The River Dove, of which it has been written the “Dove’s flood is worth a king’s good,” formed the boundary between Derbyshire and Staffordshire, which we crossed by a bridge about two miles after leaving Ashbourne.  This bridge, we were told, was known as the Hanging Bridge, because at one time people were hanged on the tree which stood on the border between the two counties, and we might have fared badly if our journey had been made in the good old times, when “tramps” were severely treated.  Across the river lay the village of Mayneld, where the landlord of the inn was killed in a quarrel with Prince Charlie’s men in their retreat from Derby for resisting their demands, and higher up the country a farmer had been killed because he declined to give up his horse.  They were not nearly so orderly as they retreated towards the north, for they cleared both provisions and valuables from the country on both sides of the roads.  A cottage at Mayneld was pointed out to us as having once upon a time been inhabited by Thomas, or Tom Moore, Ireland’s great poet, whose popularity was as great in England as in his native country, and who died in 1852 at the age of seventy-three years.  The cottage was at that time surrounded by woods and fields, and no doubt the sound of Ashbourne Church bells, as it floated in the air, suggested to him one of his sweetest and saddest songs: 

  Those evening bells! those evening bells,
  How many a tale their music tells
  Of youth and home and that sweet time
  When last I heard their soothing chime.

  Those joyous hours are passed away,
  And many a heart that then was gay
  Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
  And hears no more those evening bells.

  And so ’twill be when I am gone: 
  The tuneful peal will still ring on: 
  While other bards shall walk these dells
  And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

We passed Calwick Abbey, once a religious house, but centuries ago converted into a private mansion, which in the time of Handel (1685-1759) was inhabited by the Granville family.  Handel, although a German, spent most of his time in England, and was often the guest of the nobility.  It was said that it was at Calwick Abbey that his greatest oratorios were conceived, and that the organ on which he played was still preserved.  We ourselves had seen an organ in an Old Hall in Cheshire on which he had played when a visitor there, and where was also shown a score copy in his own handwriting.  All that was mortal of Handel was buried in Westminster Abbey, but his magnificent oratorios will endure to the end of time.