126 RECOLLECTIONS OF A FORMER EXCURSION. their corn, and in one single night did the work of ten daylabourers, unseen and unheard, for which service he was recompensed with a bowl of cream, that was duly placed upon the hearth, to be quaffed on the completion of the task he had voluntarily imposed upon himself. This is a tradition by no means confined to the neighbourhood of Monsal-Dale; a similar one prevails in many parts of the kingdom, and particularly in the northern districts, of which Milton has happily availed himself, in one of the most exquisite descriptive poems in the English language, "Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat "Ere the first cock his matin rings." L'ALLEGRO. From the cascade in Monsal-Dale to Ashford in the Water, the Wye continues the same busy and sparkling stream which had so much and so often delighted us during our walk from Buxton. From the open dale through which it runs, others of minor importance branch out, which possess considerable beauty; particularly the narrow dell which leads to Taddington, through whose various windings the road to Buxton is carried. Å summer evening's walk along this road from Buxton to Bakewell, is among some of my pleasantest recollections. Leaving the river Wye at the foot of Topley Pike, and scaling the rocky side of that immense hill, from whose terrific peak the eye trembles to look into the depths below, we passed along two miles of road of comparatively but little interest. On our right, at a short distance, was Chelmerton Thorn — a single tree which for centuries has served as a land-mark to travellers when the whole of this district was an unenclosed wild waste. On our left was the village of Wormhill: before us the lofty hill called Priestcliff reared its head in proud preeminence o'er all surrounding objects, and in distance a number of lesser mountains mingled their misty summits with the light, thin clouds that rested on the horizon. As we entered Taddington, which is one of the meanest villages in Derbyshire, we visited the church-yard, or rather the open grass LASS OF TADDINGTON-DALE. 127 field where the church stands: here we observed an old stone cross, the shaft of which is ornamented with various devices on every side, but all inferior in execution to those at Eyam and Bakewell, and altogether different in form, manner, and character. If long life may be regarded as a blessing, the inhabitants of Taddington appear to have been peculiarly blessed: the grave stones in the church-yard are not numerous, yet we observed more than an usual proportion that were inscribed to the memory of those who had died at a good old age. From eighty to one hundred years seems here the common term of existence. The parish-clerk showed us the new register, which commences with the year 1813. In the first page only, in the short space of six months, are recorded the deaths of four individuals, whose united ages amount to three hundred and seventy-nine years: the oldest of these venerable personages attained the age of one hundred and seven, and one of the four has a sister now living in Taddington who is ninetyeight years old. These instances of longevity are extraordinary in so small a village, and they shew that the reputation Taddington has obtained for the healthfulness of its situation and the salubrity of its air, rests on a good foundation. Well might the old woman at Ashford, when she had weathered seventy-eight years of existence, and found the infirmities of old age approaching, express an anxiety to remove her residence and live at Taddington, observing, at the same time, "Folk do no' die there so young as I am." From this humble village we pursued our route to Bakewell. It was a fine sunny evening, and we frequently paused, as we loitered through Taddington-Dale, to contemplate the various little pictures with which it abounds. In one of the closest parts of this deep ravine, where some jutting rock rose high above the surrounding foliage, a young female suddenly emerged from the bosom of a thicket near the summit of the mountain, and with a light and elastic step, she passed securely along, where to all appearance a human foot could find no `place to rest on. From the spot where we first saw her to the bottom of the hill, she moved with astonishing rapidity, and we trembled with apprehension as we saw her skip from the point of one jutting rock to another, as fearless and as playful as a mountain kid. Her figure was gracefully formed; her face was fair; and the freshness of her cheek rivalled the roses that breathed and bloomed around her: her hair hung about her face and neck in loose ringlets, and as she sportively put her tresses aside, she displayed a beautifully formed forehead, and her eyes sparkled the while with a coquettish playfulness, which showed that she was not unconscious of her beauty. Her manners were without restraint, and she entered into conversation with as little embarrassment as if she had been educated in fashionable society. One of my companions, who had more gallantry than myself, paid her some personal compliments, which she received as if she felt they were merited, even though at the same time she cautioned him against the use of what she called "that vile thing, flattery," which she playfully remarked had sometimes a very pernicious effect on young minds. She again stroked back her curls from her fair brow; adjusted her disordered tresses with a slight motion of her head; and, bidding us good bye with a wave of her hand, she, with a step as light and as agile as a startled fawn, bounded amongst the trees and was soon out of sight, "She was the spirit of the place, "With eye so wild and cheek so fair, "Her form so playful in its grace, "Mock'd her own mountain air." My companions and myself now looked at each other as if we doubted the reality of what we had seen: a few minutes only had passed, and the vision that sported before our eyes had disappeared and was gone for ever. Beauteous stranger! May the days of thy youth be guileless and happy, and may the hopes that play round thine heart, and the roses that bloom on thy cheek, never be blighted by any touch but that of Time! Another half hour's walk brought us to Ashford, a little village pleasantly situated by the side of the river Wye. "Here," says Gilpin, "we fall into a beautiful vale, fringed with wood, and watered by a brilliant stream, which recalled to our memory the pleasing scenes of this kind we had met with amongst the mountains of Cumberland." Every where the water sparkles with light, as it ripples over its pebbled bed or plays round the base of some lofty tree, whose involved and knotty roots are washed and laid bare by the current. The surrounding hills rise high above the village, and the cold bleak winds that chill their summits are scarcely felt in the sweet vale below. Edward Plantagenet of Woodstock, Earl of Kent, had a residence here, of which every vestige is now obliterated, excepting only a part of the moat that surrounded his castle. GREY AND BLACK MARBLES. ROTTEN STONE. 129 Ashford has been long celebrated for its marbles, which are obtained from the hills that afford it shelter, and are cut into form and polished at the mills originally erected by the late Mr. Henry Watson of Bakewell, who obtained a patent to secure to himself the advantages of his mechanical skill and ingenuity. The grey marbles dug from the quarries of Derbyshire are less esteemed than formerly, and the works where they are sawn into slabs and polished, are sinking into disuse and decay. This may be regretted, as the numerous shells and the great variety of figures they contain, when cut transversely, exhibit an infinite variety of vegetable and animal remains, that are not less curious than beautiful. The black marble of Ashford is not surpassed, perhaps not equalled, in any part of the world; its deep unvaried colour, and the compactness of its texture, fit it to receive the highest polish; a mirror can hardly present a clearer or a more beautiful surface: hence it is highly esteemed, but being difficult to work, it is too expensive for common occasions. In Chatsworth House there are some columns of this marble, which are used as pedestals for busts, and some ornamented vases of exquisite beauty. Mr. White Watson, in his Delineation of the Strata of Derbyshire, mentions this material under the denomination of Bituminous Fetid Limestone, and he intimates "that its colour is owing to Petroleum, with which it abounds." He farther observes, "this limestone is subject to decompose, in which operation the calcareous particles are disengaged and escape, and their interstices are occupied by water, the same still occupying the same space, bulk for bulk, as before; but on being squeezed, the water comes out as from a sponge. On being exposed to the air, by laying it in the grass (which it destroys, and sweeter herbage springs up in its place) till perfectly dry, the water evaporating leaves a very light_impalpable substance, called Rotten Stone, much esteemed for polishing metals, &c." To those who are acquainted with the peculiar use of this substance, I need offer no apology for this short extract from Mr. Watson's account of its formation. The subject is treated more largely in pages 45 and 46 of his work, and I gladly refer to his interesting detail of that curious operation of nature by which Rotten Stone is produced, and I do this more freely as I understand the correctness of his theory has been disputed. Dirtlow Moor, near Bakewell, where the surface is very wet, has the reputation of furnishing the best specimens of this useful article. K SECTION VIII. Bakewell. New Bath. Bakewell Church Yard. Ancient Stone Cross. Epitaphs. Chantry at Bakewell. - Antiquity of Bakewell. Castle Hill.-Interview with a poor Hindoo. FR ROM Ashford, we pursued our route to Bakewell, which lies at the entrance into an open valley, about two miles lower down the river. The principal carriage road crosses the bridge on the right; we however preferred a footpath that led us over the fields, on the contrary side of the Wye, which we found a pleasant walk, and full of beauty. This road has been recently closed. Near Bakewell, the valley contracts: a broken rock marks one side of the road, and a steep wooded hill rises on the other; the intervening space is occupied by the river and a cotton-mill, that belongs to the Arkwrights. The scenery about this mill, when seen from the elevated bank at the bottom of which the footpath from Ashford is carried, is extremely beautiful. The foreground on the left, particularly about Holme-hall, is rich with foliage, and the river below the bridge, and the road on the right, winding round a craggy projecting rock, beyond which the spire of the church and a small part of the town appears, are fine features in the landscape. The vale of Haddon is seen in distance, through the opening, and fills up the coup d'œil of this pleasing picture. Bakewell is pleasantly situated on a rising ground on the right bank of the river Wye. The Duke of Rutland, to whom nearly the whole place belongs, is progressively extending the many accommodations it affords to travellers, and increasing the respectability of its appearance. The old houses are gradually giving way to neat modern erections, and the whole is intended to be built with stone obtained in the neighbourhood, and on a regular and uniform plan. During |