
 rently without beginning and without end ; 
 but the immoveable rock stands., and has 
 stood the same since its creation, and the 
 same it will remain till the great globe itself 
 shall be dissolved ; whilst the never-ceasing 
 waters flow around its base, as doing homage 
 to its greatness. Man feels appalled beneath 
 the solemn influence, the lone majesty of 
 nature ; here his energies are of no avail, 
 his humanities are paralyzed; there is nothing 
 that calls for his aid, or that wants his help, 
 
CHEK TORR. 81 
 
 or would feel his charities, the perpetual 
 hush of the waters abstract his mind even 
 from himself: he stands upon their margin, 
 till the sense of hearing appears given but 
 to listen to their lapse, or that of sight, but 
 to watch the little white breakers that the 
 moss-covered stones interrupt and disperse. 
 Sacred from all human innovations appears 
 this sequestered dell, neither roads, or wheels, 
 or cotton-mills, intrude upon its primeval 
 solitude : yesterday, and to day, and to- 
 morrow, it was, and is, and shall be the 
 same, the for ever, and for ever of terrestrial 
 things. The like awful monotony meets the 
 eye as ear : — the bright green turf is dark in 
 the shades of the valley, the soft bed of ver- 
 dure, over which the river flows, tints the 
 crystal waters with its emerald hue, and the 
 rocks, white as those of Albion, present their 
 chalky surface to the view ; no flowers blos- 
 
 G 
 
82 CHKK TORR. 
 
 som in this wild seclusion; it is nature's only, 
 and her verdant livery alone it wears. An 
 embrasure in the hills ascends to Worm- Hill. 
 May I be allowed to quote from myself?* 
 " Enclosures that destroy the natural charac- 
 teristics of a country, have defaced the beauty 
 of this once lovely village, usurped the li- 
 berty of its lawn-like common, and trans- 
 formed the broad sparry path by which it was 
 divided, into a wall-bound lane; but Chee 
 Torr, in all the lonely majesty of its forma- 
 tion, can only be changed by its great and 
 Almighty Creator.' ! 
 
 Panorama of Youth, Vol. II. 
 
( 83 ) 
 
 STANTON-WOODHOUSE. 
 
 Darley-Dale, like that of Hope, is in 
 beautiful contrast to many of those wilder 
 ones in Derbyshire that mark the course of 
 its mountain rivers ; half-way up its western 
 boundary stands Woodhouse, its walls as 
 consolidated, and as grey as the rocks by 
 which it is sheltered. Placed upon a natural 
 terrace, high above the vale of Darley, 
 through which the Derwent flows and spar- 
 kles to the view. The village church 
 reposing upon its sylvan banks, appears 
 the sacred guardian of the scene, hold- 
 ing out the blessed promise, that to those 
 g 2 
 
84 STANTON-WOODHOUSK. 
 
 who fear God, and keep his commandments, 
 brighter waters and never fading verdure 
 shall be theirs. From the garden terrace of 
 Stanton- Woodhouse, a combination of beauty 
 is spread before the eye : the fine level of 
 Darley-Dale, extending from the gates of 
 Chatsworth on the left, to the entrance of 
 Matlock, a distance of four or five miles ; 
 little cottages nestling beneath their elmy 
 tufts ) the sparry road winding along the 
 course of the river ; the handsome stone 
 bridge of several arches that unites its banks, 
 the rising mountains on the opposite side, 
 partially covered with pines, and terminating 
 in heathy moors ; and at its extremity the 
 south front of Chatsworth just caught be- 
 tween its receding woods, like a rich mass of 
 amber in its green ocean bed ; whilst the 
 Matlock termination of the Dale is marked 
 by revolving columns of smoke, that in sil- 
 
ST ANTON- VVOODBOUSJS. 85 
 
 very whiteness glitter in the sunshine, or 
 brighten the darker day. The House might 
 have been an appendage toHaddon. Its thick 
 walls and iron-bound windows, circular 
 stone stair- way and turreted chimnies, accord 
 with that ancient place. One spacious apart- 
 ment has been modernised, " perhaps sixty 
 years ago/' and the present domestic accom- 
 modations are well suited for the habits and 
 residence of a gentleman's family. Fine old 
 yews and hollies, that have almost attained 
 the size of forest trees, grow beneath the 
 terrace; and in a line with the House, 
 elms that might vie with the chestnut of a 
 hundred horse, spread their leafy arms 
 around ; whilst beneath the windows, the 
 china-rose grows as boldly, and blooms as 
 brightly as though it was at home in the 
 imperial gardens of the celestial city. More 
 elevated and more blessed than " the pea- 
 
 g 3 
 
86 STANTON-WOODHOUSE. 
 
 sant's nest/' of Cowper, the silver springs 
 gush out with never-ceasing freshness, and 
 never-failing force, beneath the umbrageous 
 canopy of the gigantic elm. I wonder not 
 that pagans and the early christians, should 
 have consecrated their fountains ; I always 
 feel disposed to consider an invisible Deity 
 presiding over them. All that is simple in 
 manners, beautiful in fancy, and venerable 
 in recollection associates with these Wells by 
 the way-side. I never pass them without a 
 hundred recognitions, scriptural, classical, 
 and local, fleeting from my fancy and my 
 memory, to my affections : Hagar, Rebecca, 
 Rachael, in all their beauty pass before me, 
 and stand beside them ; the woman of Sa- 
 maria and her Divine Master irradiates them; 
 wherever they flow they are a testimony of 
 the goodness of God ; wherever their waters 
 are gathered together they are a memorial 
 
STANTON- WOODHOUSE. 87 
 
 of the benevolence of man ; and not any 
 where is the association more manifest than 
 in those parts of Derby Petrea, where the 
 rocks from whence they gush, and the wild 
 moorlands from whence they spring, are all 
 the variety the extensive tract presents \ the 
 dark rocks, the purple heath, the varied sky, 
 and the welcome stone basins of water by the 
 side of the long-protracted road ! From the 
 village of Rousley, on the brink of the 
 Derwent, three quarters of a mile of gentle 
 ascent, and one quarter of steeper rising, 
 leads you to Stanton- Woodhouse, where the 
 pure stream flows amidst the richest verdure, 
 its sparking current delighting the eye, and 
 its liquid music charming the ear. 
 
 The vicinage of Woodhouse combines the 
 most attractive objects of a Derbyshire resi- 
 dence. First, as foremost, is Chatsworth ; its 
 local and natural beauties, its artificial and 
 g 4 
 
88 STANTON-WOODHOUSE. 
 
 graceful decorations, and its sacred asso- 
 ciations, with all that is noble in man and 
 beautiful in woman, stamps its pre-emi- 
 nence in every stage of its erection. What 
 it was, what it is, what it is to be. Haddon, 
 the grey-towered Haddon, where a history 
 lingers in every apartment, and hangs upon 
 every turret ; grand in what it has been, 
 venerable in what it is ; renowned in pic- 
 ture, in story, and in song ; the solem- 
 nity of whose exterior, not all the capricious 
 windings of the Wye, as it wantons in the 
 meadows below, can soften to a smile; is with- 
 in half an hour's walk of Stanton, midway be- 
 tween it and Bakewell, that lies amidst its 
 crystal waters in the vale below. The rocky 
 defile of Matlock, through whose marble 
 channel the Derwent leads his liquid train, 
 presenting a summer assemblage of varied 
 life, and a winter scene of exquisite beauty, 
 
STANTON- WOOD HOUSE. 89 
 
 is within an easy morning's ride of Stanton ; 
 that ride through Darly Dale — it would be 
 no misnomer to have written Darling Dale — 
 distinguished not alone by its sylvan enchant- 
 ments, but from being the abode of those 
 who, by making it their residence, evince 
 their appreciation of its green and lucid 
 delights. To look back upon several weeks 
 passed amidst such scenes, in the finest wea- 
 ther of one of the finest summers England 
 has presented, when all the flowers of June 
 were in bloom without, and music, beauty, 
 and friendship within, is like a retrospect of 
 those delicious dreams, that in the morning 
 of life imposes a feeling of inexpressible ten- 
 derness throughout the day, "redolent of joy, 
 and vernal delight/' 
 
( 90 ) 
 
 NORTON. 
 
 Upon one of those elevations that environ 
 Sheffield, some covered by lofty woods, others 
 extending in far distant moorlands, each va- 
 ried in form and feature, but all beautiful in 
 effect, is Norton ; the most northern, as its 
 name denotes, of the Derbyshire townlets. 
 Its southern precincts are marked by a long 
 line of Scotch firs that skirt its scite, and 
 from whence the surrounding country is 
 seen in panoramic pomp ; to the north the 
 town of Sheffield, with its venerable spire, 
 and junior towers, and rising back grounds ; 
 to the west, the high moors of Derbyshire, 
 ^ their purple mantle at a distance thrown/' 
 
NORTON. 91 
 
 diurnally brightened by the gorgeous sun 
 sinking beyond their long extended outline, 
 with the richly-wooded vale of Beauchief; 
 its beautifully headland, and its ancient mo- 
 nastic relic reposing beneath ; over which 
 the glowing turrets of Banner cross, en- 
 closed by embowering shades, unites its tra- 
 ditional sanctity with the hallowed dale.* 
 Eastward, gently rising grounds, cultivated 
 and enclosed by waving hedge-rows, with 
 little patches of native wood melting in the 
 aerial distance, is in beautiful contrast to 
 the richer and wilder prospect of the north 
 and west. Thus surrounded, stands Nor- 
 ton; its highest point crowned by its an- 
 cient church, grey with the mosses of a 
 thousand years, and shaded by spreading 
 trees, intermixed with those more vener- 
 able ones that are synonimous with, and 
 
 * Abbey Dale. 
 
92 NORTON. 
 
 mementos of, English warfare; from which 
 the word, so truly English, has originated, 
 "the yeoman of his country;" a title, which, 
 like that of esquire, once had a very dif- 
 ferent signification to what is now affixed 
 to them : each being taken from military 
 services, the one from escu, or bearer of 
 a shield, held in defence of his chief; the 
 other from yuw, the bearer of the bow, 
 which was sometimes called the yew ; equal 
 in rank and estimation ; but that the escuiu 
 took the precedence, as marquis takes that 
 of earl. Norton Green ivas surrounded by 
 Norton Hall, Norton House, an ancient 
 chauntry, and the vicarage, forming an 
 area of uncommon beauty and rural ac- 
 commodation. The church, standing on a 
 gentle rise, forming its southern boundary ; 
 and the green, divided by a commodious 
 carriage-road, was partly shaded by a row 
 
NORTON. 93 
 
 of fine trees, that skreened Norton House 
 from the west winds, and gave sylvan 
 beauty to the rustic lawn ; fronting which, 
 beneath the wall that enclosed the opposite 
 domain, an expansive pool of water dis- 
 pensed freshness and aliment to man, and 
 all the lower world. Forest trees, shrubs, 
 and flowers, presented themselves in ap- 
 proximation with the different habitations ; 
 and though all was private property, yet their 
 open display was general pleasure. The 
 Virginia creeper, in its varied changes or 
 green, yellow, and red, covered the high 
 square turrets of Norton Hall ; the lilacs 
 and liburnums hung over its walled enclosure 
 above the water ; the elms and yews of the 
 church-yard blended their foliage ; the 
 spreading pear trees, and the starry jasmine, 
 covered the front of the Vicarage, its little 
 court beneath rich in floral beauty; the 
 
94 NORTON. 
 
 bright ivy and gadding woodbine clothed 
 the gables and gateway of Norton House ; 
 the old elms throwing their shadows on 
 the green below its windows ; the venerable 
 Chauntry, standing a little aloof, beneath the 
 oak of ages, with the attractive cottage at 
 its termination, over -canopied with lofty 
 trees, and enclosed in verdure ; and from 
 the midst of all, a distant view of the 
 Derbyshire hills consummated and con- 
 trasted the beauty of the scene. Such was 
 Norton Green — but it is such no longer. 
 The enclosure act has changed its appear- 
 ance. Private convenience may be attained, 
 private property certainly is enhanced, but 
 rural beauty is lost, time- established liberty 
 invaded, benevolent associations Vanished, 
 and pictorial effect destroyed ; angular walls 
 intersect the once open green, that is now 
 parcelled off to its proprietors; but it must 
 
NORTON. 95 
 
 ever be lamented by those who remember 
 its former interest, that amidst all the ter- 
 ritory by which they are surrounded, this 
 little patch of village freedom could not be 
 resigned : that the right of its possession 
 should have been maintained is allowed, but 
 its privileges and it pleasures should, like 
 the verdant hue of its turf, have been pe- 
 rennial. Norton church, and its ancient 
 cemetery, are happily out of the reach of 
 desecration. How awful, for what is more 
 awful than time past, are its associations ! 
 In the days of the splendid crusader, it stood 
 in all the pride of its erection^ the cynosure 
 of the piety of its earliest members ; as it 
 did when the spirit of British liberty de- 
 scended upon Runnymede, asserted her sa- 
 cred supremacy, and overawed regal tyranny 
 and popish dominion. Through all the glo- 
 ries of the Edwards and the Henrys, Cressy, 
 
96 NORTON. 
 
 and Agincourt have been echoed round its 
 walls, and the name of Elizabeth breathed 
 in prayer beneath its roofs. Its bells have 
 welcomed home again a restored monarch, 
 and in him that form of government best 
 adapted to the spirit and genius of the Eng- 
 lish people, and the British constitution ; 
 whilst its Steeple overlooks the vicinity of 
 Whittington ; the place where He, who was 
 alike the friend of monarchy, but the enemy 
 of tyrants, whose monumental inscription 
 is the glory of his memory, planned and 
 organized that bloodless revolution, that 
 he afterwards assisted to consolidate. With 
 William and Mary, Ann, and the Georges, 
 it has stood in safety and in peace ; and so 
 long as time spares its stones and its tim- 
 bers, so long may the purpose of its erec- 
 tion, and the form of its prayer remain un- 
 violated. But the distinctions of Norton are 
 
NORTON. 97 
 
 not all enumerated; the omnipotence of 
 mind will bear witness to its present and 
 future celebrity. It is the birth-place of 
 Chantry, whose name is probably coeval with 
 the ancient chantry-house, that a few years 
 ago was in existence ; there the germs of 
 his genius were first unfolded, the pomp of 
 vision, the proportions of nature, the harmony 
 of sounds, and all that works together in the 
 gifted mind, and the combination of talent, first 
 met his eye and ear ; before the rudiments 
 of art had reached his comprehension, or 
 its refinements wrought upon his imagina- 
 tion, unanalyzed by himself, and unaware 
 to what a proud pre-eminence they would 
 raise him. At Norton his maternal parent 
 resides, in easy competence, and respect- 
 able society, receiving the annual visit 
 of her honoured son, who, in all the 
 
 H 
 
98 NORTON. 
 
 pride of his fame, cherishes those feel- 
 ings, without which there can be no true 
 sense of beauty — for beauty and goodness 
 are one. 
 
( 99 ) 
 
 NORTON-LEES. 
 
 Mearsbeck, the boundary brook of York- 
 shire and Derbyshire, winds with so sinuous 
 a course, as to have changed its designation 
 to the literal one of Maze Brook, and with 
 capricious bendings skirts the hill on which the 
 Hall of Norton-Lees, below Norton, and above 
 Sheffield, appears : an old mansion-house, 
 surrounded by adjacent woods, once in- 
 habited by a family of Derbyshire gentry, 
 and now presenting a specimen of the early 
 periods of English architecture 5 and con- 
 sequently something of the habits of living 
 practised by our forefathers. Buildings 
 
 like the hall of Norton-Lees are every day 
 L.ofC. H 2 
 
100 NORTON-LEES. 
 
 becoming more rare, either falling into de- 
 cay, or entirely removed to be replaced by 
 others, more suitable to the habits of the 
 present occupiers : the few that remain ap- 
 pear to have a venerable claim upon the 
 posterity of their early owners, as presenting 
 some traces of their fleeting life, the faded 
 portraits that demonstrate they have existed. 
 Our Saxon ancestors built their dwellings 
 entirely of wood, as they did their Churches; 
 in the periods immediately succeeding, plaster 
 was intermixed with wood, with the base- 
 ment story built of stone — such is this old 
 house. The reigns of York and Lancaster 
 tended more to the devastation of the coun- 
 try, than its advancement in those arts that 
 contribute to the enjoyments of domestic 
 life. In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, 
 houses composed of stone, or stone and 
 brick, became general, possessing an air of 
 
NORTON-LEES* 101 
 
 gratideur and accommodation, to which in 
 our own improved times we are reverting. A 
 proof of the remote antiquity of the old 
 house at Norton-Lees, is the large barns on 
 its west, their whole structure being wood, 
 excepting a low stone basement, and their 
 principal support, deep flat beams of oak, 
 naturally carved, of which each pair seems 
 to have been sawed from one tree; they 
 spring from the ground, and form a bold 
 gothic arch overhead : such timber frames 
 present specimens of the architecture of 
 Edward the First, a period when those 
 spacious receptacles were destined to con- 
 tain the fortunes of their owners, that prin- 
 cipally consisted in the produce of their 
 land, and in their cattle, in which the for- 
 tunes of their daughters were paid ; the 
 wardrobe of a wife, then destined to last 
 her life, was conveyed from her father's 
 h 3 
 
102 NORTON-LEES. 
 
 house to that of her husband, in a richly- 
 carved oak chest, drawn by the oxen that 
 formed part of her dowry. From these de- 
 monstrations it would appear that the old 
 house at Norton-Lees was built in the reign 
 of Richard the Second, being at that period the 
 residence of a Parker, a person of good posses- 
 sions, at Bulwell, in Nottinghamshire, who, 
 in that reign, married Elizabeth de Gotham, 
 only daughter of Roger de Gotham, son of 
 Thomas de Gotham, son of Roger de Go- 
 tham, of Norton-Lees, of the county of 
 Derby, a family who had evidently resided 
 there three generations, and had possessed 
 heritable property in the reign of Edward 
 the Third ; from that event (the marriage of 
 Elizabeth de Gotham) the Parkers lineally 
 descended, and continued to reside at Norton- 
 Lees to the reign of Henry the Eighth, from 
 which we may conclude it was a residence 
 
NORTON-LEES, 103 
 
 of more importance than their patrimonial 
 home. From this family the present Earl 
 of Macclesfield is descended, raised to that 
 dignity in the reign of George the First. It 
 appears strange that the Earl of Maccles- 
 field did not found his new- raised rank upon 
 the superstructure of his ancestorial con- 
 sequence, and have revived that of the 
 heiress to whom it owed the possession of 
 the estates at Norton-Lees, and whose name, 
 as is the fate of those families whose pos- 
 sessions descend to daughters, become ob- 
 scured, or lost in that which they have 
 enriched \ but perhaps Baron de Gotham 
 might have been too sapient a designation 
 even for a Chancellor of Great Britain, the 
 fountain from whence his future honours 
 sprung. With that consideration with which 
 our forefathers attended to the warm com- 
 forts of their habitations, the house fronts 
 h 4 
 
104 NORTON-LEES. 
 
 a rising hill to the south, whilst its north 
 aspect was sheltered by native woods, whose 
 junior descendants form a fine colonnade, 
 that protects and screens the venerable build- 
 ing ; from the west winds, that are most 
 prevalent, the huge barns were a strong 
 barrier 5 and on the east, an antique yew, 
 yet standing, was one perhaps of many 
 more, that formed the ornamental shade of 
 the place. Thus guarded on all sides, and 
 warmed within by the immense fires, that 
 the abundance of fuel supplied, and the 
 large hearths and wide chimneys admitted, 
 the original inhabitants felt not the season's 
 difference, and there scarcely can be a more 
 curious contrast than what their domestic 
 economy and habits presented to those of their 
 descendants; children of the same fathers, 
 country, and climate, not differing more than 
 the summer-houses now built by them, and the 
 
NORTON-LEES. 105 
 
 substantial halls built by their forefathers: 
 ere another generation be gone, even these, 
 their last relics, will disappear. — Such are 
 the fashions of this world — such the destiny 
 of its children. 
 
 A perfect picture of this old mansion- 
 house has been lately produced from the 
 accurate and elegant pencil of E. Blore, Esq. 
 
( 106 ) 
 
 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 The vision passed away, and left us dim, like men who 
 had seen lightning." 
 
 The Lady Georgiana Spencer, daughter of 
 John Earl Spencer, was married to William, 
 fifth Duke of Devonshire, at the age of se- 
 venteen, a gem that in all its native lustre 
 had alone graced the maternal cabinet, and 
 diffused its radiance over the domestic circle, 
 from thence resigned to be more richly set, 
 and become the brightest jewel in the ducal 
 coronet. Wedded to Derbyshire, Derbyshire 
 claims her as its own ; exults in the recollec- 
 tion of her virtues and her graces, and 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 10/ 
 
 mourns for its desolation in her death. 
 Youth, beauty, wealth, hereditary and ac- 
 quired rank, were the external distinctions 
 of her Grace's entrance into the public world; 
 a heart alive to every noble impulse, a dispo- 
 sition tending to every amiable propensity, a 
 temper sweetly influenced by every benevo- 
 lent feeling, awakened talent, and cultivated 
 intellect, were the native and improved en- 
 dowments of the Duchess of Devonshire ; 
 formed to give brilliancy to courts, by courts 
 she was hailed as the morning star, as the 
 sun rejoicing in his brightness, and like that- 
 generous luminary, which bids the diamond 
 blaze, and deigns to gild the lily, she dis- 
 pensed her gracious attentions to all who 
 aspired to their influence, and disseminated 
 her benignant favour wherever its animating 
 rays, or soothing beams, were sought. The 
 enthusiasm that the young and lovely Duchess* 
 
108 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 excited at Chatsworth, the magnificent and 
 paternal seat of the first Dukes of Devonshire, 
 is yet, and will be long remembered. To the 
 surrounding gentry^ who flocked there to pay 
 their congratulations on an event they hoped 
 would fix their noble neighbour and honoured 
 principal amongst them, she dispensed the 
 most dignified affability, condescending with 
 delicate and benevolent discrimination, to 
 support those whose pretensions were least 
 ostensible ; uniting her sportive graces with 
 the young, and bestowing her encouraging 
 attentions to the diffident, whilst every part 
 of her princely household rejoiced in the fes- 
 tive gaiety she promoted : the happiness she 
 dispensed returned to her own bosom, for 
 when the eye saw her, it blessed her, and the 
 testimony of her virtues and attractions were 
 the theme, and boast of Derbyshire. Placed 
 almost upon the pinnacle of terrestrial gran- 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 109 
 
 deur, possessing beauty that excited univer- 
 sal admiration, influencing the heart, the 
 power, and the fortune, of one of the most 
 considerable noblemen of England, in the 
 prime, the very prime of youth, the horizon 
 of her life was one vast expanse of happiness, 
 and she repelled not — where was the being 
 so gifted that could ? — the full tide of joy that 
 flowed in upon her. To such an enchantress 
 Fashion bowed, and appointed her high- 
 priestess at her shrine ; Pleasure threw out 
 all her flowery allurements to secure so rich 
 a votary ; Folly laughed at Wisdom, and 
 vowed the lovely smiling captive should be 
 his : each made their claims, all had their 
 hopes, but the native heart remained the 
 same, uncorrupted, unchanged, and when the 
 sacred voice of maternal love raised its appeal, 
 how beautifully did that heart respond ! Never 
 did she lead a fashion, so true to nature, so 
 
110 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 graceful to her sex, so honourable to her 
 rank, as when she withdrew from the vortex 
 of the world, and retired with her new-born 
 blessing, to perform new T -excited duties 
 amidst the health-inspiring hills of Derby- 
 shire. There, during the early infancy of her 
 child, how amiable she was ! how attractive 
 she appeared ! The eye of Fancy hailed her as 
 the mother of Love, the hearts of her family 
 as the preserver of an illustrious race, the 
 Being that was to perpetuate the name of 
 Cavendish to a far distant posterity : Der- 
 went, in his various course, amidst the scenes 
 of beauty and sublimity through which he 
 passed, reflected not an object that united 
 more sweetly with them, than did this lovely, 
 youthful, and devoted mother, when with her 
 infant in her arms she traced his bankless 
 waters in the park of Chatsw r orth — presenting 
 it to the passing peasantry as the rival of their 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. Ill 
 
 own rosy offspring, " Take the baby/' said 
 she, " take it in your arms — be not afraid — 
 say whether you have any finer of its age 
 amongst you." The delighted people viewed 
 and blessed it, and retired to relate to their 
 village acquaintance the condescending affa- 
 bility of the Duchess, describing it in one 
 word, and that was goodness. " Speaking to 
 us/' said they, " with as much < goodness," as 
 though we were of the same flesh and blood 
 as herself." So soothing, so conciliating are 
 such condescensions to the poor, and to the 
 humble ; not even the benefits flowing from 
 her bounty, awakened warmer sentiments of 
 respect and gratitude, than her smiles excited, 
 " Tell me," said she, in the honeyed accents 
 of compassion, to her local physician at 
 Chatsworth, " how I can best help those who 
 are in want : let your judgment assist my in- 
 experience." But to detail the various in- 
 
112 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 stances of her charity, generosity, benevo- 
 lence, and condescension, would be to exceed 
 the limits prescribed ; the vignette would ex- 
 tend to the outline of the widest canvass, and 
 the sketch beqome a picture, the circum- 
 scribed page a memoir. From the great we 
 expect great actions : but when they conde- 
 scend to perform kindnesses, confer benefits, 
 and diffuse happiness in all the minutiae of 
 benevolence, with all the sweetness of per- 
 sonal encouragement and consolation, we 
 feel that it is not in the pride of humanity, 
 but by its principle, they are actuated. Sir 
 William Jones, " the most enlightened of 
 the sons of men/' was the friend and corres- 
 pondent of the youth of Lady Georgiana 
 Spencer; the Countess of Spencer, one of 
 the most accomplished of women, was her 
 earliest preceptress, and her maternal guide ; 
 the Lady Henrietta, her most attached friend, 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 1 13 
 
 and all who were distinguished by talent, 
 by learning, by elegance, by royalty, were 
 her associates, courted her smiles, and ac- 
 knowledged her distinctions. All that unites 
 happily-assorted spirits, " finely touched to 
 the finest issues," attached the Duchess of 
 Devonshire and the Countess of Besborough : 
 sisters in affection as in blood, whether 
 pursuing rural pleasures, and promoting 
 princely hospitality amid the wild scenery of 
 Derbyshire, the Switzerland of England ; or 
 seeking health amid the vales of Devonshire, 
 the Italy of their native land \ crossing the Alps 
 in the pursuit of science, or reposing on the 
 banks of the Arno^ in the cultivation of taste : 
 the rose of friendship still bloomed for 
 them, and under every sky found its soil 
 in their united affection. The Duchess of 
 Devonshire delighted in the study of elegant 
 literature, and ever paid respect and homage 
 
114 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 to those who were distinguished by its pos- 
 session. Her love of music sprang from the 
 only source that can produce its most beauti- 
 ful and pathetic effects, a feeling heart, and 
 a refined taste. Long as the simple and 
 touching song of " the poor white man " 
 shall be remembered, and remembered it 
 will so long as taste and feeling exist, it 
 will prove how deeply she was impressed by 
 each; how the native purity and simplicity 
 of her mind was uncorrupted by that world 
 which was thought to absorb her. Music 
 and poetry are too nearly allied, to be 
 divided in a mind where talent is added 
 to tenderness and delicacy. The beautiful 
 lines written by her Grace, when crossing 
 Mount St. Gothard, paint its rugged heights 
 with descriptive excellence; whilst the con- 
 cluding stanzas express the sweetest feelings 
 of the mother's heart, anticipating in a re- 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 115 
 
 union with her beautiful children the gra- 
 tification of its best affections. In draw- 
 ing she was eminently skilled ; the genuine 
 taste she possessed was aided by her inti- 
 macy with the finest productions of the 
 imitative arts that the cabinets of the Duke 
 of Devonshire, richly stored as they are with 
 paintings, statues, medals, and gems, afford, 
 and an acquaintance with those that the 
 palaces and galleries of Italy possess. In 
 the study and acquisition of mineralogy, she 
 evinced deep research and scientific know- 
 ledge ; in its pursuit gratifying the powers of 
 her capacious mind, and complimenting the 
 particular science of her adopted country. 
 Two beautiful cabinets of Derbyshire mine- 
 rals and fossils, selected and classed by her 
 Grace, ornament Chatsworth, most valuable 
 to every one who remembers with affection 
 and respect the hand by which they were 
 i 2 
 
116 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 arranged. In the Duchess of Devonshire's 
 intercourse with society, she removed the 
 barriers of state and ceremony that had too 
 long insulated the higher ranks from its 
 pleasures. Her parties, in London, were dis- 
 tinguished by its happiest requisites, talents 
 and learning, elegance and harmony, with 
 the ease and polish of high life ; and when 
 it was seen that, under a correct judgment, 
 their union derogated nothing from, but 
 added grace to her high station, her example 
 became a fashion, and her manners a stand- 
 ard. Nobly born, nobly allied, and nobly 
 endowed, she never attempted to wrap her- 
 self up in proud reserve, chill the kind 
 affections of the heart, and keep aloof from 
 all the sweet charities of life, lest she 
 should fail to exact that particular de- 
 ference, that, conscious she was entitled to 
 receive, she never apprehended would be 
 
- DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 117 
 
 withheld. In her were united the genuine 
 essentials of nobility — dignity and courtesy : 
 those who only know the former, know but 
 in part what is due to their high station, and 
 by such only could the impulse of her sweet 
 affability and condescending attentions be mis- 
 taken. The venerable, the u time-honoured " 
 Countess of Spencer, lived to weep for the 
 extinction of that spirit which prompted the 
 noble heart of her beloved daughter. The 
 anxious hopes, and trembling fears, that the 
 last illness of the Duchess of Devonshire 
 excited in her own family; the solicitude 
 of friends, the respectful inquiries of more 
 distant acquaintance, the throng of carriages 
 that beset Devonshire-House, the apprehen- 
 sions of all, from the prince to the depen- 
 dant, evinced how deep an interest her dan- 
 ger excited. The hopes of the most sanguine, 
 i 3 
 
118 DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 and the prayers of the most devoted, received 
 their final suspension. To the great, and to 
 the gay, to the lovely, and to the virtuous, 
 the death of the Duchess of Devonshire 
 spoke with a voice that thrilled the soul ; it 
 told, that to her who was allied to them all, 
 the lot of all was assigned ; that she, who 
 like Solomon, had tried all things, was ar- 
 rived at that period when all things become 
 vanity; and it is humbly trusted, that in 
 those awful moments, when but a thin par- 
 tition, a shadowy veil, was spread betwixt 
 life and eternity, that merciful Being, who 
 had witnessed her thousand acts of charity, 
 and feelings of compassion to her suffering 
 fellow -creatures, would soothe her depart- 
 ing spirit with the whispers of his redeem- 
 ing peace. To those nearest and dearest, 
 who remain to lament her loss, how conso- 
 latory must be the reflection of her bene- 
 
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 119 
 
 ficence, that she never closed her ear to 
 the widow's woe, and. the orphan's wail; 
 that of the good things given to her, she 
 cheerfully imparted to those who needed 
 them ; that she never looked down with dis- 
 dain upon the legist of those little ones, 
 and that to her children she left the 
 Richest legacy a mother could bequeath, 
 an unspotted honour, pure, and undefamed, 
 which even the breath of calumny never 
 sullied; and many a blessing, for that mo- 
 ther's sake, shall fall upon their heads ! In 
 Derbyshire, where the impression of all her 
 early graces, and matured attractions, had 
 made the most lively impresssion, the most 
 unaffected sorrow succeeded, from the higher 
 to the most humble mourner. Amongst them 
 her mortal remains are laid, and those amber 
 waves that still flow around the palace she 
 once irradiated, now reflect her tomb, 
 i 4 
 
( 120 ) 
 
 COUNTESS OF BESBOROUGH. 
 
 The Dead are like the stars by day ; 
 
 Withdrawn from mortal eye, 
 But not extinct, they hold their way, 
 
 In glory through the sky. 
 
 The remains of Henrietta Francis, Coun- 
 tess of Besborough, second daughter of John 
 Earl Spencer, and at the same time her 
 infant grandchild, the cherub companion of 
 her life and death, were interred in All- 
 Saints' Church, Derby, the mausoleum of 
 that noble family, with whom she was so 
 intimately connected by the ties of consan- 
 guinity, of marriage, and of affection. 
 
 Amidst the various excellencies that dis- 
 
COUNTESS OF BfcSBOROUGH. 121 
 
 tinguished the character of Lady Besborough, 
 her susceptibility of all the sweet charities 
 and relative endearments of domestic life, 
 were most pre-eminent. Highly gifted by 
 native talent, and rich in intellectual ac- 
 quirements, the tender affections of her na- 
 ture was her most peculiar charm, endearing 
 her to all upon whom connexion or circum- 
 stance conferred the happiness of her asso- 
 ciation. Heroic in spirit, she disregarded 
 peril and personal hazard, when the tender 
 apprehensions of a mother led her to the 
 contemplation of death in its most frightful 
 form — to the seat of war, and the field of bat- 
 tle : there her fond affection was richly repaid 
 by receiving him living, who amongst so 
 many of his gallant compatriots, had been 
 numbered with the glorious dead, on the 
 plains of Waterloo. 
 
 According to the wish of Lady Besborough, 
 
122 COUNTESS OF BRSBOROUGH. 
 
 her mortal remains were laid with those of 
 the late Duchess of Devonshire. The spirit 
 of sisterly, of sympathetic affection, that had 
 fondly united these distinguished women 
 in life, ceased only in death. " Rival sis- 
 ters," though often applied to them, was 
 uot just in its general acceptation. Beautiful 
 in person, captivating in manners, and amia- 
 ble in disposition, they were too tenderly 
 endeared, too faithfully attached to be rivals, 
 but as became the daughters of the same 
 noble House, and emulous of its hereditary 
 distinctions ; and most delightful it was to 
 witness the sweet association of their sister- 
 graces, which was like the lustre of a beau- 
 tiful silk, whose interwoven fabric is formed 
 of the richest colours, and as the varying 
 hues are presented to the eye, each receiving 
 tints more brilliant from their combination. 
 Whichever most predominated was the most 
 
COUNTESS OF BESBOROUGH. 123 
 
 attractive, as their union was the most com- 
 plete. When this beautifully blended web of 
 life was rent, by the death of the Duchess of 
 Devonshire, all that was associated with her 
 name and nature, became more sacred to the 
 fond survivor; to appreciate her virtues, to 
 recal her excellencies, to refer to her local 
 attachments, was a tender passport to the 
 heart of Lady Besborough, who never wrote 
 or spoke of that gracious being, but all that 
 was lovely, and animated, and energetic 
 glowed in every word and motion; and when 
 the silver chord of life was breaking, its 
 retrospective vibrations thrilled to that tender 
 strain that had ever been in unison with her 
 more protracted existence. Derbyshire ! the 
 county that had received the Duchess of De- 
 vonshire on her entrance into life_, where the 
 rosy mornings of their youth had flown on 
 downy wings, where the more matured hours 
 
124 COUNTESS OF BESBOROUGH. 
 
 of their life had reposed in sweet association; 
 was chosen as the place of her final rest. 
 The wild sublimity of its grey rocks and 
 mountain streams, its purple heights and syl- 
 van valleys, was congenial with their united 
 feelings, and their mutual tastes; and their 
 remembrance had been fondly cherished in 
 the heart of Lady Besborough : — there she 
 chose that her last home should be, and 
 there those w T ho in life were so lovely, in 
 death are not divided. 
 
 Cold are those noble hearts on Derwent's shore, 
 And all their glowing energies are felt no more. 
 
( 125 ) 
 
 EYAM. 
 
 Surrounded by lofty mountains leading to 
 distant moors stands Eyam, upon a natural 
 terrace, halfway up those rising hills, the mul- 
 titude of which form the High Peak of Derby- 
 shire; sheltered by their elevation, and cheer- 
 ful in its midway ascent, overlooking rocky 
 dales, and verdant dingles, interspersed with 
 grassy crofts and shadowy trees. But Eyam, 
 the full vowelled Eyam, possesses higher dis- 
 tinctions; recorded names that outlive the 
 characteristics of a country, and the condi- 
 tions of man. 
 
 Catherine Mompesson, the self-devoted 
 wife, the pious, the heroic, and judicious pas- 
 tor, the resigned and submissive villagers of 
 
126 IS YAM. 
 
 the sixteenth century, have consecrated Eyam ; 
 by the names of Seward, father and daughter, 
 of Cunningham the accomplished scholar, 
 the elegant companion, and the eloquent 
 preacher, it is commemorated. The Churcfc 
 and Rectory House of Eyam are contiguous ; 
 the lawn of bright and vivid green separates 
 the House from the Church-yard; time-worn 
 and grey in years, the venerable pile derives 
 an added solemnity from the deep shadow of 
 the ancient elms and darker yew trees that 
 grow within the cemetery. The drawing- 
 room windows open towards this sacred en- 
 closure, but the little village street was ex- 
 cluded by a beautiful avenue of trees, planted 
 by Mr. Seward upon an artificial terrace at 
 the verge of the lawn, always affording a dry 
 and shaded walk. After his death, injudicious 
 parsimony, or a lamentable necessity, occa- 
 sioned this sylvan screen to be cut down. 
 
EYAM. 127 
 
 The breakfast room on the back front, the 
 room where the household deities were most 
 constantly worshipped, and their votaries 
 most frequently assembled, opened upon a 
 small sloping enclosure, ornamented by a 
 profusion of flowers that overhung the village 
 houses of the lower part of Eyam, above 
 whose humble roofs, the heathy mountains 
 to the east arose in sudden elevation, at their 
 base the eye extends over the long natural 
 terrace that runs in continuation from Eyam 
 above the little town of Stoney Middleton, 
 so romantically situated at the extremity of 
 its rocky defiles ; green patches of cultivation, 
 mixed with indigenous verdure, and recent 
 plantations, are presented, whilst in the far-off 
 landscape, the crystal decorations, and the 
 glittering windows of Chatsworth, gild and 
 animate the scene. The Reverend Thomas 
 Seward, Rector of Eyam, was eminently 
 
128 EYAM. 
 
 distinguished by those requisites that form 
 the gentleman, and constitute the scholar, 
 with the virtue and piety that are indispen- 
 sable in the moral character, and the clerical 
 dispensation. Mrs. Seward was distinguished 
 by exquisite beauty and polite manners, and 
 the graces and endowments of each highly- 
 gifted parent were imparted to their daugh- 
 ter. The barrier mountains of Eyam enclos- 
 ed a small but intelligent society, where the 
 genuine spirit of old English hospitality ex- 
 isted in all its cordial warmth, and primitive 
 simplicity: to these were added the intercourse 
 of kindness with two or three neighbouring 
 families of the same degree, and occasionally 
 that of courtesy from their more illustrious 
 one at Chatsworth, the aggregate forming 
 the early society of Anna Seward, for from 
 the age of three years she accompanied her 
 devoted father in all his excursions of plea- 
 
EYAM. 129 
 
 sure, of exercise, of piety, of charity, and the 
 subsequent period, short as it was, served to 
 impress upon her precocious mind, and affec- 
 tionate nature, the local endearments of her 
 Alpine home; all that met the eye and ear 
 of Anna Seward's childhood, was raised 
 above the petty objects of common existence, 
 and the first seven years of such a being, the 
 nature of such a country, determined the 
 taste and feelings of her future life. The 
 parochial duties of Mr. Seward were limit- 
 ed, but those self-imposed numerous. He 
 watched over his pastoral charge, as the 
 good shepherd watcheth over his flock, re- 
 calling the wanderers to his fold, and carry- 
 ing the young lambs in his bosom ; " to him 
 their hopes, their fears, their wants were 
 given :" thus was the love of kindness, and 
 the bond of union, interwoven with the 
 earliest feelings of the children of his house, 
 
 K 
 
130 EYAM. 
 
 and those of his parish ; before knowledge 
 had unrolled her ample page, they saw how 
 lovely goodness is, and felt the beauty of the 
 moral world, as the intellectual one became 
 displayed. The acquirements of Mr. Seward 
 were the result of a highly cultivated edu- 
 cation, combining the result of academic 
 study and foreign travel ; his poetry w T as the 
 poetry of the schools, correct imagery and 
 harmonious numbers — but his daughter was 
 born a poet, receiving her inspiration from 
 the sublime scenery upon which she opened 
 her infant eyes ; it came on the wings of the 
 gale, on the blast of the mountain, in the 
 gathering of the mists, with the rosy light 
 of morning, in the purple shades of evening, 
 with the silver crescent in the twilight sky, 
 in the full glory of the midnight moon ; it 
 arose from earth in the perfume of the 
 flowers, it descended from heaven in the 
 
EYAM. 131 
 
 harmony of the skies ; Genius opened wide 
 her golden gates, and presented all that was 
 beautiful in the material and intellectual 
 world to her enraptured gaze ; Joy sparkled 
 in her cup, and friends and fortune smiled 
 upon her opening life ; all the attraction of 
 her after days were the emanations of her 
 childhood and her youth : and at Eyam they 
 were engendered. Mr. Seward's promotion 
 to the canonry of Lichfield removed his 
 family from Eyam, excepting as occasional 
 residents. Mrs. Seward was in the bloom 
 of youth and loveliness, and though married 
 to the man of her choice, and the object of 
 his most devoted affection, she never ceased 
 to regret the gay and more discriminating 
 society of her native Lichfield, where she 
 had been the object of general admiration. 
 She felt that amidst its enlightened circle and 
 elegant society, the talents of Mr. Seward, 
 k2 
 
132 EYAM. 
 
 of which she was laudably proud, would be 
 more justly appreciated, and his qualifica- 
 tions receive their more gratifying tribute. 
 Those feminine accomplishments that she 
 considered essential to the education of her 
 daughters were not attainable at Eyam ; few 
 young women, at that period, were qualified 
 to teach, and the attendance of masters were 
 excluded by their insulated residence ; the 
 removal, therefore of Mr. Seward to Lich- 
 field, was the consummation of her fondest 
 wishes, for him, herself, and daughters ; and 
 the secluded rectory of Eyam was left for 
 the Episcopal Palace ; the wild sublimity of 
 Derbyshire for the sylvan graces of Stafford- 
 shire; the select society of early youth for 
 the lettered intercourse of a prebendal circle; 
 the soft and silent joys of Eyam for the gay 
 associations of an elegant city — but never 
 did these attractions banish from her heart 
 
EYAM. 133 
 
 the country of her birth, or the friends of 
 her childhood ; radiant in beauty, never did 
 she return to Eyam without all the feelings 
 of that heart glowing on her fine features, 
 and sparkling in her beautiful eyes, recog- 
 nizing, w T ith fond delight, its every inha- 
 bitant — from the friends of her choice to the 
 humblest resident of her native village. On 
 these occasional visits — visits that kept alive 
 the intercourse of reverence and regard that 
 never ceased to exist betwixt Mr. Seward, 
 his parishioners, and his friends — Mr. and 
 Miss Seward were accompanied by two 
 beings whose names are identified with 
 theirs, by every feeling of admiration, of 
 affection, and of sorrow ; alike formed to 
 soothe in friendship, and to charm in love — 
 Honora Sneyd and Major Andre — the beau- 
 tiful, and the brave. During twelve years^ the 
 same roof sheltered, the same room afforded 
 
134 KYAM. 
 
 repose to those tenderly-attached young wo- 
 men^ Anna Seward and Honora Sneyd ; new 
 connexions, and more extended duties, with- 
 drew Honora from the home of her youth ; 
 soon after marrying, she went to Ireland — ■ 
 the same country no longer held them ; too 
 soon after, dying, the same world contained 
 them not; and in the grave of Honora, the 
 sweetest sympathies and affections of Anna 
 Seward were buried ; for the untimely death 
 of Major Andre, the tears of a nation were 
 blended with hers, and Eyam became more 
 dear as having witnessed their mutual graces 
 and talents, and their hapless attachment; 
 every apartment of the rectory was sacred, 
 every inanimate object they contained were 
 cherished memorials of her departed pa- 
 rents, sister, and friends. An exquisite little 
 poem, entitled " Eyam/' expresses the feel- 
 ings it ever excited, with genuine tenderness, 
 
EYAM. 135 
 
 only to be compared in pathos with the last 
 she wrote, a most musical, most melancholy 
 retrospective of her life, her " Remem- 
 brance." Like the Bird of Beauty, the Lady 
 of the Lake, her dying notes are sweetest ; 
 presenting, in all the pathos of genuine 
 feeling, the climax of her joys, her griefs, 
 and her muse. With these claims, shall not 
 Eyam raise its fair head amidst the proudest 
 places of the Peak, and assert its sanctified, 
 its lettered pre-eminence ! Eyam, that only 
 insensibility of heart, and dulness of eye, 
 can pass through without reverting to what 
 it has been, and acknowledging what yet 
 remains. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET. 
 
APR 19 1902 
 
«Wi^^£H^^OT«« 
 
 
 ■^U'tC^ l^n\ 
 
 TmmiML 
 
 • . % % ■■ mm 
 
 
 . -_ ^ - ; - --#«■ 
 
 BrasFIBiSKraSR ^^M^^Mvli^lm^y^ 
 
 
 ^WSH^I^Si Nrt..4." tal-^4^ 
 
J*&{yS4 
 
 
 :ft s^l 
 
 rf .-/..a^kju 
 
 
 "^i^. 
 ^&& 
 
 
 ^m 
 
 «ts