Excerpt from The Peacock at Rowsley: Where Andrew, Alexis, and the Naturalist Met; And What Came of Their Visit

There is nothing, perhaps that more enhances the pleasure of travelling to an Englishman than meeting with good and comfortable accommodation at the various hotels he may visit; and, though great has been the outcry against hotel keepers generally - for they are nearly always looked upon as grim ogres who will most certainly eat up either your purse or your person still there are exceptions to the rule, where every comfort is to be had, and where even invalids may rest quietly for the night without fear of their malady being increased by the sight of the bill in the morning.

The accompanying Engraving of the Peacock at Rowsley lays before our readers the beau ideal of a snug country hostelry. It was our lot to be travelling through Derbyshire a few days ago, when fortune brought us under the shade of its roof. Who has not heard of the Peacock Its fame seemed on inquiry, to have spread through the length of the land but, as it had not been a portion of our luck to call there and enjoy its calm repose before, we thought that some portion of our readers might not be the less grateful to us for calling their attention to it, especially if they should be in that part of the country. The inn reminded us forcibly of the wayside inns mentioned in Sir Walter Scott's novels, built in the Elizabethan style, with abundance of windows, filled with heavy stone mullions, surmounted with gables and battlements. It requires no stretch of imagination to carry us a century or two back, and view over the door the sign of the Bear and Ragged Staff, or a troop of Leicester's mounted retainers quafl'mg ale and cracking jokes with the landlord. When inside, such a snug and cosy feeling comes over one, produced by the unscrupulous attention to our creature comforts, that, gazing at the old beams forming the ceiling, with our feet brought within the rays of the glowing fire which ever and anon blazes forth and dies away, leaving us in momentary darkness, we almost forget that we are creatures of to-day, and should scarcely start did a damsel clad in ancient garb appear with venison pasty and clouted cream from the buttery.

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