_For the Table Book._
_June 1, 1827._
Visited Chatsworth, the princely residence of the duke of Devonshire,
three miles to the north-east of Bakewell. As soon as the summit of the
neighbouring hill is attained, the house and park lie immediately in
front in a beautiful valley, watered by the Derwent. An addition is
making to the main building, which is large, but not very handsome in
its architectural design; on approaching it, I passed over an elegant
stone bridge, close to which is an island whereon a fictitious fortress
is built. The views on all sides are strikingly fine, and of great
variety; hills and dales, mountains and woods, water and verdant pasture
lands. It requires “a poet’s lip, or a painter’s eye,” to adequately
depict the beauties of this enchanting place. Perhaps no estate in the
kingdom furnishes choicer objects for the pencil. I do not think,
however, that the grounds in the immediate vicinity of the mansion are
so well disposed, or the scenery so rich, nor does the interior offer
such magnificent works of art, as at Blenheim. There is much sculpture,
of various degrees of merit, distributed about the apartments; but the
collection is in its infancy, and a splendid gallery is in progress for
its reception. The finest production of the chisel is Canova’s statue of
Napoleon’s mother; its natural grace and ease, with the fine flowings of
the drapery, and the grave placidity of the countenance, are solemnly
majestic--she _looks_ the mother of Napoleon. Among the other great
attractions here, are a bust of Petrarch’s Laura, another of his present
majesty, by Chantrey; and a portrait of his majesty by sir Thomas
Lawrence.
The next day I continued my route towards Matlock Bath--as beautiful a
ride as I ever took. The road follows the Wye for six miles in a vale,
past the aged towers of Haddon Hall, and the scenery presents every
interesting feature that can be coveted by the most enthusiastic lover
of nature;--rugged and beetling crags, gently sloping hills, extensive
woods, rich meadows and fertile vallies, form the composition of the
views. Handsome villas, farm-houses, and neat cottages--living pictures
of scarcely minor interest--embellish and diversify the natural beauties
of the delightful scene.
At the end of the six miles, the road turns over a bridge across the
Wye, leading through the dale (Matlock) to the Bath. The river here
rolls darkly along, its progress swifter and its depth greater; the same
rocky barrier that encloses all the dales in this county uplifting its
huge masses of rocks on either side. The margin of the river is thickly
studded with large trees, close copse-woods clothe the slopes at the
bottom, and ascend part of the cliffs’ sides--wild shrubs branch from
the clefts above, whence innumerable jackdaws whirl their flights, and
make incessant monotonous noise. About a mile before reaching Matlock
Bath is a mountain called the High-Tor, its bare and jagged head rising
far above the adjoining rocks. I was informed that it contains a fine
natural grotto, but the river was too deep to wade, and I missed the
sight.
On rounding a point, the shining white buildings of the Bath appear
along the foot and some distance up the side of a steep lofty hill,
called the “Heights of Abraham.” The greater part of the village is
situated in the valley, but a second may be said to be beneath it,
through which the river flows: its banks are thickly planted with groves
of trees, and winding paths have been made throughout these delightful
haunts, for the pleasure of the visitors. The cliffs rise opposite
majestically perpendicular, and as finely picturesque as any I saw in
Derbyshire. The “Heights of Abraham” are at least a quarter of a mile
above the highest of the houses. A zigzag road through a shrubbery leads
to the celebrated natural cavern near the summit--an immense recess, as
grand as Peak’s Hole, but far more beautiful; for its sides are formed
of a variety of spars of surprising brilliancy. To mineralogists it is
the most interesting resort in England; and here collectors, prosecuting
their discoveries, think themselves happy, although deprived of the
light of heaven for whole days together. The whole of this immense
mountain is one sparkling mass of various spars and ores.
Ascending this steep road on horseback, I found the views, through the
shrubs, of the village and valley beneath, the river, and the
surrounding mountains, inconceivably grand. High-Tor was on the left,
and Wild-Cat-Tor on the right--beyond which the Wye, gleaming in the
sun’s rays, wound sinuously along the verdant vale, till it was so
diminished by the distance as to seem like a bent wire of shining
silver, and was lost to sight by the intervention of a far-off mountain.
Of all places this seems to present the greatest inducements to the
temporary visitant; and to anglers it is the _ne plus ultra_ of
piscatorial recreation.
After a day’s enjoyment of this charming spot, I went forward, but the
threatening appearance of the weather induced me to sojourn at a small
public-house in one of the smaller dales. Heavy clouds arose, and the
rain obscured the distant hills; running along their summits, having the
appearance of thick fog. The weather clearing, I walked out, and
surveyed the curious old limestone built “hostel,” with the sign of “A
Trout,” scarcely decipherable from age. Some anglers, whom the heavy
shower had driven for shelter under the cliffs, again appeared, and
threw their artificial temptations on the surface of a stream flowing
from the mountain at the back of the little inn. Its water turned
singularly constructed machinery for crushing the lead ore, washed down
from a neighbouring large mine. Immense fragments of rock, by falling
betwixt two iron wheels, with teeth fitted closely together, are pounded
to atoms. A number of men, women, and children, were busy shovelling it
into sieves set in motion by the machine, and it separated itself by its
own weight from the stone or spar that contained it.
Determined by my curiosity to descend into the mine, I procured a miner
to accompany me; and following the stream for a short distance, reached
a small hut near the entrance, where I clothed myself completely in
miner’s apparel, consisting of a stout woollen cap, under a large,
slouched, coarse beaver hat, thick trowsers, and a fustian jacket, with
“clods,” or miner’s shoes. At the mouth of the mine we seated ourselves
opposite to each other in a narrow mining cart, shaped from the bottom
like a wedge, attached to a train of others of similar make, used for
conveying the ore from the interior. Having been first furnished with a
light each, we proceeded, drawn by two horses, at a rapid pace, along a
very narrow passage or level, cut through the limestone rock, keeping
our arms within the sledge, to prevent their being jammed against the
sides, which in many places struck the cars very forcibly. In this
manner, with frequent alarming jolts, we arrived at a shaft, or descent,
into the mine. We got out of our vehicles and descended by means of
ladders, of five fathoms in length, having landing places at the bottom
of each. The vein of the lead ore was two hundred fathoms deep. We
therefore descended forty ladders, till we found ourselves at the
commencement of another passage similar to the first. All the way down
there was a tremendous and deafening noise of the rushing of water
through pipes close to the ear, caused by the action of a large
steam-engine. The ladders and sides of the rock were covered with a dark
slimy mud. We walked the whole length, several hundred yards, along the
second level, knee deep in water, till we reached the spot, or vein,
that the workmen were engaged on. They were labouring in a very deep
pit; their lights discovered them to us at the bottom. Into this chasm I
was lowered by a wheel, with a rope round my body; and having broken off
a piece of lead ore with a pickaxe, I was withdrawn by the same means.
Another set of labourers were procuring ore by the process of blasting
the rock with gunpowder--I fired one of the fusees, and retiring to a
distant shelter, awaited the explosion in anxious alarm; its
reverberating shock was awfully grand and loud. My ascent was dreadfully
fatiguing from the confined atmosphere; and I was not a little rejoiced
when I could inhale the refreshing air, and hail the cheering light of
day.