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A RAMBLE OVER THE PEAK.

PERHAPS no English county possesses so many lovely vales, such a variety of picturesque landscapes, such gently meandering streams, so many romantic scenes, and such sublime mountain-land, as Derbyshire. Almost every aspect of the grand, the picturesque, and the beautiful, is to be found by the rambler in this fine county. We have the many charms of Matlock, the fairy-like beauty of Millersdale, the romantic seclusion of Dovedale, and the grandeur of the Peak. Familiar with many of its finest spots, we were not yet initiated into its loftiest heights; and thinking of our own advice as to the best way of using fine weather, and the opportunity for a ramble presenting itself, we gladly availed ourselves thereof, and now record for others' use the course and nature of our ramble, where we went and what we saw in the Peak country.

On one of the brightest of sunny mornings, we were borne with all the swiftness of steam from the busy hard-ware and hard-working town of Birmingham to Derby, whence we proceeded to Rowsley. Through the glorious landscapes of Matlock Baths, of Matlock Bridge and the neighbourhood, we were, not without compunction, carried along, and paused

not till we reached the terminus of this part of the Midland line. From Rowsley there are two ways of reaching Castleton, the town of the Peak; the one passing the fine old baronial building, Haddon Hall, to Bakewell, thence to Tydeswell, and so on to the place of your pilgrimage. The other, the one we took, passes through the park, and close by the princely mansion, of Chatsworth, not inappropriately called the "Palace of the Peak." For the present we must leave all its marvels undescribed, and proceed on our ramble. Being good pedestrians, and therefore extremely fond of that mode of travelling, we parted with the omnibus at Henzor, and proceeded to foot it on to Hathersage. On the way you pass through the loveliest scenery, filling the traveller with joy, and opening his heart for those delightful communions with nature, which do so much to remove the cankers of daily strife; to enlarge and keep healthy the sympathies which run so much danger of becoming petrified in our commerce with the world; to refine our appreciation of the beautiful, and generally to elevate the feelings and strengthen the whole nature of man. Nor does Hathersage disappoint the expectations which are raised by the lovely scenes through which it is reached. It is situated in an open space, running, as it were, between two hills, terminating in another hill, named the Hu-Gaer, (the City of God, and called by the people around," Higgur,") from which rushes down the wild rivulet of Dale Brook, whose pleasant music, as it murmurs down its rocky bed, is grateful to the ear.

We visited the fine old church; looked over the manorial residence of the Shuttleworths, overshadowed by its tall larches, firs, birches, and other "citizens of the woods;" glanced at the needle factory; stood on the gospel-stone, whence in old times the people used to be taught the message of truth; vainly endeavoured to trace the remains of a moat, which is said to be the "relic of an important Saxon or Danish fortification;" refreshed the inner man, and resumed our ramble through more enchanting scenery than before, on to the neat village of Hope.

Hope is as beautiful as its name would indicate. We paused for some time in its fine old church-yard, moralizing over its quaint epitaphs and enjoying its delightful position in the centre of Hope-dale. We leisurely proceeded thence to Castleton, the scene of Sir Walter Scott's "Peveril of the Peak," and which is overlooked by the solitary ruins of Peveril Castle, and still more grandly overlooked by the everlasting hills of the Peak. We are now in the centre of the Peak range, (for the word applies to a range of hills, and not to any particular hill of that range,) and are surrounded by scenery of no ordinary description. Castleton itself is a tolerably-sized town, bounded on three sides by steep hills and rocks, abounding in vast caverns, the chief of which, and one of the wonders of England, is the great Peak Cavern. "On each side the approach from the house of the guide, rise eternal-looking rocks, almost perpendicularly to the height of about three hundred

feet. From the foot of that on the left, bursts forth the limpid brook, with which we make further acquaintance inside. It is the same that forms the cataract in the Speedwell mine, which if a feather or any other floating body be thrown in, it seldom fails of finding its way out at this spot: whilst beetling above is the castle keep, from which old Time bends down his visage grey, and watches, through some verdure, those puny objects below, that serve by contrast to give the beholder a true idea of the stupendousness of what is around him." A natural archway of tremendous height is the entrance to this wonderful cavern, which is now made the ground for a number of rope-walks; and the bustle of the spinners on working-days takes off somewhat from the solemnity of the scene; so that we would advise all visitors to go early in the morning, or on a holiday, rightly to appreciate the solemn grandeur of the place. The cry of the daws and the caw of the affrighted rooks, which you will then hear only, add to its sombre nature. As you look down the dark recess, far as the uncertain light of day will permit you, Dante's terrible line at once rises to the memory, and you unceremoniously repeat to yourself,

"All hope abandon, ye who enter here."

The length of this subterraneous temple, with its many windings, is not less than seven hundred and fifty yards, and its greatest depth two hundred yards. It is formed almost wholly of limestone strata, rife

with marine remains, intersected here and there with "chut."

Of course, no one visits Castleton without climbing the steep hill on which the castle stands. It was never a large or first-rate castle; and its ruins now consist only of one dilapidated tower, and a small extent of wall. Still it must have been a strong place of defence. It is accessible on one side only, and with difficulty on that; it completely overlooks the town, which must have been entirely at the mercy of its holders and possessors. We trod its courtyard and looked from the loftiest attainable point of its tower with varying feelings of wonder at the works of the past, and thankfulness for the civilization of the present, in which the castles, the donjons, the tournaments, the battles, and the tyranny of feudalism are but matters of history or adornments for the pages of romance. We descended the steep hill with feelings of joy at the thought that our lot was cast in these miscalled unheroic and degenerate days, and prepared for our ascent of the highest point of the Peak district.

We left Castleton early in the morning, and passed through that marvel of nature, called the Windgates or Winnets, which we can only describe by saying that it seems as if in some violent convulsion of the earth a mighty hill had been severed in twain, and then by another equally violent convulsion a writhing kind of motion had been given to the sundered hills, and in the very moment of the paroxysm of their contortions they had been suddenly fixed as

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