Why do we English,—­after dining at a table d’hote, all the way from Baden-Baden to Boulogne, for something not exceeding half-a-crown a-head, without drinking wine, unless we like,—­find ourselves bound, the moment we set our foot in England, to have a private or stereotyped dinner at five or six shillings a-head, and no amusement.  In London, for gentlemen only, there are three or four public dinners at a moderate figure.  When will some of our bell-wethers of fashion, to whom economy is of more consequence than even the middle classes, set the example at Leamington, Tunbridge Wells, Buxton, and Cheltenham, of dining with their wives and daughters at the public table?  How long are we to be slaves of salt soup, fried soles, and fiery sherry?

The decayed watering places, ruined by the competition of the continent, should try the experiment of commercial prices, as an invitation to idlers and half-invalids to stay at home.

Another great help to our watering places and farmers, would be the repeal of the post-horse tax.  It brings in a mere trifle.  The repeal would be an immense boon to places where the chief attraction depends on rides and drives.  It would largely increase the number of horses and vehicles for hire, and be a real aid to the distressed agricultural interest, by the increased demand it would make for corn, hay, and straw.  Besides, near a small place like Matlock, or Ilfracombe, in Devonshire, farmers would work horses through the winter, and hire them out in summer.  It is a great tax to pay four shillings and sixpence as a minimum for going a mile in any country place where flies and cabs have not been planted.

The environs of Buxton afford ample room for rides, drives, picnics, and geological and botanical explorations.  Beautifully romantic scenes are to be found among the high crags on the Bakewell road, overhanging the river Wye.  Among the natural curiosities is a cave called Poole’s Hole, five hundred and sixty yards in length, with a ceiling in one part very lofty, and adorned with stalactites, which have a beautiful appearance when lighted up by Roman candles or other fireworks.  As Buxton is only twenty-two miles from Manchester, travellers who have the time to spare should on no account omit to visit one of the most romantic and remarkable scenes of England.

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Macclesfield.—­From Buxton it will not be a bad plan to proceed to Macclesfield, and again in Cheshire, on the borders of Derbyshire, take advantage of the rail.  The turnpike road to that improving seat of the silk manufacture is across one of the highest hills in the district, from the summit of which an extensive view into the “Vale Royal” of Cheshire is had.  The hills and valleys in the vicinity of Whaley and Chapel-en-le-Frith are equally delightful.  Macclesfield has one matter of attraction—­its important silk manufactories.  In other respects it is externally perfectly uninteresting.  The Earl of Chester, son of Henry iii., made Macclesfield a free borough, consisting of a hundred and twenty burgesses, and various privileges were conferred by Edward iii., Richard II., Edward IV., Elizabeth, and Charles II.