to Hathersage, we abandoned the two 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 carriage road we had a very pleasing view of the village rising behind the heathy foreground that lay on our right. The church is 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 road 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."

Scorr'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

Snow Storm.

Moors either returned or were left half buried in the snow.

5

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 off; 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 the 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 more than 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 groups of trees and cottages near,---the dells, woods, and plantations about High Low and Leam, were pleasing objects in the landscape directly before us. On our left lay a magnificent range of hills, whose picturesque summits were turretted with broken craggs: below, their steep declivities, shelving to the brink of the river, were covered with miles of woody scenery, over which the eye passed to the bold rugged eminence called Froggat Edge; beyond, in distance, appeared the woods and hills that form the boundaries of Chatsworth Park. The opposite side of the Derwent from Leam downwards was scarcely less beautiful: the hills are lofty and extremely precipitous; and they are every where clothed with the finest foliage, that becomes thicker and closer in texture and deeper in shadow, until it reaches the margin of the river, which appears in occasional glimpses as it pursues its sinuous course amidst woods and waterfalls through as picturesque a dale as nature ever formed. Such was the landscape that lay on our left; but the view on our right was still more beautiful: we looked into Hope Dale, a scene that has been panegyrised by all who have visited the Peak of Derbyshire. A lovely light rested upon it, and a blue transparent haze hung over the surrounding mountains, which rose far above the beauteous dale that they encircled, and presented an agreeable variety of pleasing forms and graceful undulations. The whole of this de