a derivative from it; others have said it is so called from thirty rivers that fall into it, and there lose their names; which cannot be, neither, because it carries that name from its very fountain, before any other rivers fall into it: others derive it from thirty several sorts of fish that breed there; and that is the most likely derivation: but be it how it will, it is doubtless one of the finest rivers in the world, and the most abounding with excellent Salmon, and all sorts of delicate fish.

Viat. Pardon me, Sir, for tempting you into this digression and then proceed to your other rivers, for I am mightily delighted with this Discourse.

Pisc. It was no interruption, but a very seasonable question; for Trent is not only one of our Derbyshire rivers, but the chief of them, and into which all the rest pay the tribute of their names, which I had, perhaps, forgot to insist upon, being got to the other end of the county, had you not awoke my memory. But I will now proceed. And the next river of note, for I will take them as they lie eastward from us, is the river Wye: I say of note, for we have two lesser betwixt us and it, namely Lathkin and Bradford; of which Lathkin is, by many degrees, the purest and most transparent stream that I ever yet saw, either at home or abroad, and breeds, it is said, the reddest, and the best Trouts in England: but neither of these are to be reputed rivers, being no better than great springs. The river Wye, then, has its source near unto Buxton, a town some ten miles from hence, famous for a warm bath, and which you are to ride through in your way to Manchester: a black water, too, at the fountain, but, by the same reason with Dove, becomes very soon a most delicate clear river, and breeds admirable Trout and Grayling, reputed by those, who, by living upon its banks are partial to it, the best of any and

this, running down by Ashford, Bakewell, and Hadden, at a town a little lower, called Rowsly, falls into Derwent, and there loses its name'. The next in order is Derwent, a black water too, and that not only from its fountain but quite through its progress, not having these crystal springs to wash and cleanse it which the two forementioned have, but abounds with Trout and Grayling, such as they are, towards its souree, and with Salmon below. And this river, from the upper and utmost part of this county, where it springs, taking its course by Chatsworth, Darley, Matlock, Derby, Burrow-Ash, and Awberson, falls into Trent, at a place called Wildon; and there loses its name. The east side of this county of Derby is bounded by little inconsiderable rivers, as Awber, Eroways, and the like, scarce worth naming, but trouty too; and further we are not to enquire. But, Sir, I have carried you, as a man may say, by water, till we are now come to the descent of the formidable hill I told you of (at the foot of which runs the river Dove, which I cannot but love above all the rest); and therefore prepare yourself to be a little frightened.

Viat. Sir, I see you would fortify me that I should

(1) By this it appears, that there are two rivers in England that bear the name of Wye: the former Wye, occasionally mentioned, p. 216, n. 222, 226, n. and elsewhere in this work, has, as well as the Severn, its head in the Plinlimmon hill, on the borders of Montgomery and Cardiganshire; from whence, as its Latin name, Vaga, imports, wandering through part of Brecknockshire, it, near the Hay, enters Herefordshire, and at Mordiford, within four miles of Hereford, receives the Lug: from thence, passing on to Ross, it enters Monmouthshire, and falls into the Severn below Chepstow. It abounds with that small species of fish called Last-springs; (for which see page 226, n.) and also with Grayling.

And here it may be necessary to remark, that the Ouse, Stoure, and some others, are common to England, as that of Dulas is to numbers in Wales. the Polyolbion, Song the sixth.

names of Avon, many rivers in See Notes on

not shame myself: but I dare follow where you please to lead me. And I see no danger yet; for the descent, methinks, is thus far green, even, and easy.

Pisc. You will like it worse presently, when you come to the brow of the hill and now we are there, what think you?

Viat. What do I think? why I think it the strangest place that ever (sure!) men and horses went down; and that, if there be any safety at all, the safest way is to alight.

Pisc. I think so too, for you who are mounted upon a beast not acquainted with these slippery stones : and though I frequently ride down, I will alight too to bear you company and to lead you the way. And, if you please, my man shall lead your horse.

Viat. Marry, Sir! and thank you too: for I am afraid I shall have enough to do to look to myself: and with my horse in my hand should be in a double fear, both of breaking my neck, and my horse's falling on me, for it is as steep as a penthouse.

Pisc. To look down from hence it appears so, I confess but the path winds and turns, and will not be found so troublesome.

Viat. Would I were well down though! Hoist thee! there's one fair 'scape! these stones are so slippery I cannot stand! yet again! I think I were best lay my heels in my neck and tumble down.

Pisc. If you think your heels will defend your neck, that is the way to be soon at the bottom. But give me your hand at this broad stone, and then the worst is past.

Viat. I thank you Sir, I am now past it, I can go myself. What's here? the sign of a bridge? Do you use to travel with wheelbarrows in this country?

Pisc. Not that I ever saw, Sir; why do you ask that question ?

Viat. Because, this bridge certainly was made for nothing else: why! a mouse can hardly go over it: 'tis not two fingers broad.

Pisc. You are pleasant, and I am glad to see you so; but I have rid over the bridge many a dark night.

Viat. Why, according to the French proverb, and 'tis a good one, among a great many of worse sense and sound that language abounds in, Ce que Dieu garde, est bien gardé," They whom God takes care of, are in safe pro"tection:" but, let me tell you, I would not ride over it for a thousand pounds, nor fall off it for two: and yet I think I dare venture on foot, though, if you were not by to laugh at me, I should do it on all four.

Pisc. Well Sir, your mirth becomes you, and I am glad to see you safe over, and now you are welcome into Staffordshire.

Viat. How, Staffordshire! What do I there, trow? there is not a word of Staffordshire in all my direction.

Pisc. You see you are betrayed into it, but it shall be in order to something that will make amends; and 'tis but an ill mile or two out of your way.

Viat. I believe all things, Sir, and doubt nothing. Is this your beloved river Dove? 'Tis clear and swift, indeed, but a very little one.

Pisc. You see it, here, at the worst: we shall come to it anon again, after two miles riding, and so near as to lie upon the very banks.

Viat. Would we were there once: but I hope we have no more of these Alps to pass over.

Pisc. No, no, Sir, only this ascent before you, which you see is not very uneasy, and then you will no more quarrel with your way.

Viat. Well, if ever I come to London, of which many a man there, if he were in my place, would make a question, I will sit down and write my travels; and, like Tom Coriate1, print them at my own charge. Pray

(1) Tom Coriate lived in the reign of King James the First; and, as Wood calls him, was the whetstone of all the wits of that age and indeed, the allusions to him, and to the singular oddness of his character, are numberless. He travelled almost over Europe on foot; and in that tour walked 900 miles with one pair of shoes, which he got mended at Zurich. Afterwards he visited Turkey, Persia, and the Great Mogul's dominions, travelling in so frugal a manner, that -as he tells his mother, in a letter to her-in his ten months' travels, between Aleppo and the Mogul's court, he spent but three pounds sterling; living remarkably well for about two-pence sterling a day; and of that three pounds he elsewhere says, he was cozened of no less than ten shillings sterling by certain Christians of the Armenian nation; so that, indeed, he spent but fifty shillings in his ten months' travels. In these his travels, he attained to great proficiency both in the Persian and Indostan languages; in the former, he made and pronounced an oration to the Great Mogul; and his skill in the latter, he took occasion to manifest in the following very signal instance. In the service of the English ambassador, then resident, was a woman of Indostan, a laundress, whose frequent practice it was to scold, brawl, and rail, from sun-rising to sun-set. This formidable shrew did Coriate one day undertake to scold with, in her own language; and succeeded so well in the attempt, that, by eight of the clock in the morning, he had totally silenced her, leaving her not a word to speak. See A Voyage to East-India, by Edward Terry, chaplain to Sir Tho. Row, ambassador to the Great Mogul, 12mo. 1655.

Further it appears, that he was a zealous champion for the Christian religion against the Mahometans and Pagans, in the defence whereof, he sometimes risqued his life. In Turkey, when a priest, as the custom is, was proclaiming from a mosque-tower that Mahomet was a true prophet, Tom, in the fury of his zeal, and in the face of the whole city, told the priest he lyed, and that his prophet was an impostor: and at a city called Moltan, in the East-Indies, he, in publick, disputed with a Mahometan, who had called him Giaur, or infidel, in these words: But I pray thee, tell me, thou Maho66 metan! dost thou, in sadness, call me GIAUR? That I do, quoth he: 66 Then, quoth I, in very sober sadness, I retort that shameful word in thy throat; and tell thee plainly, that I am a MUSSULMAN, and thou art a GIAUR." He concludes thus: "Go to then, thou false be“liever, since by thy injurious imputation laid on me, in that thou "calledst me GIAUR, thou hast provoked me to speak thus. I pray thee, “let this mine answer be a warning for thee not to scandalize me in the “like manner any more; for the Christian religion, which I profess, "is so dear and tender unto me, that neither thou, nor any other 66 Mahometan,