name to them in the Morning Herald, about three years ago, under the title of THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG. On a green bank, beneath a hawthorn's shade, Now, while he hus'ifes out his humble meal, "Thou little know'st poor Fido of thy state, "And tamely part with such sincerity ? the possess power to toil, While these limbs poor "Or while these lands yield nurture from the soil, "Thou shalt partake, while here on earth I live, "Then beg to die, when I no more can give.” Buxton is one hundred and fiftynine miles and a half from London, through Barnet, St. Alban's, Dunsta ble, ble, Newport-Pagnell, Northampton, Harborough, Leicester, Mount-Sorrel, Loughborough, Derby, Ashbourn, and so on to Buxton. MATLOCK. MATLOCK I believe is visited more from the romantic pictures of nature which it displays than from the efficacy of its springs; for here is a splendid scene indeed, comprised within the space of two short miles, which is soon explored, and seldom retains a party for any length of time; the visitors drop in here as butterflies would upon a beautifully-coloured flower, which attracts them more from its gaiety than from its honied sweets. Most Most minds revolt at the arrogance of an ignorant and over-grown innkeeper, and here many have been disgusted from the same cause. Matlock has several hotels, as they are pleased to call them, and the guests are generally glad to get out of their inns as soon as they can, who find it a common maxim with the hosts to make their friends, who come to feast their eyes on these luxuriant scenes, pay for their peeping. There is a boldness and a beauty at Matlock not easy to be described; it should be seen; the objects are so refulgent, that neither the pen nor the pencil can produce a true effect; this village is enclosed between two lofty hills, partly covered with hanging woods, through which are often seen a pon a ponderous rugged rock, tufted with dwarfish shrubs, sprung from the crannies, wherein some alien seedling casually might have dropped and taken root; the clear impetuous river hurrying down the steep with a formidable roar; the oak, the willow, the ash, and other trees stretching out their long expanded leafy arms midway over the stream, forming a grateful cooling shade. Sir Richard Arkwright's elegant mansion is contiguous to Matlock, and his grounds being handsomely laid out are a great attraction to every stranger. But there is a great drawback to all those pleasurable scenes both in respect to the eye and the ear, from the |