ornament; if we except the reeded windows, and the double buttresses
at the angles of the tower, which is stated to be short of its
original height. On the east side, two angular lines mark the
connexion which the chapel had with the other buildings, and a part of
the ground plan may be traced by an adjoining wall, in which are the
remains of two circular arches, comparatively little impaired. Mr.
Rhodes observes "a wreath of ivy which falls from the top of the
tower, and nearly invests one side of it, breaks the dull monotony of
its outline, and produces a tolerably good effect: in other respects
it is not strikingly attractive as a picturesque object. The Abbey of
_Bello-Capite_ will ever be dear to the antiquary who will visit it
with veneration and delight; nor will the artist pass it by unnoticed.
The magnificent woods, and the beautiful hills that environ the Abbey
of Beauchief, amply compensate for any deficiency of grandeur in the
subordinate adornments of so rich a scene."

Beauchief Abbey, though once a considerable structure, was never
proportionally wealthy. At the time of its dissolution, (Henry VIII.)
the whole of its revenues were estimated but at 157_l_; and with the
materials furnished by its demolition was built Beauchief House upon
the same estate, granted by Henry VIII. to Sir William Shelly. The
mansion is still tenanted.

CROSSES.

These emblematic relics stand in two of the villages in the Peak
district: viz. Eyam and Wheston. They are places of little importance;
though a touching interest is attached to Eyam, from it having been
visited by the Great Plague of the year 1666; its population, at this
time, was about 330; of whom 259 fell by the plague.[2] The history of
this calamitous visitation forms the subject of a meritorious poem
by W. and M. Howitt, entitled _the Desolation of Eyam_, in which
the piety of Mr. Mompesson, (who then held the living of Eyam,)
his pastoral consolations to his mourning people, and the amiable
character of his beautiful wife, who fell a victim to the plague,--are
narrated with true pathos. Yet, this afflicting episode in village
history--

So sad, so tender and so true.

having been but recently related by our ingenious contemporary, Mr.
Hone,[3] we quote but two of the opening stanzas by the Messrs.
Howitt:

Among the verdant mountains of the Peak
There lies a quiet hamlet, where the slope
Of pleasant uplands wards the north-wind's bleak;