To the west and north-west of the village of Matlock, are three apertures in the rock, respectively named the Cumberland, Smedley, and Rutland caverns. The former of these is well deserving of a short notice.
The entrance is partly artificial, to afford a greater facility to the visitor, who has to descend fifty-four steps. The cavern now opens on him in solitary grandeur. Huge masses of stone are piled on each other with a tremendous kind of carelessness, evidently produced by some violent concussion, though at an unknown period. He is conducted to a long and wide passage, the roof of which has all the regularity of a finished ceiling, and is bespangled by spars of various descriptions. From above, from beneath, and from the sides, the rays of the lights are reflected in every direction. In an adjacent compartment, rocks are heaped on rocks in terrible array, and assume a threatening aspect. Next is an apartment decorated with what, in the language of the country, is called the snow-fossil, a petrifaction which, both in figure and color, resembles snow, as it is drifted by the winter storm into the cavities of a rock. Near the extremity of the cavern are to be seen fishes petrified and fixed in the several strata which form the surrounding recess. One of these has its back jutting out of the side of the earth, as if it had been petrified in the act of swimming. In another branch of the cavern a well has been found of a considerable depth.
REYNARD’S HOLE.
After having proceeded about a mile in Dove dale, the romantic and sublime beauties of which will be hereafter noticed, by a route constantly diversified by new fantastic forms, and uncouth combinations of rock, the visitor is led to a mass of mural rock, bearing the above name, and perforated by nature into a grand arch, nearly approaching to the shape of the sharply pointed Gothic style of architecture, about forty-five feet in hight, and in width twenty. Having passed through this arch, a steep ascent leads to a natural cavern, called Reynard’s Hall, forty-five feet in length, fifteen in breadth, and in hight thirty. From the mouth of this cavern the scenery is singular, beautiful and impressive. The face of the rock which contains the arch, rises immediately in front, and would effectually prevent the eye from ranging beyond its mighty barrier, did not its center open into the above-mentioned arch, through which is seen a small part of the opposite side of the dale, consisting of a mass of gloomy wood, from the shade of which a huge detached rock, solitary, cragged, and pointed, starts out to a great hight, and forms an object truly sublime. This rock, which has received the name of Dove Dale Church, is pleasingly contrasted by the little pastoral river, Dove, and by its verdant turfy banks. A narrow opening at the extremity of the cavern is supposed to lead to other similar cavities in the rock; and on the left is a cavern, about forty feet in length, in breadth fourteen, and in hight twenty-six, called Reynard’s Kitchen, from the interior of which a pleasing view is presented of the upper part of the dale, its river and rocks.
After passing Reynard’s Hole, already described, the rocks rise more abruptly on either side, and appear in shapes more wild and irregular, but diversified and softened by shrubs.
Dove dale is nearly three miles in length; but from the sinuosity of its course, and its projecting precipices, the views are limited. Throughout the whole of this majestic feature of country, the river Dove flows, in the halcyon days of summer, with soft murmurs, innocently and transparently over its pebbly bed; but swells into rage during the winter months. Little tufts of shrubs and underwood form islands in miniature within its bed, which enlarge and swell the other objects. The scenery of this dale is distinguished from almost every other in the united kingdoms, by the rugged, dissimilar, and frequently grotesque and fanciful appearance of the rocks. To employ the words of a tourist here, “It is, perhaps, on the whole one of the most pleasing sceneries of the kind anywhere to be met with. It has something peculiarly characteristic. Its detached, perpendicular rocks stamp it with an image entirely its own, and for that reason it affords the greater pleasure. For it is in scenery as in life. We are most struck with the peculiarity of an original character, provided there be nothing offensive[offensive]
THOR’S HOUSE.
“Where Hamps and Manifold, their cliffs among,
Each in his flinty channel winds along,
With lucid lines the dusky moor divides,