About noon the romantic part of the country
began to open upon me. I came to a lofty eminence, where all at
once I saw a boundless prospect of hills before me, behind which
fresh hills seemed always to arise, and to be infinite.
The ground now seemed undulatory, and to rise and fall like waves;
when at the summit of the rise I seemed to be first raised aloft,
and had an extensive view all around me, and the next moment, when I
went down the hill, I lost it.
In the afternoon I saw Derby in the vale before me, and I was now an
hundred and twenty-six miles from London. Derby is but a small, and
not very considerable town. It was market-day when I got there, and
I was obliged to pass through a crowd of people: but there was here
no such odious curiosity, no offensive staring, as at Burton. At
this place too I took notice that I began to be always civilly bowed
to by the children of the villages through which I passed.
From Derby to the baths of Matlock, which is one of the most
romantic situations, it was still fifteen miles. On my way thither,
I came to a long and extensive village, which I believe was called
Duffield. They here at least did not show me into the kitchen, but
into the parlour; and I dined on cold victuals.
