SECTION I.

Excursion commenced. ·Banner Cross. Curious Effect of Clouds. Enter Derbyshire. - Burbage Brook. View from Millstone Edge. Winter of 1813.-Hathersage. — Little John's Grave. - Hathersage Church. - Camp Green.

THE day fixed for my THIRD EXCURSION into Derbyshire arrived; but, instead of being clad in smiles and loveliness, "the dawn was overcast, and heavily in clouds brought on" the important hour, when myself and my companion once more bade adieu to the sooty majesty of the town of Sheffield, and the thick atmosphere in which it was enveloped, for the purpose of participating the pleasure of another ramble amongst the heathy hills of Derbyshire, and inhaling the fresh breeze that plays upon their summits.

A walk of two miles brought us to Banner Cross, which was the first object that engaged our attention: the delightful mansion lately erected here, stands at the upper extremity of a valley, not within the boundary line of Derbyshire, but yet upon the very verge of the county. The new building at this place was commenced by the late Lieutenant-General Murray, who did not live to witness the completion of the work he had begun. It is the design of Jeffery Wyatt, Esq., and one of the best specimens of modern Gothic architecture that this part of the county contains. The towers, the turrets, and the embattled parapets, by which it is surmounted, rise gracefully from amongst the trees, and the upper apartments command a view of one of the richest and best-wooded landscapes in the vicinity of Sheffield. Smithy Wood, and some of the most beautiful scenery of Abbey Dale, are included in the prospect. From Banner Cross the road continues gradually to ascend until it reaches the highest part of East Moor, about two miles from Hathersage.

As we approached the five-mile stone, the morning mists hung thickly on every part of the landscape: on our right, the clouds were close upon us, and entirely precluded the view of every distant object. The sky seemed to rest a part of its contracted canopy within a few fields of the place where we stood, so very limited was our horizon: shortly the clouds, which were of one unvaried cold colour, broke, and admitted a glimpse of cultivated hill above, while all below was apparent sky detached portions of the scene were successively discovered through the partial breaks, and the little pictures they displayed looked like landscapes in the heavens: the effect was singular and pleasing, and we felt much interested in watching the progressive unfolding of the whole, for in the clearing away of the vapour, one part of the prospect, and then another, appeared to be taken from the clouds, and given to the earth in succession, until the whole hill was distinctly

seen.

As we approached Burbage Brook the hills of Derbyshire began to appear, and looking on our left towards the river Derwent, we had a noble prospect, finely diversified, spread before us. We stood upon a rude stone bridge thrown across a mountain-stream that connects the two sides of a deep valley, through which the Burbage runs amongst huge fragments of stone and broken rocks. The woods of Padley and Stoke appeared in the offscape, and the hills about Chatsworth filled up the distance.

Burbage Brook, though generally a scanty stream in summer, has considerable beauty when swollen by heavy rains, or the melting of the snows accumulated during a long winter: then its waters burst from the narrow arches of the bridge in streams about twenty yards apart, and foaming over rugged projections of rock down a precipitous descent, unite in the dell below. High mounds of rock mark the course of this rivulet to the immediate vicinity of the Derwent, which it enters near Grindleford Bridge.

We had now, though only seven miles from Sheffield, come suddenly upon the fine scenery of the Peak, and as we proceeded towards Hathersage, it became more and more imposing. A rocky eminence on our left induced us to scramble to its summit, where for a while we stood in silent admiration of the magnificent landscape which this high point of Millstone Edge commands: here we passed a delightful hour of existence, contemplating the majesty of nature, and watching

VIEW OF HATHERSAGE.

177

the thin clouds withdraw their curtains from amongst the mountains, until their highest peaks gleamed with the bright effulgence of the morning sun. Far below, in the deep hollow of the valley, lay the village of Hathersage, surrounded by lofty eminences; Win Hill, Lose Hill, and Mam Tor, are amongst the highest and most remote; and when the clouds had melted into air, and passed away, their shadowy summits, every where invested with the pale hues of distance, looked like mountains in the skies.

Intending to take the shortest, and, for a pedestrian, the best way to Hathersage, we abandoned the carriage roads, one of which makes a long sweep to the right, and the other to the left, and followed the direction of a narrow unfrequented path, that led us amongst heath fern and fox-glove into the dale below. As we regained the road, we had a very pleasing view of the village rising behind the heathy foreground on our right. The church is here a good object: it stands on the side of a steep hill, amongst gardens and cottages, at the upper extremity of the village; and a fine woody eminence behind rises high above the spire, and makes a good middle distance to the picture. As we proceeded down the hill, the craggy summits on our left presented an imposing outline: they are crested with huge piles of rock, that were opposed to a cloudless sky over which a morning sun diffused unusual brightness. The different parts of these disjointed cliffs are so proportioned and combined, that, when seen from the dale below during an early part of the day, they have strikingly the appearance of an old dilapidated building: a dubious light, or a hazy atmosphere, sometimes increases the deception, and transforms the rocky points and projections into towers, turrets, and battlements:

"Their rocky summits, split and rent,
Form turret, dome, and battlement,
Or seem fantastically set

With Cupola or Minaret."

SCOTT's Lady of the Lake.

In winter, when the hills above Hathersage are covered with snow, the approach to it from Sheffield is not exempt from danger; here it accumulates in immense drifts, which obliterating all traces of a road, render it not only dangerous, but sometimes impassable. In the winter of 1813, the carriages that attempted to cross this bleak part of the moors either returned, or were left half buried in the snow. A young

man, a native of Brookfield, near Hathersage, was the means of saving several persons from perishing in this severe winter : near Burbage Brook he found a sailor and his wife who were exhausted with fatigue, and unable to proceed on their journey; the poor man had fallen under his exertions to support his wife, and was nearly dead: he took him upon his back, and carried him to the only house he could find, which was nearly a mile distant; he then returned, and in like manner bore the woman, who was unable to walk, to the same dwelling. At this time the coach from Manchester was overturned, and nearly buried in snow, where it remained for several days: a mother, with her child about two years old, was amongst the passengers, the whole of whom were females: the child he bore to Hathersage; the mother attempted to follow, but was soon unable to proceed. On his return he found her in a drift of snow, from which all her efforts to extricate herself were unavailing. He restored her to her child, and in the same way he released the two remaining ladies from their perilous situation. They offered him money as a compensation for his services, which he did not decline accepting; but he immediately transferred it to the poor sailor and his wife, to solace and comfort them on their journey. Thus did this young man act the part of the good Samaritan, he "poured oil and wine into their wounds, and set them on their way rejoicing."

On my last excursion to Hathersage in the early part of the present year, I took the new carriage road, which passing under a chain of rocks, makes an ample sweep to the left of the village, and enters it in the front of the family residence of the Shuttleworths. Neither myself nor my companion were intimately acquainted with the route we had taken. We, nevertheless, anticipated a variety of pleasing prospects as we approached the vale that shapes the course of the Derwent, and our expectations were fully realized. Within a mile of Hathersage, one of the finest views in the whole of Derbyshire burst suddenly upon us. We stood upon a rocky knoll, projecting from the side of a steep hill; in the deep valley far below rolled the rapid waters of the Derwent, which is here a noble river. Hazleford Bridge, a good stone structure of three arches, the of trees and cottages near, groups the dells, woods, and plantations about High Low and Leam, were pleasing objects in the landscape directly before us. Our left was a range of hills, whose summits were turretted with