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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,
In which his master took a world of pride;
Now, while he hus'ifes out his humble meal, Trying how much to Fido he shall deal; Pats his lean sides with many a tender stroke, And then as tenderly to him he spoke ; "Thou little know'st poor Fido of thy state, "Thou little know'st what miseries await "On thee, poor fellow, and thy wretched kind! "Plann'd by the mischief in some human mind; "As with FIDELITY they were at strife, "A price is set upon thy harmless life; "Faithful to me thou'st been, and to my fold, "In burning summers, and in winters cold;
In early morning, or at evening late "In darksome nights, a guardian at my gate; "In roads of peril hast thou been my guide "Through wayward paths, o'er dreary heaths and wide;
And when we've ceas'd the wearying hills to roam, "Thou'st chear'd my heart with playful tricks at home; "Must I resign thee? that shall never be ! "And tamely part with such sincerity? "While these poor limbs possess the power to toil, "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, Dunstable,
ble, Newport-Pagnell, Northampton, Harborough, Leicester, Mount-Sorrel, Loughborough, Derby, Ashbourn, and so on to Buxton.
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 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 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