We quitted the house and entered the gardens, where we were gratified by THE WATER-WOrks. They were introduced into England, and made by the person who was the constructor of those celebrated ones at Versailles. Walking up an ascent, we observed at the top of the eminence a small temple, of a circular form, from which, down almost to the place where we stood, was a flight of steps. In the twinkling of an eye, from the upper part of this little building, streams of water issued and came tumbling along these steps with precipitation; by the time they almost reach your feet, and you begin to be apprehensive of danger, the water steals into a cavity of the earth and is seen no more! We were then conducted to an open space in a wood, and in a moment, trees, disposed in a circular form, flung forth water from their leaves and branches, to such a degree, that it had all the appearance of a shower; leaden pipes, inserted in the several parts of the trees, produced this phænomenon. Lastly, we were led to the fine sheet of water before the house, the surface of which was decorated with nymphs and sea monsters. From the mouth of one of these aquatic gentry issued forth in a perpendicular direction, and to an amazing height, such a stream of water, that its noise alone made a tremendous impression on the mind! It reminded me of the water-spout at sea, so terrible to sailors-often the presage irremediable destruction!

of

We now left Chatsworth, crossed the hill, and reached Bakewell to dinner. Steep was the de

scent into this little town; but the prospect around was wild and variegated. A kind of ragged downs spread themselves over the horizon, and appeared to touch the sky:

-Nature wears here

Her boldest countenance.

The tumid earth

Seems as of yore it had the frenzy fit

Of ocean caught, and its uplifted sward

Performed a billowy dance, to whose vast wave
The proudest surges of the bellowing deep

Are little, as to his profoundest swell

The shallow rippling of the wrinkled pool! HURDIS.

Bakewell is a place of antiquity, encircled with hills, and contains a few decent houses. The church is a respectable building, and has some tombs of the Vernons. One of these monuments is beautiful, being divided into several niches, each containing a figure, and underneath a passage of Scripture, adapted to their age and condition! The following inscription, on a plain tomb, pleased me by its simplicity :

WILLIAM SAVILLE, ESQ.

STEWARD TO THE EARL OF RUTLAND, 1653.
No epitaph nede make the just man famed,
The GOOD are praysed when they'r only nam'd!

We visited Mr. White Watson (Fellow of the Linnean Society) the mineralogist, and saw his cabinet of fossils, which are worth inspection. Happening, indeed, to have my Sketch of the Denominations of the Christian World in his library, and of which he was pleased to think favourably,

we soon became acquainted, and he treated us with politeness and attention.

Near Bakewell is Haddon Hall, the ancient seat of the Vernons-one of whom, Sir George Vernon, who lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, was so celebrated for his hospitable disposition, that he was usually called KING OF THE PEAK! The name of VERNON holds a distinguished rank in the annals of our country. The siege of Carthagena was a memorable event. Thomson, in describing the pestilence which raged among the British troops on that occasion, represents the Admiral in an impressive point of view. He is not only said to have heard the groans of the sick that echoed from ship to ship, but that he stood and listened at midnight to the dashing of the waters occasioned by the throwing of the dead bodies into the sea:

Heard nightly plung'd into the sullen waves

The frequent corse!

How many pathetic images are here brought together-all marked by an overpowering solem

nity.

I remain, dear Sir,

Yours, &c.

BUXTON; ITS ANTIQUITY; ITS CRESCENT; ITS BATHS; ITS STERILE SITUATION; THE LATE DR. GARNET; POOLE'S HOLE; COTTON'S DESCRIPTION OF IT; CASTLETON; DEVIL'S CAVE; FERGUSON'S ACCOUNT OF IT; REFLECTIONS ON THE PEAK; BERESFORD HALL; COTTON AND WALTON'S LITTLE FISHING-HOUSE; ASHBOURNE; BEAUTIFUL TOMB DOVEDALE; ROUSSEAU; SEAT OF LORD SCARSDALE; DERBY; ITS SILK-MILL; VISIT TO DR. DARWIN ; RETURN TO NOTTINGHAM.

DEAR SIR,

WE sat off for Buxton, and after a dreary ride reached the end of our journey, when the shades of evening were closing around us. The hills over which we traversed, being of a chalky complexion we saw the white road winding along before us, for miles in an almost endless succession. It had, indeed, from its curvature, some resemblance to Hogarth's Line of Beauty, though I confess its charms made no impression on my imagination.

Buxton is distant one hundred and sixty miles from London. It lies in a bottom; and its bath, which has been celebrated since the æra of the Romans, supports, even to the present time, its reputation. The town itself has nothing to recommend it. But you descend into a valley at once, where you find a stately crescent, built by the Duke of Devonshire for the accommodation of the company. Beneath it are piazzas, where, in unfavourable weather, the visitants may pace backwards and forwards in safety. The baths, which

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are nearly behind this row of buildings, are deemed in the cases of gout and rheumatism of efficacy. The water is sulphureous and saline, yet not unpalatable; it neither tinges silver, nor yet is it purgative. If drank, it creates an appetite, and is prescribed in scorbutic cases and consumptions. St. Anne's Well, opposite the new crescent, furnishes the water which is drank, and is secured by an alcove, with iron railings. The place is only a township of Bakewell, and therefore prayers are read in the hall by a curate, for which a subscription is raised. The situation of Buxton is the reverse of Matlock; here we seek in vain for charming scenery; the hills, by which we are surrounded, vie with each other in sterility! In the evening we supped at the ordinary, in company with about twenty persons, among whom was the late intelligent Dr. Garnet, then lecturer of the New Royal Institution. Sitting opposite me we conversed freely on a variety of subjects. His Tour through the Highlands, and his other publications, do credit to his talents and industry. Buxton was the resort of the celebrated Mrs. Anna Seward, of Litchfield, whose Six Volumes of Letters, a posthumous publication, constitute a fund of literary, entertainment.

The next morning we rose early, and visited Poole's Hole, about half a mile from Buxton, on the side of a hill. At its entrance stood a number of old women, ugly in the extreme, who, on our approach, lighted their lanthorns, and prepared for a subterraneous exhibition. Had they their