and four daughters. A place that appears to have been once filled by another figure is vacant; a daughter not born in wedlock originally occupied it, but being deemed unworthy, without any fault of hers, to be associated with those who were, she has been cut away, and expelled from the situation which her father had assigned her. In this church we observed the traces of a custom that once generally prevailed in various parts of the kingdom, but is now almost totally disused:-When unmarried women died they were usually attended to the grave by the companions of their early years, who, in performing the last sad offices of friendship, accompanied the bier of the deceased with garlands, tastefully composed of wreaths of flowers, and every emblem of youth, purity, and loveliness, that imagination could suggest. When the body was interred, the garlands were borne into the church, and hung up in a conspicuous situation, in memory of the departed. There is something extremely simple and affecting in this village custom, and one cannot but regret that it is now almost entirely discontinued. In Hathersage Church there were several of these memorials of early dissolution, but only one of a recent date; the others were covered with dust, and the hand of time had destroyed their freshness. At a short distance from the churchyard, and still higher up the hill, there is a place called Camp Green. It is a circular area of about fifty yards diameter, encompased with a high mound of earth, round which a ditch, or moat, appears to have been carried. In some places the ditch is nearly filled up, and the mound is gradually crumbling into the area below; it is therefore highly probable, that before the present generation has passed away Camp Green will be known only by name. SECTION II. Hope Dale.-Recollections of a former Excursion.-Approach to Castleton.-Fine Autumnal Evening.-Castleton Church.Peak's Hole. FROM Hathersage to Castleton, a distance of six miles, the road lies through Hope Dale. Local attachment, and the common consent of travellers, have adorned this dale with a thousand beauties; and those who have the good fortune to reside within it, satisfied that their lot "is cast in pleasant places," represent it as one of the most delightful spots in the Peak of Derbyshire. It is, indeed, a lovely valley, and though inferior in beauty to many other parts of the same county, it yet contains some charming scenes, which, like light thrown into a picture by the hand of a master, have a magical effect. The traveller whose chief object is to reach the end of his journey with all possible expedition beholds them with pleasure, and the artist loiters amongst them with sensations of delight. A beautiful river winds gracefully through the dale, watering some excellent meadow land as it moves along. The cottages with which the valley is studded are of a sober grey tone of colouring, and pleasant to the eye. The villages of Hope and Brough, half hid amongst surrounding trees, and half revealed, increase the loveliness of the scene. Near Malham Bridge, where the road to Castleton crosses the Derwent, some very beautiful views occur; and farther on in the dale the near approach to Hope is extremely picturesque. The little river that passes by this village is overhung with ash and alder, which grow luxuriantly on its banks, amidst hazles, honey-suckles, and wild roses. My journey through this dale of Hope was rendered peculiarly interesting by the recollection of having passed the same road several years before, in company with a much-esteemed and now-departed friend. He was then unwell, but not at all apprehensive that he should so soon go to the "home of his fathers." Our former friendship-his character and death came forcibly upon my mind, and absorbed for a time every other consideration: he had a warm, benevolent, and affectionate heart; and though somewhat hasty in temper, he was steady and sincere in his attachments, and his transactions with mankind were invariably regulated by principles of honour and integrity: he "should have died hereafter." I well remember the time we passed this dale; it was a fine autumnal evening, and the sun was sinking behind the high mountains of the Winnats, as we approached the village of Castleton. The sweet serenity of the sky-the hour of the day -the season of the year- all were in unison, and con spired to produce a mental harmony: "For autumn-solemn, tender, and serene- MONTGOMERY.-MS. A little before us the river, rippling o'er its pebbled bed, quivered with light; a bridge, to which we were led by a turn in the road, was a good object in the foreground of the landscape; some full-grown and well-clothed trees hid the greater part of the village, and made it a better subject for the pencil: a few dwellings were partially displayed, over which rose the tower of the church, but not one obtrusive feature appeared to disturb the repose of the scene; and the extent of the place might be traced by the smoke from the cottage chimnies, as it slowly ascended above the loftiest branches of the intervening trees. A steep and rugged hill lay on our left, on whose summit stands an old dilapidated castle, venerable in ruins and hoary with years. Beyond the village, the view is terminated by the high rocks and bleak eminences of the Winnats, and a little to the right, Mam Tor rears her majestic head above the surrounding hills. The space between Castleton and the mountains that bound the western extremity of the vale was indistinct and in shadow, whilst the last light of the setting sun, gradually softening until it became exquisitely tender, lingered on the tops of the adjacent hills. A combination of more favourable circumstances could hardly occur; and a soothing tranquillitya mild and chastened glow of pleasurable feeling-took possession of the mind as we contemplated the scene before us. Our carriage moved slowly along as I hastily wrote the following impromptu to the setting sun: 184 CASTLE OF THE PEAK. Oft have I marked, bright orb! thy opening ray Watch'd thee slow sailing through thine azure sea, But never saw thee shed a sweeter ray, E'en on the loveliest close of an autumnal day. Shortly after our arrival at Castleton we visited the castle, an ill-shapen ruin, which stands on the verge of a rocky precipice that forms the roof of Peak's Hole. This dismantled fortress, though not a bad object from some parts of the dale, is utterly devoid of those picturesque appendages on which the eye of the artist loves to dwell, and it sinks into insignificance amongst the wild scenery that surrounds it. The antiquary, however, will contemplate the "ancient Castle of the Peake" with other feelings, and its dilapidated walls, rude and unshapely as they are, may be to him a source of gratification. The top of the hill where the castle stands is but a circumscribed plot of ground, nor can it at any time have been sufficiently ample to accommodate the numerous establishment of a great feudal chieftain; yet the family of the Peverils are said to have occasionally resided here, and not without pomp and splendour. Mr. King, who has minutely described this castle in the sixth volume of the Archæologia, is of opinion that it was a place of royal residence during the government of the Saxons; others contend that it is a Norman structure, and that it was probably built by William Peveril, the natural son of William the Conqueror, to whom the traditions of the country ascribe it, and who certainly possessed it at the time of the Doomsday Survey, in the record of which it is denominated "the CASTLE OF THE PEAKE." It has been remarked that this castle cannot at any time have been well calculated for defence, because, there being no well or reservoir of water within its walls, it could but ill maintain a procrastinated siege; to this observation it has been replied, that the spring at the upper extremity of Cave Dale might, by some very simple contrivance, have been made to furnish the garrison with this necessary article. Another, and a more ample supply, lies more conveniently; this conjecture may therefore be abandoned, without injuring the re CASTLETON CHURCH. 185 putation for strength which this fortress, supposing it to have been one, may have had. A well has been recently discovered on the summit of the hill called Long Cliff, between which and the castle there is a communication, though now a very dangerous one, across the narrow ridge of rock that overtops the entrance into Peak's Hole. This well is built of the same kind of stone as the castle, and it is so situated as easily to be made available for an abundant supply of water. Night was now rapidly closing in upon us; we therefore descended the steep side of Castle Hill, and on re-entering the village, we observed the church lighted up for evening service. This we learned was a new arrangement made by the minister, in opposition to the wishes of the inhabitants of Castleton, who had been accustomed to go to church in the morning and afternoon, by day-light. Notwithstanding this convenient practice, the minister refused to attend at the usual time, and he substituted an evening for an afternoon service. The churchwardens urged that the distant parishioners would be greatly inconvenienced by this innovation on long established usage, and they objected to furnish lights; therefore those who attended carried lanterns and candles from their houses, and placed them in the pews of the church, which was thus lighted when we beheld it. Early the following morning we visited PEAK'S HOLE, one of the most striking and sublime objects in the mountainous districts of Derbyshire. This place is well known, and its mysterious labyrinths have been frequently described with a minuteness of detail that supersedes the necessity of future observations. It is not a pleasant task to travel over ground that has been so often occupied, where nothing remains to be gathered except what others have omitted or refused to notice; yet such precisely is the situation of the tourist who traverses a country where many have been before him, and whose pen has to delineate the features of scenes on which others have previously lavished the riches of description. Language is better adapted to express sentiment and feeling than accurately to depict the scenery of nature; hence the difficulty a writer always experiences in conveying to others even a tolerable idea of the forms of which it is composed, and the character it assumes; nor is the pencil on all occasions a more efficient instrument than the pen. In pourtraying the near approach to Peak's Hole, and the entrance into the first grand cavern, these powerful little agents have but |