Haddon Hall by Esther Singleton

JOHN LEYLAND

When the Derbyshire Wye has pursued its winding way from its source / in the millstone grit, and between the wooded steeps and precipitous / limestone cliffs that curb and shape its course towards Bakewell, the / hills on either bank recede, and the river flows through pleasant / alluvial meadows, overlooked by occasional rocky scars, and by woods / of fir, ash, beech, and oak, to its confluence with the Derwent at / Rowsley. Some two miles below Bakewell, shortly before the stream of / the Lathkil comes down from its enchanting valley on the right, with / its narrow tributary, the Bradford, to swell the waters of the Wye, / the limestone crops out as a platform on the opposite bank, and there, / half-concealed by the umbrageous woodland, stand the time-worn towers / and walls of Haddon. Whether we approach the spot from the direction / of Rowsley or of Bakewell, the prospect can scarcely be surpassed / in its kind, either for the wondrous grouping of the grey towers / and battlements on the slope of the hill, or for the rich beauties / of the varied foliage on the height beyond, and the flower-decked / meads and pellucid stream below. These charms of a truly English / landscape, and an old English mansion, have long had, and must continue / to have, a spell of fascination for the artist and lover of the / picturesque; but it is not only for them that visitors come in a / ceaseless stream to Haddon.