certainly the Corinthian took their rise, whatever may have been the statements of fable upon this point. And, if we look for an additional effect of contingency upon architecture, as attending the customs and events of the times, we shall find that effect as developed by the refinement which gave birth to the Grecian theatre, by the heroism which was rewarded with new monumental structures, by the legends and observances which afforded subjects for the collateral decorations of the sculptor, and by the encouragements offered by the government, or the oracle, as interest or circumstances suggested. The Greek style, thus formed by the union of many adventitious occurrences with the exercise of much judgment and taste, stands to the Roman in the relation of the graceful and accomplished sister to the less fair but more powerful brother. The character of the latter style seems to have conformed to the spirit of the bold but rugged masters of the world. It was the probablyaccidental discovery of the arch that gave the Romans the great advantage in composition over the Greeks, of whom they had been the careless copyists. Hence their triumphal arches, their Pantheon, their aqueducts and other structures; and hence a fund of valuable ideas upon the treatment of ceilings. The subordinate ornaments of the Roman style had, in almost all instances, some prototypes in the Grecian; though the former modified those subjects, and carried them out to their full developement. A contingent circumstance to which this style was greatly indebted was the superior wealth and power of its patron nation, an advantage Greek art never possessed to such an extent, and which carried all the conceptions of Italian skill into grand effect. an accidental discovery. To our more inclement sky are owing the high roofs and gables of our old architecture, the more effectually to throw off the abundant snow and rain. To our more moderate sunshine is owing the ample dimension of the richly-ramified window. To the productions of our soil are owing the beauties of varied foliage, adding an inexhaustible richness to the detail of composition. To the enterprizes of chivalry is owing,—according to many, even the first use of the pointed arch,-certainly a vast accumulation of subjects of heraldical and monumental interest. In fine, accustomed as we are to the praise of the venerable antique remains, and Temples, where pilasters round or to the admiration of those edifices still more interest ing from old association, which, in the style peculiarly our own, exhibit The long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, we shall find it a great assistance to our judgment,— in considering the origin of an architectural style, -to recall to mind the contingencies of time, of climate, and of event, that have attended its formation, being convinced that these have often a greater connexion with the subject than either the research of the antiquary or the pride of the artist is prepared to admit. DERBYSHIRE. E. T. But passing from this style, let us give a moment's THE PEAK CAVERN, OR DEVIL'S CAVE, attention to the last great architectural system, which appeared after long ages of darkness had succeeded the splendour of imperial Rome,-the Pointed style. In this, the consummation of art, matters of accidental origin and those of study and intention are so intimately connected that it is difficult to draw the line of distinction. Some general points however there are in which none can be mistaken. We can indeed, on the one hand, trace the origin of this style down through successive modifications and corruptions of the Roman, a progress of art resembling the course of a traveller, who, having strayed during night from his intended course, finds by morning that his wanderings have led him into a scene of unimagined splendour. On the other hand many contingent circumstances have perceptibly affected this style as well as the rest, not to enlarge upon the fact, that the pointed arch itself was CASTLETON DALE, in the High Peak of Derbyshire, Within its and Brough the former, with its spire-crowned church, forms a very attractive feature in the scenery, when beheld from the steep and rugged descent, called the Winnats, or Wind-gates, by which Castleton is approached by the road over the mountains from Chapel-in-the-Frith. As the road winds along the declivity, making several inflections in its downward course, the traveller obtains a prospect of CASTLETON, which appears clustered near the bottom of the precipitous eminence at whose feet the famous Cavern of the Peak unfolds its massive portals, and whose brow is crested by the ruins of the ancient castle, from which the place derives its name. The presumed depth of the vale, below the general level of the surrounding country, is 1000 feet; its length is between five and six miles, and its breadth in some parts is two miles. Near the entrance of the village, (which, on a near approach, is partly hid by some full-grown branching trees,) a low bridge has been thrown across the rippling stream which issues from the Cavern, at some distance to the right. Formerly, a ditch and vallum extended in a semicircular course in front of the village, from the mountain on which the Peak Castle stands, and may still be traced in particular directions. The buildings are mostly of stone, and the chief support of the inhabitants is derived from mining occupations, and from the expenditure of those visitors who are induced by curiosity or science to inspect the remarkable scenes in this district. Of these scenes the PEAK CAVERN, or, as it is frequently denominated, the Devil's Cave, and sometimes also by a still more vulgar patronymic derived from "Auld Horney," is the most extraordinary The entrance, or vestibule, as it may be called, is extremely magnificent, the Cave itself being situated at the extremity of a deep and gloomy recess, formed by a chasm in the rocks, which range perpendicularly on each side to a great height, having on the left the rivulet which flows from the cavern, and pursues its foaming way over crags and broken masses of limestone. A vast canopy of unpillared rock, "By its own weight made steadfast and immovable," and assuming the appearance of a depressed arch, forms the mouth of this stupendous hollow. This arch, which is nearly regular in its structure, extends in width one hundred and twenty feet, in height about forty-two, and in receding depth about one hundred feet. Within this shadowy gulf are several rude huts, the humble dwellings of men, women, and children, meanly clad, and employed in the manufacture of twine. Some of them officiate as guides; and the combination of their machines and uncouth abodes with the sublime features of the natural scenery of the spot produces a strange and singular effect. Proceeding about thirty yards, the opening contracts, the roof becomes lower, and a gentle descent conducts, by a detached rock, to the immediate en- | dislocated and broken, and large masses of stalactite From the Chancel, the path leads onward to the formed; beyond which is another vast concavity in closes, leaving no more room than is sufficient for the Beyond the lake a spacious vacuity, 220 feet in length, 200 feet broad, and in some parts, 120 feet high, opens in the bosom of the rocks; but, from the want of light, neither the distant sides, nor the roof of this abyss, can be seen. In a path at the inner extre-scends, the passage contracts, and at last nearly mity of this vast hollow, the stream which flows at the bottom, spreads into what is called the Second water; but this can generally be passed on foot; at other times, the assistance of the guides is requisite. Near the termination of this passage, is a projecting pile of rocks, named Roger Rain's House; the genius of Rain being supposed to have made it his habitation, from the circumstance that water is incessantly falling in large drops through the crevices of the roof. This water descends from a spring, rising near the upper part of the Cave Valley, (which surmounts the cavern), and probably, in ancient times, made useful in supplying the Peak Castle. Beyond this spot, another fearful hollow, called the Chancel, opens on the left, where the rocks appear greatly The entire length of this vast excavation is about eight hundred yards; and its depth, from the surface of the mountain between two and three hundred. It is wholly formed in the limestone strata, which are replete with marine exuvia, and occasionally display an intermixture of chert. Some communications with other fissures open from different parts of the cavern, but not any of them equal it either in extent or aspect. In very wet weather, the interior cannot be explored, as the water fills up a great part of the cavern, and may be regarded as the precursor of a series of glossarial elucidations of the various dialects now existing in England; but which, however useful in enabling us to trace the derivation of our language, are rapidly progressing into obscurity and disuse.] rises to a considerable height even at the entrance: | servations" on the local phraseology of that county, at other times, the access is not very difficult. A it has been wholly derived. Its introduction here singular effect is produced by a blast, or the explosion of a small quantity of gunpowder, when wedged into the rock in the inner part of the cavern; the sound appearing to roll along the roof and sides like a heavy and continued peal of overwhelming thunder. The effect of the light, when returning from the deep recesses of this cavern, is particularly impressive; and the eye, unaccustomed to the contrast, never beholds it without lively emotions of admiration and pleasure. The gradual illumination of the rocks, which become brighter, and assume more decided forms, as they approach the entrance, and the chastened blaze of day, which" shorn of its beams" by the vast concavity of the roof, arrays the distance in morning serenity, is probably one of the most beautiful scenes that the pencil could be employed to exhibit. The accompanying Ground-plan has been engraven from an Indian-ink drawing that was given to the Editor by the late Hayman Rooke, Esq. F. S. A. The subjoined views of the interior are reduced copies of drawings made by Mr. Edmund Dayes, which were engraved about thirty years ago for the "Beauties of England and Wales." References to the Vignettes and Ground-plan, :— 1. Entrance or Vestibule to the Cavern looking outwards. 2. Roger Rain's House. 3. Great Tom of Lincoln. 4. General Entrance under the great arch. 5. Huts or Cottages of the twine-spinners. 6. Broken rocks, fallen from the roof and sides. 7. The Doorway or entrance leading to the interior of the Cavern. 8. The First Water. 9. Entrance to the passage leading to the Chancel. 10. The great interior Caverns. 11. Steps cut in the sand, and descending to the Second Water. 12. The Second Water. 13. Roger Rain's House. 14. The Chancel. 15 The Bell House. SOLILOQUY OF BEN BOND, THE IDLETON. [For the following pleasant illustration of the dialect. of Somersetshire, we are indebted to Mr. JAMES JENNINGS, from whose valuable Manuscript "Ob Whatever may be said in commendation of rural life and rural occupation, and much can be said, it is nevertheless, and I believe indisputably, true, that to enjoy the country, to relish its scenes, its seasons, its inhabitants and its labours, a certain degree of cultivated knowledge and, it may be added, of refinement, is absolutely necessary. He, who has never had his mind excited and impelled by extensive admixture with mankind and the world, will rarely be capable of making many excursions into the upper regions of thought. He, who has always been confined within the narrow boundaries of his own locomotive powers and observation, will generally make a very false, or at least incomplete estimate of himself and of all by which he is surrounded: more especially will this be the case if he be restricted to some remote, secluded spot in the country,- for what can he, or indeed any one else, reason but from what he knows? The writer of this can testify that till he had resided for some time in a populous city, till he had been deprived of rural sights, sounds, and associations, he never knew sufficiently how to appreciate the country, either as a place of residence or for occasional retirement: that which is readily obtained and always at hand is rarely if ever estimated at its real value. Beauty itself and even sublimity, when always present with us, lose much of their power of excitement and attraction. Yet in justice to the author's taste, he must add, that so well pleased was he with his rural, his native home, that had he been permitted to consult, when verging into manhood, his own inclinations, he never would have permanently left it; the day of quitting it was to him a day of considerable anguish. MY NATIVE COT! God knows how most unwillingly of heart I left thy quiet when amid the world I first began to wander. I had thought Of nought but happiness, and cared for nought; I left you for the world.-Retrospective Wanderings. Agricultural and other labourers, whose exertions are usually great, and sometimes from long conti nuance extremely grievous, are apt to suppose that the chief happiness of life consists in having nothing to do; in a word, in being idle. Alas! how mistakingly ignorant are such persons of their own nature. BEN BOND was one of those sons of Idleness whom ignorance and want of occupation in a secluded country village too often produce. He was a comely lad, on the confines of sixteen, employed by Farmer Tidball, a querulous and suspicious old man, to look after a large flock of sheep.-The scene of his Soliloquy may be thus described. A green sunny bank, on which the body may agreeably repose, called the Sea Wall; on the sea side was an extensive common called the Wath, and adjoining to it was another called the Island, both were occasionally overflowed by the tide. On the other side of the bank were rich enclosed pastures, suitable for fattening the finest cattle. Into these enclosures many of Ben Bond's charge were frequently disposed to stray. The season was June, the time mid-day, and there will be no anachronism in stating that the western breezes came over the sea, a short distance from which our scene lay, at once cool, grateful, refreshing, and playful. The rushing Parret, with its ever shifting sands, was also heard in the distance. It should be stated, too, that Larence is the name usually given in Somersetshire to that imaginary being which presides over the IDLE. Perhaps it may also be useful to state here that the word Idleton, which does not occur in our dictionaries, is assuredly more than a provincialism, and should be in those definitive assistants. During the latter part of the Soliloquy Farmer Tidball arrives behind the bank, and hearing poor Ben's discourse with himself, interrupts his musings in the manner described hereafter. Whether it be any recommendation to this Soliloquy or not, the reader is assured that it is the history of an occurrence in real life, and at the place mentioned. The writer knew Farmer Tidball personally, and has often heard the story from his wife. SOLILOQUY. "LARENCE! why doos'n let I up? Oot let I up?" Naw, I be a slëapid, I can't let thee up eet.— "Now, Larence! do let I up. There! bimeby maester'll come, an a'll beät I athin a ninch* o' me life; do let I up!"-Naw, I wunt. Ninch, inch. It frequently happens that when the substantive begins with a vowel, the a in the article an is separated from the n, as in this word; the n being carried over to the inch-ninch. "Larence! I bag o'ee, do ee let I up! D'ye zee! tha sheep be âll a breakin droo tha hadge inta tha vive-an-twenty yacres; an Former Haggit'll goo ta Lâ wi'n, an I sholl be a kill'd!"-Naw, I wunt-'tis zaw whit: bezides, I hant a had my nap out. "Larence! I da za, thee bist a bad un! Oot thee hire what I da zâ? Come now an let I scoose wi'.* Lord a massy upon me! Larence, whys'n thee let I up?" Cáz I wunt. What! muss'n I há an hour like uither vawk ta ate my bird an cheese? I do zá I wunt; and zaw 'tis niver-tha-near † to keep on. "Maester tawl'd I, nif I war a good bway, a'd gee I iz awld wâsket; an I'm shower, nif a da come an vine I here, an tha sheep a brawk inta tha vivean-twenty yacres, a'll vleng't awâ vust! Larence, do ee, do ee let me up! Ool ee, do ee !”—Naw, I tell ee I wunt. "There's one o' tha sheep 'pon iz back in tha gripe, an a can't turn auver! I mis g'in ta tha groun an g'out to'n, an git'n out. There's another in tha ditch! a'll be a buddled! § There's a gird'1 || o' trouble wi' sheep! Larence; cass'n thee let I goo.' I'll gee thee a há peny nif oot let me."-Naw, I can't let thee goo eet. "Maester'll be shower to come an catch me! Larence! doose thee hire?' I da za, oot let me up I zeed Farmer Haggit zoon âter I upt, an a zed, nif a voun one o' my sheep in tha vive-an-twenty yacres, a'd drash I za long as a cood ston auver me, an wi' a groun ash' too! There! Zum o'm be a gwon droo tha vive-an-twenty yacres inta tha drauve: thâ'll zoon hirn** vur anow. Thâ'll be poun'd.†† Larence! I'll gee thee a penny nif oot let me up." Naw I wunt. "Thic not-sheep‡‡ ha got tha shab! Dame tawl'd I whun I upt ta-da ta mine tha shab-wâter; §§ I sholl pick it in whun I da goo whim. I vorgot it! Maester war desperd cross, an I war glad ta git out o' tha langth o' iz tongue. I da hate zitch cross |
