1857. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



47: 



But I have resolved solemnly that I will not de- 

 scribe the agriculture of Lincolnshire, which is the 

 best I have yet met with, until I have time to do it 

 properly. I have taken full notes of their system, 

 which I will use on some future day, when I have 

 a larger table than a window-sill, and a more con- 

 venient time than midnight, to use in the under- 

 taking. So I resolutely and deliberately pass over, 

 for the present, one of the pleasantest weeks of 

 tny tour, hoping to look back, in memory at least, 

 to the tower on Lincoln Heath, and the old Roman 

 road, and the remains of their fortifications, their 

 canals and their dwellings, at a more convenient 

 season. 



From Lincolnshire, I went into^Derbyshire, 

 passing in the way, by Sherwood Forest, where 

 Robin Hood and his merry men lived so brave-'y, 

 and where many of the old trees under which they 

 ranged are still standing, especially the hoJlow one 

 in which Little John used to hang up the deer in 

 dressing them. 



Of course, I cannot describe the Manchester 

 "Arts Treasures Exhibition," where I spent a day, 

 and which is the wonder of the country, compris- 

 ing the greater part of the finest pictures and stat- 

 uary of the kingdom, nor can I now give many de- 

 tails of my visit to Buxton, Bakewell and Chats- 

 •worth, all of which places are in Derbyshire, the 

 most romantic and picturesque part of England 

 that I have yet visited. 



The country is, unlike the south and east of Eng- 

 land, beautifully diversified with hills and valleys, 

 rocks and streams, much like some of the finest 

 of our New England scenery, in the older parts of 

 the States. Buxton is a famous watering-place, 

 where is Saint Ann's well, the water of which cures 

 divers diseases. Near by, is Poole's Hole, a cave, 

 •which I am bound to mention, because I promised 

 the woman who lighted us into it, that I would ad- 

 vise my countrymen to come and see it, and to in- 

 quire for her as a guide. She gave me her name, 

 •which is Martha Clayton, and I wrote it down on 

 the spot, so that my friends might find her. Poole's 

 Hole is a cave in a limestone hill, and is six hun- 

 dred and nine yards deep, though as the good lady 

 candidly informed us, we did not go within a hun- 

 dred yards of the end, the hole being rather small 

 at that part. The Duke of Devonshire owns all 

 that part of the world, and has considerately assis- 

 ted nature a little, and enlarged the formerly nar- 

 row entrance, so that you may walk the whole way 

 with your best hat and coat on, though your best 

 Loots would need cleaning when you came out. 

 The cave is very spacious, sixty feet high in places, 

 and sometimes thirty feet wide, full of curious for- 

 mations, such as stalactites and stalagnni ■'^. Hav- 

 ing no dictionary, I learned from Mi.>. Clayton 

 that a stalactite is a formation hanging down from 

 the top, formed by water that makes its deposit 



without dropping, while a stalagmite grows up, 

 from the bottom, by water continually dropping, — 

 Both are in profusion and perfection in Poole's 

 Hole, and besides there is a hole worn in the rock, 

 in one place, by water which has dropped thus reg- 

 ularly ever since the flood, which struck me as re- 

 markable for its close resemblance to a hole that 

 a boy would bore with h/s knife in a lime wall. 



Now Poole was a robber, and lived in this cave, 

 where, of course', nobody of common prudence 

 would think of pursuing him, and besides that, Ma- 

 ry, Queen ol Scots, who slept at Buxton, in the 

 very room which I saw, went into this same cave, 

 I presume after Poole moved out, and touched the 

 long stalactite which hangs from the roof some 

 dozen feet, and said some remarkable thing, which 

 I ought to remember, which gave the name to this 

 same remarkable stalactite, which I have unfortu- 

 nately forgotten, but Mrs. Clayton will remember 

 it. I have given this part of the history about as 

 clearly as the orator we have heard of, who said 

 "in the beautiful and forcible language of Dr. 

 Watts, 



'Thus to the Jews old— something stood 

 While — something rolled between.' " 



I presume Mary, Queen of Scots, slept but very 

 few nights in a place, for I find she has slept in 

 almost every house I have been into in that part 

 of the country. 



Bakewell is in the Peak, famous as the scene of 

 Scott's Peveril of the Peak, whose old castle still re- 

 mains near by at Castleton, in ruins, perched on the 

 rock, famous also for Haddan Hall, one of the fin- 

 est old places for an American tourist to visit in the 

 kingdom. Haddan Hall is owned by the Duke of 

 Rutland, but not having been inhabited for about a 

 hundred and sixty years, it is, as the countryman 

 said of the Elgin marbles, "shockingly out of re- 

 pair." It was built all along, in parts, from four to 

 five hundred years ago, and as it has not been im- 

 proved or renewed for a century or two, one can 

 form, by its help, a very good idea of an old baro- 

 nial hall. The first Duke of Rutland, it is said, 

 '•maintained seven score servants in this ancient 

 seat of English hospitality." The whole place 

 looks now, as if it might have been the scene of one 

 of Sir Walter's novels. The outer stone walls of the 

 great hall, built in 1452, are seven and a half feet 

 thick, the windows are small, with iron sashes that 

 open on hinges, the doors are of heavy oak, with 

 great, rusty wrought iron hinges, the floors are all 

 of stone or solid oak, the walls have oaken panels, 

 ornamenLcd with carved heads of boars and wolves. 

 Several chambers are hung with old tapestry, 

 wrought with the needle, which covers the doors, 

 so that a ghost of a knight in armor would appear 

 to you with great effect, as he parted the screen, at 

 midnight. Mrs. Radcliflfe, it is said, helped her im- 

 agination in the Mysteries of Udolpno, at this old 



