It was on a fine evening in autumn, when the rays of departing day began
to glimmer in the west, and twilight had just spread her dusky gloom.
All was silent, save the low rushing of the Derwent stream, purling its
way through dense groves, and winding round the stupendous rock of
_Matlock's Vale._ As I paced along, the grave, sombre hue of evening
fell full on the rocks, which rose in magnificent grandeur, and seemed
to look with contempt on all around them. These beauties, combined with
the gray tint of the stone, the cawing of the rooks, which nestle in
the crevices and underwood, with now and then the screeching of the
night-owl,--were such as would make the most cold and indifferent
acknowledge the delight to be enjoyed in the silent walks of nature.

Perhaps among all the varied scenery in the north of England, none is
more sublime than that of Matlock; whose romantic range, interspersed
with some of the finest touches of art, forms an interesting contrast.
The road from the village to the Baths is as diversified as sublime.
It is situated in the bosom of a deep vale; here, on one side, rocks
or crags, tower above you to the height of two hundred feet; at the base
they form, a graceful slant, which is covered with thick, clustering
foliage. On the summit, verdure is seen; and sometimes sheep,
unconscious of their danger, will stray, and nip the grass from the
very edge. Beneath flows the river Derwent, now, in rapid, though
solemn state, reminding us of the peaceful stream of life--but only in
fictitious calm, luring on to its more ruffled scenes; next, a rushing
noise reminds you a cataract is near, which, combined with the rustling
of the foliage by the breeze, wakens the mind to gratifying
contemplation. The other side is bounded by immense hills, which have a
gradual ascent. Along the regular connexion of the road are cottages,
whose symmetry adds the charm of artificial embellishment to this
luxuriant display of nature. Here you perceive a sumptuous villa;