Here and there some sheep were feeding.
I made a little digression to a hill to the left, where I had a
prospect awfully beautiful, composed almost entirely of naked rocks,
far and near, among which, those that were entirely covered with
black heath made a most tremendous appearance.
I was now a hundred and seventy miles from London, when I ascended
one of the highest hills, and all at once perceived a beautiful vale
below me, which was traversed by rivers and brooks and enclosed on
all sides by hills. In this vale lay Castleton, a small town with
low houses, which takes its name from an old castle, whose ruins are
still to be seen here.
A narrow path, which wound itself down the side of the rock, led me
through the vale into the street of Castleton, where I soon found an
inn, and also soon dined. After dinner I made the best of my way to
the cavern.
A little rivulet, which runs through the middle of the town, led me
to its entrance.
I stood here a few moments, full of wonder and astonishment at the
amazing height of the steep rock before me, covered on each side
with ivy and other shrubs.
