_For the Table Book._
_Buxton, May 27, 1827._
* * * I was so fortunate as to meet at the inn (the
Shakspeare) at Buxton with two very agreeable companions, with whom I
dined. The elder was a native of the place, and seemed well acquainted
with all the natural curiosities at Buxton, and in the county of Derby.
The name of the other was H----, of a highly respectable firm in London,
sojourning at the Wells for the benefit of a sprained leg. He
accompanied me on the following morning to visit an immense natural
cavern, called Pool’s Hole, from a freebooter of that name having once
made it his place of abode. It is situated at the foot of a steep hill,
the entrance low and narrow: it is 696 feet in length, penetrating into
the bosom of the mountain, and varying in height from six to fifty or
sixty feet. Our guides were two old women, who furnished us with lights.
There is in it an incessant dripping of water, crystallizing as it
falls, forming a great variety of grotesque and fanciful figures, more
resembling inverted gothic pinnacles than any thing else I could
imagine: it was with great difficulty that we could break some fragments
off; they are termed by naturalists stalactites. A scene so novel and
imposing as the interior of this gloomy cave presented, with its huge
blocks of rocks irregularly piled upon each other, their shapes but
indistinctly visible from the glare of the torches, was of that kind as
to leave an indelible impression on my mind. It has many very large and
curious recesses within; one of which is called Pool’s chamber, another
his closet, and a third his shelf. The continual falling of the water
from the insterstices in the roof upon the rocks beneath, causes holes
on them, which are not formed by the friction of the water itself, but
by its gradual crystallization immediately around the spots whereon it
drips. The utmost extent that can be reached by a human foot is called
Mary Queen of Scot’s Pillar; from that point it becomes dangerous and
impassable.
After dinner we made a short excursion along the banks of the river Wye,
called Wye-dale; a walk, which from the grandeur of the scenery, and its
novelty, (for I had never before seen any of the Peak scenery,) will be
long imprinted in vivid colours on my recollection. In some parts the
river flowed smoothly along, but in others its motion was rapid,
impetuous, and turbulent: huge fragments of rock, disunited from the
impending crags, divided the stream into innumerable eddies; the water
bubbled and foamed around, forming miniature cataracts, and bestowing
life and animation to the otherwise quiet scene. On either side, the
rocks rose to a great height in every diversity of shape; some spiral,
or like the shattered walls or decayed bastions of ruined or demolished
fortresses; others bluff, or like the towers of citadels; all covered
with a variety of coarse vegetation, among which the stunted yew was the
most conspicuous; its dark foliage hanging over the projecting
eminences, gave an expressive character to surrounding objects. A few
water-mills, built of rough unhewn limestone, presented themselves as we
followed the windings of the stream, having a deserted and silent
appearance.
It appeared to me probable, that the now insignificant little stream
was, in by-gone distant ages, a mighty river; the great depth of the
valley, excavated through the rocks, could scarcely have been caused but
by the irresistible force of water. The lesser vales diverging from it
in some parts, favour the conjecture that they had been formerly some of
its tributary streams: in one of these, which we had the curiosity to
ascend, we observed a small rill. After a slippery ascent on the rough
stones of which its bed was formed, we reached a mineral spring, issuing
from a fissure in the rock, and depositing a greenish copperas-like
sediment at the bottom; we found some beautiful specimens of mosses and
lichens.
I inquired of a passing peasant what fish the Wye could boast of. “_Wee_
(Wye) fish to be sure,” said he: by which I understood him to mean, that
there was in it only one species of the finny race of any consequence,
and that trout.
It was late before we gained our inn; we had walked upwards of six miles
in that deep and romantic dale.
28th. This morning I enjoyed a beautiful ride to Tideswell, along the
banks of the Wye, about seven miles. The road wound up the sides of
lofty hills, in some parts commanding views of the river flowing in the
vale beneath; not so high however, but that the murmur of its waters,
mellowed by the distance, might be heard by the traveller. Tideswell
possesses a handsome church; from the steeple arise four gothic spires.
29th. Went forward to Castleton, down the hills called the Wynyats, by
the Sparrow Pit mountain; the ride took me over some of the wild and
barren hills which surround Buxton on every side. The immediate descent
to Castleton is from a steep mountain more than a mile in length, and is
only to be effected by a road formed in a zigzag direction. A fine view
of the rich vale beneath presents itself from this road, having the
appearance of a vast amphitheatre, for nothing is to be seen on any side
but mountains; it is of great fertility. The most remarkable mountain is
Mam-Tor; its height is 1301 feet. One of them I learnt was called the
“Shivering” Mountain; the reason for which being, that after severe
frosts, or in heavy gales, large quantities of earth separate from one
side of it, which is nearly perpendicular. At the foot of Mam-Tor there
is a lead mine, called Odin; from whence is procured the famous fluor
spar, of which so many articles of utility and ornament are made.
Castleton is by no means a handsome town; it has narrow dirty streets,
and a deplorably rough pavement. The objects worthy of notice near it
are, a celebrated cavern, called Peak’s Hole, and a venerable ruined
castle, situated on the rock immediately above it. It was built by
William Peveril, to whom the manor of Castleton was granted by William
the Conqueror.
On the path leading to the cavern, a streamlet is followed, which issues
from that extraordinary wonder of nature; the approach is grand and
striking; the perpendicular cliffs above are solemnly majestic--their
height is about 250 feet. The arch of the first and largest chamber in
this cavern is stupendously broad in its span. The top of the mountain
along the edges is fringed with a number of fine elms, wherein there is
perched a rookery, a singular situation of the noisy tribe: lower down
are innumerable jackdaws, which build in the ledges of the rocks.
The span of the grand arch is 180 feet; the length of the first cave 220
feet. A number of labourers in it are employed at rope walks, making
twine, &c. From the roof hang immense spiral masses of petrified water,
or stalactites. The entrance to the interior is through a small door at
the further end: the visiter is there directed to stop and gaze at the
arch of the first cavern; this is a most striking object; the very livid
colour of the light admitted, with the bluish-white reflection upon the
surrounding rocks, reminded me forcibly of the descriptions of the
infernal regions by Virgil, Milton, and other poets. Torches are here
put into your hands: the passage is narrow and low, and you reach an
immense hollow above you in the roof, called the Bell House, from its
resemblance to that form; the same stream is then seen which was
followed on your approach; on it is a small shallop. I was directed to
extend myself along its bottom with the guide, on account of the rock
being in this place but fourteen inches from the surface of the water,
which in depth is only four feet. I was then landed in a cavern more
stupendous than the first; the whole of it was surrounded with a number
of rugged rocks of limestone, which seemed to have been tossed and
heaped together by some violent convulsion of nature, or by the
impetuosity of the water that swells to a great height after heavy and
continued rains. This is called Pluto’s Hall; and when a distant
gallery, formed by a ledge of rocks, was illumined by the light of some
dozen of candles, the effect was the most imposing of the kind I ever
witnessed. There is a continual dropping of water; and after passing a
ford, I reached what is called “Roger _Rain’s_” House, from its always
dripping there. A little further on is a place called the Devil’s Wine
Cellar, from which is a descent of 150 feet; it becomes terrific in the
extreme: immense arches throw their gloomy and gigantic spans above; and
the abyss on one side, which it is impossible for the vision to
penetrate to the bottom, adds to the intensity of the horror. This
wonderful subterraneous mansion is 2250 feet in length.
30th. At Bakewell, one of the pleasantest of the small towns in England,
there is an excellent hotel, called the Rutland Arms, belonging to the
Rutland family, and under its patronage. The church is situated on a
rising ground. There is a neat stone bridge over the river Wye, and the
silvery stream winds the adjoining vale. The view from the church-yard
is enchanting. The two rivers, the Wye and Derwent, form a junction at
some little distance, and beyond are wood-tufted hills sloping their
gentle elevations. Haddon Hall, one of the finest and most perfect of
the ancient baronial residences in the kingdom, is seen embosomed in the
deep woods.
Bakewell is celebrated as a fishing station. The fine estates of the
Devonshire and Rutland families join near it.
In the church-yard I copied, from the tomb of one who had been rather a
licentious personage, the following curious
_Epitaph._
“Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, 1737, the rambling remains of
John Dale were, in the 86th year of his age, laid upon his two wives.
“This thing in life might raise some jealousy,
Here all three lie together lovingly;
But from embraces here no pleasure flows,
Alike are here all human joys and woes.
Here Sarah’s chiding John no longer hears,
And old John’s rambling, Sarah no more fears;
A period’s come to all their toilsome lives,
The good man’s quiet--still are both his wives.”
_Another._
“The vocal powers here let us mark
Of Philip, our late parish clerk;
In church none ever heard a layman
With a clearer voice say Amen:
Who now with hallelujah’s sound
Like him can make the roofs rebound?
--The choir lament his choral tones
The town so soon--here lie his bones.”