As we came out of the church a gentleman spoke to me, and kindly offered to lend me the key of the gate which leads into "Cucklet Delph," the ravine in which the good parson held his services when the virulence of the plague no longer permitted the people to assemble under a roof. This gentleman proved to be the owner of the old house above, Eyam Hall, and he very kindly allowed me to see that, and also gave me the key to Cucklet Delph, towards which I made my way through the long wet grass and over pools of water. Close by the gate of the Delph may be seen another relic of the old village-the parish stocks. The ravine below is full of wild flowers and singing birds, and the rock from which Mr. Mompesson preached is still to be seen, the open space near it being known to the villagers as Cucklet Church. It is a scene now which may interest a passing artist, but these peaceful hills have witnessed the utmost extremity of human anguish and horror, echoing night after night, and day after day, with the sobs of the broken-hearted, and the cries of mothers weeping for their children, torn so cruelly from their arms.

The Eyam moors rise at the back of the village, and there is a pleasant walk over them to Hathersage, or the stranger may follow the road to Tideswell, where there is a large and beautiful church, with many remarkable old monuments, and an interior which justifies the title the people have given it of the Cathedral of the Peak. Or the road may be resumed through the remainder of Middleton Dale, and followed to Ashford

and Hassop, and from thence to Bakewell or Chatsworth -either of these walks will take the traveller through a wild and yet beautiful country. But, in any case,

before he departs from Chatsworth for the still wilder districts further north, he must not fail to launch out upon the Sheffield road, and make for a pillar which is

D

plainly to be seen after passing Baslow on the top of a hill across the valley. Two or three hundred yards before reaching a toll-gate on this road, a field path to the left strikes off towards the pillar, and the visitor should take to this, leaving a little wood on the left, and crossing a brook. Then go up the field in front towards a barn with two or three small yews by its side, and again keep straight on beyond the barn towards the crest of the hill, turning now and then to admire the glorious views, until you reach the old wall. Get through any of the gaps which the cattle have made, and you will find a rough green path before you, which leads on to an old grass-covered cart track. Keep to the right and you will soon be brought to the tower or pillar, which turns out on nearer inspection to be a stone cross, inscribed "Wellington, 1866." You are now high up among the moors, and can pleasantly spend a summer's day wandering in almost any direction. To the left of the monument a large mass of stone is visible. It is known as the Eagle Stone, and it will be well for the stranger to walk up to and beyond it, for the sake of the magnificent views which are to be obtained from the edge of the hill. The walk may with great advantage be extended along Froggatt Edge and to the "Fox House" Inn, with delightful views all the way. Or if this be too far, the visitor may return after a stroll along Froggatt Edge, where the rocks are very curious, to the monument, and follow the green and mossy drive between the heather towards the Sheffield road again. Having reached this road, cross

it into the green lane opposite, almost at the beginning of which there is a gate, with a notice warning off trespassers. This, however, is not intended to frighten away the harmless pedestrian, especially if he be quietly disposed, and not given to frightening the grouse, and making himself an abomination in the eyes of birds, hares, and man. Follow the cart track closely-it is much the best way, although it may not look so, especially after wet weather, for it is then deep in mud. It passes through several gates, and eventually comes out upon the high road near the "Robin Hood " Inn, where the traveller will be disposed to seek such refreshment as the place affords. He will fare better if he has made his way in another direction, more towards Sheffield, at the "Fox House," which was once an old coaching inn, and stands in a situation which ought to bring to it plenty of visitors, although coaches no longer run along the road. The moors extend for many miles around, and when the traveller has seen all that Derbyshire has to show, he will probably come to the conclusion that nothing has pleased him more than the views from Froggatt Edge and the "Fox House," within a few miles of Chatsworth Park.

After a long ramble, I halted one day before the "Robin Hood" Inn, in the hope of securing lunch, for I had tramped from Chesterfield—a walk I do not recommend others to take, and therefore it is unnecessary to describe it here. There are parts of the road which are extremely beautiful, but many parts that are not, and there is not the slightest necessity for anyone

who is in Derbyshire to be bored even for an hour with dull roads and tame scenery. I found that the door of the "Robin Hood" opened into a little kitchen, where a girl was getting the dinner ready. A very straight and shapely girl she was, and civil withal, for she at once dusted a chair and invited me to sit down. There was one other room, with a good fire in it although it was June, and an old sheep-dog was lying on the floor. There was also the mother of the girl, making cakes.

"He is old and deaf now," said the mother, pointing to the dog," and no longer of any use, like other old things." The girl laughed. "You may laugh," said the woman, "but you'll find it sir ?"

"Not a doubt of it," said I.

day first."

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out some day, won't she,

"But let her have her

"Oh, ay, and welcome," said the woman, as she cut me some bread and butter.

"Where are your sleeping-rooms?" I asked, having read in my guide book that this pokey little roadside inn was "much frequented in the grouse season."

"There are none," replied the woman, " and I wish there were, for it is a terrible lonely place. T'weather's been so bad this year that for weeks together no one comes here. What we shall do if it keeps on, I do not know." The fact is that the "revival of trade" has not yet extended to this region. There were some symptoms of a return of good fortune to Sheffield towards the close of 1879, but they vanished almost as suddenly as they came.