The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction | Page 6

with many a ghastly wound, Low the fam'd Sir-loin is laid, And sinks in many a gulph profound. Arise, arise, ye sons of glory, Pies and puddings stand before ye; See, the ghosts of hungry bellies Point at yonder stand of jellies; While such dainties are beside ye. Snatch the goods the gods provide ye: Mighty rulers of this state, Snatch before it be too late, For, swift as thought, the puddings, jellies, pies, Contract their giant bulks, and shrink to pigmy size.
From the table now retreating, All around the fire they meet, And, with wine, the sons of eating, Crown, at length, the mighty treat: Triumphant plenty's rosy graces Sparkle in their jolly faces: And mirth and cheerfulness are seen In each countenance serene. Fill high the sparkling glass, And drink the accustom'd toast; Drink deep, ye mighty host, And let the bottle pass. Begin, begin, the jovial strain, Fill, fill, the mystic bowl, And drink, and drink, and drink again, For drinking fires the soul
But soon, too soon, with one accord they reel Each on his seat begins to nod. All conquering Bacchus' power they feel, And pour libations to the jolly god. At length with dinner, and with wine oppressed, Down in their chairs they sink, and give themselves to rest.
HUGH DELMORE.
* * * * *

THE TOPOGRAPHER
VISIT TO MATLOCK BATHS.
(_For the Mirror._)
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; a little farther, a simple cot, where nature has displayed her master-hand: but the most charming group is where three rows of cottages rise in regular succession towards the summit of the hill, their gardens contrasting with the barren appearance of their opposite neighbours. These delightful scenes alternate until your arrival at the Baths.
The Baths are situated about one mile from the village of Matlock, and are a collection of lodging-houses, which, during the summer season, are usually occupied. The baths are filled by springs, which issue in great abundance from limestone rocks; the water is exceedingly clear, and bears a temperature of 68° Fahrenheit. Here are the wells which produce the petrifactions; any substance placed in them being, in the course of a few months, covered with stone. Visiters are in the habit of leaving various articles, which, by the ensuing season, thus become incrusted. Birds' nests with eggs in them, baskets, shoes, &c. &c. are among the articles which may be seen here.
Matlock abounds with subterraneous caverns, which excite the surprise and admiration of strangers. These are entered by a passage, formed with immense labour through the solid rock. In the interior you are surrounded by brilliant crystallizations, various kinds of metallic ores, spars, &c., with petrifactions hanging from the roof, pendent as icicles. The roofs of the numerous caves are of different descriptions; some have the