saw poor "Dr. Syntax" in every possible plight, from his dejecta membra-his pliant arms and legs, his unbaked head, and clay-coloured suit, until he at length came out of the kiln, with his black coat, cocked hat, and well burnished breeches and shoes.

Our next visit was to the silk manufactory belonging to Mr. Taylor. It is the oldest establishment of the kind in the kingdom, the proprietor having introduced it from the continent. From the information received, the business is on the decline, and has never been very profitable. The manufacturer who is compelled to import the raw material, cannot hold a competition with Italy and other countries, notwithstanding all the protection he receives from the government. The consequence is, that silks are much higher than they are upon the continent, or even with us. They are comparatively little worn in England. except by the higher classes. There are, however, many spindles and looms in operation at Derby; and we minutely examined every process, from winding the raw material to the finish of the web. It does not differ essentially from the manufacture of cottons. The wales are made in the woof by touching a variety of treadles,

LETTER XIV.

MATLOCK-NOTTINGHAM-TOMB OF LORD BYRON-NEWSTEAD ABBEY.

August, 1825.-From Derby we rode to Matlock, a distance of fifteen or twenty miles, for the purpose of visiting one of the principal watering places in England, at a season when it is most thronged with company, and with the view of comparing it with the Mineral Springs of New-York. The road leading to it passes along the banks of the Derwent, up a narrow, but green and beautiful vale, hemmed in on either side by ranges of hills, and sprinkled with a number of pretty villages, the largest of which is Belper, with its neat church and gray turret rising on the declivity. Most of the houses and cottages are built of stone from the neighbouring cliffs, harmonizing with the surrounding scenery. The Derwent is crossed in many places by bridges of the same material,

beneath which the little river glides peacefully on, a perfect mirror to its verdant shores.

A few miles below Matlock, the scenery assumes a bolder, and a ruder character. On doubling a high promontory, which projects nearly half way across the valley, and around which the road has been hewn from the cliffs, scene after scene discloses itself to the eye, with a wild, picturesque, and romantic beauty seldom surpassed. Above, to the height of several hundred feet, the hills are hung with native forest, through which patches of the grey rocks are discernible, sometimes retreating among the foliage, and at others, obtruding their naked and precipitous ledges from behind the curtain of verdure. Deep in the vale beneath, the Derwent begins to babble in audible murmurs, hurrying over a rocky bed, or descending in cascades. Its music is sufficient to render vocal the whole amphitheatre of hills and woods.

At the point where the village of Matlock is situated, the Heights of Abraham, a green swell upon the right bank of the river, and High Tor, a perpendicular cliff of castellated limestone, rising three or four hundred feet on the left, so interlock as to form apparently an insuperable barrier, both to the road and the current; while the hills below, by a winding of the vale, seem to have closed upon the traveller, leaving him no retreat. Nor would he much regret to be thus imprisoned, at least till his eye was fatigued with the varied scenery around him, and his ear satiated with the murmur of water-falls. Immediately under the cliffs of High Tor, the Derwent finds a narrow, broken, and obstructed passage, where its waters break and ripple round rocks rising above the surface. Below, it spreads into a broader, deeper, and darker channel, moving on slowly with the quiet of a lake. Its margin is skirted with woods, the branches of which in some places dip into the current at a distance from the shore, forming an arch of foliage, beneath which little pleasure boats glide quietly along, or lie moored under the brink, to enjoy the breezy shade.

On the left side of the river, for the whole extent of the vale, the banks are composed of abrupt precipices, generally perpendicular, and affording at the bases barely room for a promenade, called "The Lovers' Walk," and one or two cottages, peeping from the woods. The village occupies the right bank, which is a steep acclivity, in many places precipitous, and at no point admitting of a direct ascent.

Most of the houses are built on a little basin of alluvial land, washed by the river; but far above the roofs of these, there is another street and range of buildings running along the side of the hills. Still farther up the ascent, are houses and cottages scattered among the trees. The lights at the doors and windows of these dwellings, glimmering through the foliage, present at evening an enchanted and fanciful picture.

We arrived just at twilight, and with much difficulty crowded ourselves into the principal hotel, denominated the Old Bath, which stands high up the acclivity, and affords from its windows some of the finest views of the scenery about Matlock. Beneath a copse of trees, in the handsome enclosure in front of the house, a fine band of music every evening take their station, and the notes of some plaintive air steal over the bosom of the stream, or mingling with the murmur of its waters, die in echoes along the hills. To complete the romance of the scene, on the night of our arrival the full moon rose above the hills, unobscured by clouds, and poured a silver tide of radiance into the valley, throwing a softer light over the landscape. We rambled till a late hour by the side of the Derwent, at one moment pausing to listen to its cascades, and at another to catch the tinkling of the rill, descending over its rocky bed, to mingle with the stream below.

Having said thus much for Matlock, I have said all. Its mineral waters amount to nothing. They are but slightly tepid, requiring artificial heat to prepare them for a warm bath. So far as we could judge, they are perfectly tasteless, and the efficacy ascribed to them might probably with more justice be attributed to exercise, rural quiet, and the salutary influence of the imagination. If Congress Spring enjoyed equal advantages of natural scenery with Matlock, it would become more celebrated than the fount of Helicon. I have yet seen no Spas, that will bear a comparison with its bright, sparkling, and salubrious waters.

The society at the English watering places appears to be much the same as at ours. It is an assemblage of all classes, thrown promiscuously together, and left to assort themselves into coteries, according to their several affinities. They breakfast and dine at a common table, which is very unusual at the hotels in this country. At dinner, those salutary rules as to dress and etiquette, which govern polite society, are observed; and at tea, they assemble in the drawing-room,

as the members of one family. Music, dancing, conversa tion, cards, or other amusements constitute the pleasures of the evening.

On the route between Matlock and Nottingham, we passed a large number of country seats, and among the rest, that of Lord Middleton. His grounds are seven miles in circumference, and appeared from the road to be laid out with taste. The lodge is one of the handsomest we have seen. If his lordship's amusements are such as they were represented to be, he can derive little pleasure from the elegance of his parks and the beauty of his architecture.

We reached Nottingham at 6 P. M. While dining in a handsome parlour, at the Black's Head Inn, I inquired of the landlord, the best way of reaching the tomb of Lord Byron and Newstead Abbey, incidentally asking also if he had ever seen his lordship. It. created not a little surprise to learn, by way of reply, that the remains of the noble poet, enclosed in a splendid coffin, with an urn containing his heart, had lain in state three days in the very room, and near the spot where we were sitting; that multitudes of people thronged the hotel, to look at the pall; and that from hence the funeral procession, consisting of a long array of carriages, moved to Hucknall Church, at the distance of six or seven miles.

An intelligent bookseller at Nottingham related to us an interesting anecdote of his lordship. Every one knows, that he was slightly deformed in one of his feet. At the age of fourteen he was put into the hands of a surgeon in this town, with the hope of removing the blemish. His foot was encased in iron, and rubbed with liniment. While this surgical operation was going on, that his time might not be lost, he was placed under the care of a Mr. Rogers, to read the Latin Classics. One evening his tutor called on him, to go through with his usual routine of instructions; but finding him rubbing his foot, in great distress, he proposed giving up the lesson. "Oh no," said Byron-"let us open Virgil, and I shall soon forget my pain.”

This same bookseller, who is somewhat advanced in years, was personally acquainted with the celebrated Gilbert Wakefield and Henry Kirk White, both of whom were natives of Nottingham. The former was a singular man in his habits, as well as in his character. He was remarkably fond of walking, and would frequently make a pedestrian excursion of thirty miles a day. Our informant recollects to have seen

him a thousand times taking his daily rounds through the Park at Nottingham, with his staff in his hand as his only companion.

White was born in a part of the town called High Pavement, but beneath a lowly roof, and of humble parentage. We had the curiosity to go by the house, and would have called, if any apology could have been framed to justify the intrusion. He was represented to have been in person, a tall, slender, and delicate young man, with a handsome, pale, and expressive countenance; retired and studious in his habits, even from boyhood; gentle, modest, and amiable in his manners. He rose from obscurity to eminence at an early age, by his own efforts, soaring aloft like the self-poised eagle. But after all, he was, perhaps, fortunate in his death, being cheered by a steadfast hope of a happier state of existence, while a warm sympathy for his premature fate induced the world to do justice to his talents. His memory is held in the highest respect, by those who were best acquainted with his genius and worth.

A walk to the Park, an elevated, spacious, and beautiful promenade, and to the Castle, carried us through the principal streets of Nottingham. The public buildings are numerous, and some of them stately and elegant. Most of the inhabitants, amounting to 40,000, are engaged in manufactures. The Castle is in a ruinous condition, but stands in a most delightful situation, commanding an extensive view of the vale of the Trent. This ancient fortress which is associated with many historical events, is said to have been built, like the one in the High Peak of Derbyshire, by Peveril. It is founded upon a rock, swelling with much grandeur and boldness several hundred feet above the plain. On all sides save one it was perfectly impregnable. Up the precipice from the meadow to the parapet, is a subterranean or covered way, ascending by regular flights of steps, excavated from the solid rock, with port-holes looking at intervals from the perpendicular cliffs upon the vale below. It was formerly barricaded with seven gates, disposed at different points in the ascent. Through this passage, Mortimer was admitted into the Castle, where he was found plotting with the Bishop of Lincoln and others, made a prisoner, taken to London, and publicly executed for high treason. It still bears his We groped our way through the dark and gloomy labyrinth, which is filled with rubbish, and has several turns which it puzzled us to follow.

name.