has been since restored to its position, but to obtain the exact balance was found impossible: it now requires the whole strength of a man to move it. Some others, however, close by, can be made to oscillate by the application of a single finger-or the most delicate hand of a fair lady. There is one very curious pile of stones here that oscillates readily on pressing against one of the lower stones. Other rocks hereabout are also noticeable. The stone chairs need only to be mentioned in order to warn the stranger that all is not ancient which he may discover here. The Augur's Seat' on Durwood Tor, has been fashioned, no doubt, by some whimsical person at no very remote period. A strange group of rocks will be observed on the summit of a hill on Harthill Moor. They are evidently the remains of the hill itself, which has been worn down in the course of ages,-the hardest crags having longest withstood the action of the elements, and projecting in columnar masses. At a distance it looks like some ruined castle. It has the trivial name of Mock Beggar's Hall, from two of the largest pieces of rock at the opposite ends bearing a fancied resemblance to chimneys: but very few beggars, we think, would wend far towards it. It is also called Robin Hood's Stride; the stones, says the tradition, being set to mark a stride taken by that "famous man ;"-if so, he could stride well, for the stones are twenty yards apart. Close by it is a circular earth-work, called Castle Ring; it is supposed to be a British encampment. There are several other objects, natural as well as artificial, here, which might well engage attention. It must suffice for us to mention only one other class—the barrows, of which there are many here, and a remarkable number scattered over the north of Derbyshire. The barrows are of various kinds, and probably of various ages. Most of the northern tribes employed this mode of interment, and barrows are as common in Sweden and the north of Germany as in England. Of late barrow-opening has become quite a fashionable archæological employment. One of the most zealous of barrow-openers resides in Youlgrave, a village on the edge of Stanton Moor, where he has a large collection of articles found in these tumuli. Within the last few months he has published the result of his researches, in a volume entitled 'Vestiges of the Antiquities of Derbyshire,' a work which should be consulted by any one who wishes to investigate these early remains. The account of the barrows is particularly full and valuable: a notice is given of "every tumulus opened in the county of which any record has been preserved," and a very particular account of those Mr. Bateman has himself examined. As the reader may like to know what is found in these Derbyshire barrows, we shall quote the account of one of the best of those recently opened: very few, however, are so rich as this, which is known as Green Low. "It is situated upon the tract of land known as Alsop Moor, which has since proved very productive of ancient British remains. This tumulus had been heaped over a rocky and unequal surface, in which a hole had been cut in order to serve the purpose of a cist. In removing the upper portion of the barrow a few human bones, horses' teeth, and rats' bones were discovered; and on clearing out the soil with which the cist was filled, the skeleton of a man in the prime of life was laid bare: his knees were contracted and drawn up, until they nearly approached the head; and immediately in the rear of the shoulders were placed an elegant and most elaborately-ornamented drinking-cup, a piece of spherical pyrites, or iron ore, before alluded to as being an occasional ornament of the Britons, a flint instrument of the circular-headed form, and a splendid flint dagger; a little lower down the back of the skeleton there lay three beautifully chipped and barbed arrow-heads of flint, seven other instruments of the same material, but of inferior workmanship, and three instruments made from the ribs of some animal, neatly rounded at each end, and much like a mesh-rule for netting, or perhaps used as modelling-tools in the construction of urns. Still lower down, close to the pelvis, lay the remains of an infant; across the pelvis lay a bone pin, made from the leg of a small deer, which had probably been used to secure the folds of some vestments, in which the body had been enveloped previous to its interment. The contents of this barrow are highly interesting, as they present a striking degree of similarity to the contents of barrows discovered in Wiltshire, particularly to the relics engraved in plate 18, vol. i., of Sir Richard Hoare's work. The drinking-cup there figured bears a characteristic resemblance to the one here discovered, which is quite different to any heretofore found in Derbyshire; indeed, had railways then existed, and communication with distant places been as easy as at the present day, we should have attributed both vessels to one designer and manufacture. All the flints here discovered had undergone the action of fire, and present a spotless white, which materially improves their appearance." If the rambler should not feel interested in these antiquities (which is not very likely), he will nevertheless not regret a stroll to Stanton Moor. There are rude old mining villages,-some, as Winster, more than commonly picturesque; and there is a great deal of beautiful scenery. The little Lathkill, one of the very loveliest of the lesser Derbyshire rivers, works its way along a valley, through which it is quite a delight to trace it. Mr. Rhodes very truly says, "A walk round Stanton Moor exhibits a greater variety of fine scenery than can be found in the same space in any other part of Derbyshire." VALLEY OF THE WYE. We must now turn our steps to the High Peak, and take up our abode awhile at Castleton. In proceeding thither we shall go by way of Monsall Dale and Tideswell, not because it is the nearest way, but as very much the pleasantest. Monsall Dale must not be omitted in a tour of North Derbyshire. After quitting Bakewell we soon arrive at Ashford, a respectable and thriving town. Just beyond are the Ashford marble quarries, where the Derbyshire black marble, the finest and purest in the world, is chiefly obtained. Here, too, are the marble-works in which it is wrought into slabs for tables, mantel-pieces, &c. These works, or those at Bakewell, are worth looking over. Monsall Dale is but a short distance further. The Buxton road follows the river as far as the entrance to the Dale, when it diverges to the west, and is carried over the hills by Taddington. This road we, of course, cannot pursue further; but we may just mention that the prospects from some parts of it delight every traveller. The opening view of Monsall Dale is very fine. Majestic hills rise before you, sweeping round in a bold curve, while the river, a clear swift stream, flows along a meadow of the brightest verdure, and fringed with handsome trees. The dale winds in a serpentine direction, and the river, beside which you can keep through the valley, meanders still more playfully. Here you come upon a broad foaming cascade, which, with the surrounding scenery, makes a striking picture. Close by is a homely rustic bridge. Presently you see a picturesque farm-house nestling among lofty trees, and imaging itself in the clear stream; while a long bridge crosses the river, supported on the oftdescribed 'leppings;' and as a background to all there is the broad heathy mountain side. Over this hill, Longstone Edge, the road to Castleton is carried. We intend to keep by the river, and therefore shall not ascend it; but the stranger should be told that the view from Longstone Edge, with Monsall Dale smiling at your feet, is one of the finest in this land of noble prospects. Besides its pictorial celebrity--and it has furnished many a page in the sketch-books of artist and tourist-Monsall Dale has also a very high piscatorial fame on a promising day in June a dozen brothers of the angle may be seen diligently whipping the stream. The privilege of fishing in Monsall Dale is granted to those who stay at the Devonshire Arms, at Ashford. Beautiful as is the Wye in its passage through Monsall Dale, it loses nothing of its beauty as you ascend beyond into Cressbrook and Litton Dales: they are narrower, but more companionable therefore, and certainly not less picturesque-save where you meet with a couple of huge cotton-mills. In some places the combinations of rock and river are often of an almost romantic character. Beyond Cressbrook Mill you have to quit the stream, the rocks on both sides rising so steeply from it as to render the glen impassable, except by rather bold pedestrians: but for them there is some of the finest scenery on the Wye; the rough path lies along the left bank. They who take the road will rejoin the river just above Litton Mill, where you enter upon Miller's Dale, along which, for above a mile, there is a succession of scenery that will appear lovely, or grand, or wearisome, according to the season, or the weather, or the temper in which it is beheld. Black impending crags tower far up aloft, but luxuriant foliage abounds, and softens the sternness. The river is broken by frequent rapids, and there is a not unpicturesque corn-mill or two on the banks. At Tideswell Mill the road to Tideswell is met. But the tourist may as well prolong his walk about a mile further to Chee Tor, one of the most celebrated spots on the Wye, and the finest piece of rock and river scenery of its kind in Derbyshire. There is a wild path to it along the river, but it is a private way; and perhaps it will be best (as it is certainly most correct) to turn up the hill on the right to the village of Wormhill, where, at the Red Lion, you will readily obtain the requisite permission and a guide to the Tor. The right of granting access to this wild glen (which is private property, and enclosed,) appertains to the little. inn; and Mrs. Heaphy, the hostess, is so civil and ready to oblige (and so very moderate in all her charges), that the stranger will do well to save himself trouble by calling there. Wormhill itself stands on an open elevated spot, and might be described, in Homeric phrase, as "abounding in springs;" for besides the rather celebrated Wormhill spring, which gushes out of the rocks at the base of the hill, they burst forth in almost every field, clear as crystal, and in everflowing plenty. Wormhill is so pleasant and healthy a place, and has so much splendid scenery close at hand, that it is surprising more of the migratory tribe do not settle here for a short summer season. From the open and comparatively uninteresting country around Wormhill, it would scarcely be expected that so`romantic a dell lies just below it. A stranger might pass through the village, and, even though looking diligently around him, leave Chee Dale quite unobserved. But so, let us add, it often happens elsewhere in this Peak district, though perhaps on a less important scale. Everywhere among the hills does some little streamlet find for itself a way down a narrow valley, and create there some quite unimagined beauty. Only to one who resides awhile in these wilder districts do these secluded beauties reveal themselves: from the hasty traveller they are hidden and remain unknown. A rough steep path quickly leads you from the inn down to the river: to assist you over the ruggeder parts of the descent there are some rude steps, which, after the Matlock fashion, are named 'Adam and Eve's Stairs;' but, though of very respectable antiquity, they are hardly as old as Adam, if even he ever visited Derbyshire. Chee Tor deserves all its celebrity. It is an enormous concave wall of limestone, rising perpendicularly from the bed of the river to a height of more than three hundred feet. Other, though not such stupendous masses, rise with equal abruptness on the opposite side of the dell. Here and there a yew has found a root in a fissure of the mighty cliff, or a graceful ash or hazel waves in the soft breeze. The light green fern, brown heath, and dark ivy, climb about the face of the crags, contrasting with the gray or yellow lichens which form their chief covering. All around is silence: you seem shut out from the world, and left to commune in solitude with Nature and your own heart. It is the loveliest and and Italy, but also from Greece and Russia, America, and even Australia. The appearance of the place and the people bespeaks poverty, and on the whole it is a very poor place. most impressive scene in this part of the country. And | inns are seen names not only from France and Germany onwards, though no such amazing mass of rock lifts its lofty brow before you, the scenery hardly at all diminishes in grandeur. You wander on, awed by the surrounding majesty, till your path is closed by beetling rocks, which rise like vast portals of the pass, to prohibit alike admission or departure. In fact, the Dale is here impassable except in very dry weather, when by keeping in the bed of the stream, and occasionally crossing it, a way may be found or made by one who is not afraid of wetting his feet, or of a little rough and perhaps dangerous climbing along the ledges of the steep rocks when needful. But to those who like the excitement of a little apparent danger, and care not for a little toil, the Valley of the Wye to Blackwell Mill, and indeed right onwards to Buxton, has no common charms. We however must retrace our steps. From Chee Tor it will be well to go down Chee Dale to the bridge, and there turn off to Tideswell. There is a moorland road from Wormhill to Castleton, but it is a rough hilly way, and not particularly interesting. Chee Dale, as you descend it, loses something perhaps of the grandeur of the Tor Dell, but it increases in loveliness. It is indeed an exquisite and most enjoyable place, and the only regret of the stranger who passes through it will be that he cannot stay to enjoy its charms at leisure. CASTLETON. Tideswell will not for a moment stay the feet of the tourist; unless it be to look at the church, which is a large and handsome structure, and contains some valuable monuments. The road hence to Castleton is a rough breezy one, of some five or six miles, over the moorland hills; but only as you approach Castleton does the country assume a particularly striking appearThen you have a prospect extending over the High Peak, more mountainous in character than has yet greeted the tourist's eye. At your feet is a deep hollow, having Castleton at the western and Hope at the eastern extremity, and encircled by an amphitheatre of lofty hills; and beyond these rise in peaks and ridges other hills, range beyond range, till the view is bounded by the highest of all-the Giant Peak. ance. Castleton, with its rocks and its caverns, has been so often described, and is really so indescribable, that we may safely content ourselves with a very brief notice of its chief points of interest, just sufficient to indicate its character to the reader; and leave it to the visitor's own observation and discernment. The village of Castleton lies in an angle of Hope Dale, seemingly closed in by the surrounding mountains. It consists for the most part of rude stone huts, but there are a couple of comfortable inns for the accommodation of visitors. The inhabitants are chiefly engaged in mining; a few are employed in agriculture; the rest are more or less dependent on the visitors, who flock hither from every corner of England,-one might almost say of the world; for in the books kept at the For at least the last two centuries Castleton has been resorted to by the lovers of the marvellous. In the seventeenth century the philosopher Hobbes, and Izaak Walton's friend Charles Cotton, both published poems on the Wonders of the Peak; and of the then wonders Castleton's were the most wonderful. That which then, as now, was the chief attraction, was the Peak Cavern, or Devil's Cave, as, among other less mentionable variations, it was then called. It is indeed a strange place. You approach it up a narrow ravine, on either side of which steep rocks rise to a vast altitude. In front an immense cliff closes the chasm, on the summit of which, at the edge of a deep cleft, is seen a ruined tower; at the base is the gloomy entrance of a cavern. (Cut, No. 5.) As you draw nearer, you see that the mouth of the cavern is peopled by a busy and noisy crew of men and women and children, engaged in spinning twine. The scene is altogether quite unlike anything else in England, and is a fitting approach to the dark recesses you are about to explore. Some writers recommend that the cavern should, if practicable, be visited at mid-day, when the spinners are absent for their dinner; but after visiting it at all times, we are disposed to think that the wild-looking spinners help materially to increase the uncommonness of the scene. These people have long had a sort of prescriptive right to the use of the mouth of the cavern. Two centuries ago it was inhabited by a race "whom by their habits you could scarce guess what creatures they were." Then, and till a comparatively recent time, they dwelt in rude huts built within the shelter of the cavern, and added to their earnings by acting as guides to strangers who wished to examine the inner parts. Now they are only permitted to use the mouth of the cave to work in, for which they pay no rent: their cottages have long been swept away. The cavern itself is let at a nominal rent to the person who shows it to visitors. When you have passed through this strange vestibule, and the eye has become somewhat accustomed to the darkness for the candle you carry serves but to render the darkness visible-and the character of the cavern begins to make itself felt, you come to what is called by the guide the First Water:' a stream or pond fills up the narrow opening, and the roof bends almost to the surface. While you are wondering how it is to be passed, the guide hauls from its concealment on the farther side, a kind of boat, in which you are told to lie down, and in this posture you are drawn through the cavity. There is a rather startling sensation experienced the first time this voyage into Erebus is made. But when there are morein the party, some efforts at pleasantry are usual. The Soph mutters some choice quotation about Styx and Charon; your fat friend inflicts a joke, or suffers one, about Falstaff and Gadshill; the fair one puts on a little pretty alarm. On disembarking you |