all,
Theatre, Union Club, the Buxton, Peak, and Haddon Grove Hydropathic
Establishments. As the town is rapidly extending, many very pretty
villas have recently sprung up in the park and neighbourhood, from whence
are obtained the finest views of Buxton and the surrounding hills.

Buxton is well supplied with places of public worship, St. John's, St.
James's, St. Anne's, and Trinity, belonging to the Church of England;
Hardwick Street Chapel, Congregationalists; the Park and Market Place
Chapels, Wesleyan Methodists; London Road Chapel, Primitive Methodists;
St. Ann's Chapel, Terrace Road, Roman Catholic; and Harrington Road
Chapel, Unitarian. The Presbyterians hold services every Sunday (during
the season) in the Town Hall, morning and evening.

The staple industry of Buxton and the neighbourhood consists in the
burning of limestone, and the manufacture of inlaid marble vases, tables,
&c, some of which are tastefully designed, and form very elegant and
beautiful ornamental decorations for the drawing-room, &c.

The naturalist, the botanist, and the geologist will find Nature's
hand-book, spread wide open over the hills and dales of the Peak, for
their inspection. The archaeologist and the antiquarian may wander to
the top of Cowlow, Ladylow, Hindlow, Hucklow, or Grindlow, and picture in
imagination the savage and warlike aborigines of the High Peak, wending
their way up the precipitous sides of the hill, carrying their dead
chieftain to his last resting-place on the mountain summit, where,
placing him in a cyst, made of rough unhewn stones, they cover him up
with earth, leaving his spirit to find its way to the happy
hunting-grounds of the unseen; or watch the wild and barbarous rites
performed by the Druidical priest within the precincts of Arbor Low
Circle; or contemplate the savage hordes of Danes, as they lie encamped
on the slopes of Priestcliff; or follow the footsteps of a hardy cohort
of Rome's picked soldiers, as it moves with steady precision through the
High Peak Forest, and ascends the rugged side of Coomb's Moss, to pitch a
camp on the spur of Castle Naze.

The antiquarian may take his stand upon Mam-Tor, the mother rock, when
the moon sheds her silvery light o'er Loosehill Mount, and, carrying his
mind back into the past some 230 years, hear the bugle's note as it
sweeps through the Wynnats Pass, and is taken up by the Peverel Castle
and transmitted onwards through the Vale of Hope, calling the hard