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<title>The Wye and Its Associations, by Leitch Ritchie</title>
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<pre>
The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Wye and Its Associations, by Leitch
Ritchie
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Wye and Its Associations
a picturesque ramble
Author: Leitch Ritchie
Release Date: June 10, 2011 [eBook #36367]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WYE AND ITS ASSOCIATIONS***
</pre>
<p>Transcribed from the 1841 Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and
Longmans edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p0b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Decorative title page, with Goodrich castle (followed by proper
title page)"
title=
"Decorative title page, with Goodrich castle (followed by proper
title page)"
src="images/p0s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h1>THE WYE<br />
<span class="GutSmall">AND ITS ASSOCIATIONS</span></h1>
<p style="text-align: center">A PICTURESQUE RAMBLE.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By LEITCH
RITCHIE, Esq.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AUTHOR OF
“WANDERINGS BY THE LOIRE,” “WANDERINGS BY THE
SEINE,”</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall">“THE MAGICIAN,”
ETC.</span></p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<div class="gapshortline"> </div>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">LONDON:</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">LONGMAN,
ORME, BROWN, GREEN, AND</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall">LONGMANS</span>.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">1841.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagei"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. i</span><span
class="GutSmall">LONDON:</span><br />
<span class="GutSmall">PRINTED BY J. HADDON, CASTLE STREET,
FINSBURY.</span></p>
<h2><a name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
ii</span>ADVERTISEMENT,</h2>
<p>A portion of the lower part of the Wye has been described by
Gilpin, Archdeacon Coxe, and some others; and the same portion
has been touched upon, with greater or less minuteness, by Prince
Puckler Muscau, and various Welsh tourists, as well as by
Whateley in his Essay on Modern Gardening. It seemed,
however, to the writer of the present sketch, that something more
was due to the most celebrated river in England; and that another
book (not too large for the pocket, and yet aspiring to a place
in the library) which should point out the beauties of the Wye,
and connect them <a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
iv</span>with their historical and romantic
associations—beginning at the source of the stream on
Plinlimmon, and ending only at its confluence with the
Severn—might still be reckoned an acceptable service by the
lovers of the picturesque. Hence this little work, which
may be consulted at will either as a finger-post by the
traveller, or as a companion by the reading lounger at home.</p>
<p><i>London</i>, <i>November</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1840.</p>
<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
v</span>CONTENTS.</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER I.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">Page.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Philosophy of the picturesque—Peculiarities of
English scenery—Worcester—Immigration of peasant
girls—The Devils’ Garden—The Rest on the
Stones—Plinlimmon—Inhabitants of the summit—The
Inn—Source of the Wye</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER II.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Descent of Plinlimmon—Singular
illusion—Llangerrig—Commencement of the
picturesque—The Fall of the Wye—Black
Mountain—Course of the river—Builth—Peculiarity
of the scenery—Approach to the English border—Castle
of the Hay—First series of the beauties of the Wye</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page17">17</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER III.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Clifford Castle—Lords-marchers—Fair
Rosamond—Ruins of the Castle—The silent
cottage—Approach to
Hereford—Castle—Cathedral—Nell
Gwynn—Cider—Salmon—Wolves</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page31">31</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IV.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Beauty and tameness—The travelling
hill—Ross—The silver tankard—The Man of
Ross—The sympathetic trees—Penyard
Castle—Vicissitudes of the river—Wilton
Castle—A voyage to sea in a basket—Pencraig Hill</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page45">45</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a
name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vi</span>CHAPTER
V.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Roman passes of the Wye—Goodrich
Castle—Keep—Fortifications—Apartments—Its
history—Goodrich Court—Forest of Dean—Laws of
the Miners—Military exploit—Wines of
Gloucestershire</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page58">58</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VI.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Iron furnaces of the Wye—Lidbroke—Nurse of
Henry V—Coldwell Rocks—Symond’s Yat—New
Weir—Monmouth</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page74">74</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VII.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Monmouth—History of the Castle—Apartment of
Henry of Monmouth—Ecclesiastical remains—Benedictine
priory—Church of St. Mary—Church of St.
Thomas—Monnow Bridge—Modern town—Monmouth
caps—The beneficent parvenu</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page87">87</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER VIII.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Welsh pedigree of queen Victoria—A poet’s
flattery—Castles of Monmouthshire—Geoffrey of
Monmouth—Henry of Monmouth—The Kymin—Subsidiary
tour—Sir David Gam—White
Castle—Scenfrith—The Castle
spectres—Grosmont—Lanthony Abbey</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page100">100</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER IX.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Raglan Castle—Description of the ruins—History
of the Castle—The old lord of Raglan—Surrender of the
fortress—Charles I. and his host—Royal
weakness—The pigeons of Raglan—Death of the old
lord—Origin of the steam engine</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page121">121</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER X.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Troy House—Anecdote—Antique
custom—Village churches of
Monmouthshire—White-washing—The bard—Strewing
graves with flowers—St. Briavels’
Castle—Llandogo—Change in the character of the
river—The Druid of the Wye—Wordsworth’s
“Lines composed above Tintern Abbey”</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page140">140</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a
name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vii</span>CHAPTER
XI.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Vales of the Wye—Valley of Tintern—Tintern
Abbey—History—Church—Character of the
ruin—Site—Coxe’s
description—Monmouth—Insecurity of sepulchral
fame—Churchyarde on Tombs—Opinions on
Tintern—Battle of Tintern</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page156">156</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XII.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>The Wye below Tintern—Benagor
Crags—Lancaut—Piercefield
Bay—Chepstow—Ancient and modern bridge—Chepstow
Castle—Roger de Britolio—Romance of
History—Chepstow in the civil wars—Marten the
regicide</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page174">174</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">CHAPTER XIII.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Piercefield—Points of view—Curious
appearance—Scenic character of the place—View from
Wyndcliff—Account of Valentine
Morris—Anecdotes—The Wye below Chepstow—Aust
Ferry—Black Rock Ferry—St.
Theodoric—Conclusion</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page192">192</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h2><a name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
viii</span>ENGRAVINGS.</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">Page.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>GOODRICH CASTLE</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">VIGNETTE TITLE.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>LLANGERRIG</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page19">19</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>RHAIADYR</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page21">21</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>NEAR RHAIADYR</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page22">22</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>CLIFFORD CASTLE</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page35">35</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>HEREFORD</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page44">44</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>ROSS</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page48">48</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>THE NEW WEIR</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page81">81</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>TINTERN</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page158">158</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>TINTERN ABBEY</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page160">160</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>CHEPSTOW</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page177">177</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>VIEW FROM WYNDCLIFF</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
href="#page198">198</a></span></p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
I.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Philosophy of the
picturesque—Peculiarities of English
scenery—Worcester—Immigration of peasant
girls—The Devils’ Garden—The Rest on the
Stones—Plinlimmon—Inhabitants of the summit—The
Inn—Source of the Wye.</p>
<p>Foreigners have often expressed their surprise that the
English should travel so far in search of picturesque scenery,
when they have abundance at home: but the remark is conceived in
an unphilosophical spirit. We do not travel for the mere
scenery. We do not leave the Wye unexplored, and go abroad
in search of some other river of its own identical
character. <a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
2</span>What we gaze at in strange lands is not wood, and water,
and rock, but all these seen through a new
medium—accompanied by adjuncts which array universal nature
herself in a foreign costume. A tree peculiar to the
country—a peasant in an un-English garb—a cottage of
unaccustomed form—the slightest peculiarity in national
manners—even the traces of a different system of
agriculture—all contribute to the impression of novelty in
which consists the excitement of foreign travel.</p>
<p>The proof of this is our keener perception of the beauties of
English scenery after returning from abroad. We are then
capable of instituting a comparison; and our national manners are
no longer the sole medium, but one of various media through which
nature is viewed. An untravelled Englishman is ignorant of
his own country. He must cross the seas before he can
become acquainted with home. He must admire the romance of
the Rhine—the sublimity of the (mountain) Rhone—the
beauty of the Seine and the Loire—before he can tell what
is the rank of the Wye, in picturesque character, among the
rivers of Europe.</p>
<p><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>The
journey from London to Worcester, which is the direct route to
the Upper part of the Wye, discloses many of the peculiarities of
English scenery and character—peculiarities which to the
natives are of so every day a kind, that it is only by reflection
and comparison they learn to appreciate them. The country
seats of the great land proprietors, with their accompaniments of
lawn and plantation, extending as far as the eye can reach, form
a part of the picture; and so do the cottages of the village
peasantry, with their little gardens before the door, admitting a
peep into the interior of the humble abode. In the
aristocratical dwellings, half hidden in that paradise of groves
and glades, we find every refinement that gold can purchase, or
taste produce: in the huts, comfort, and its inseparable adjunct
cleanliness, are the most striking characteristics.</p>
<p>The former speak of wealth, and the happiness that depends on
wealth; the latter of comparative poverty, and the home pleasures
that are compatible with poverty. On the continent, there
is always something out of keeping in the picture. In the
great chateaux <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
4</span>and their grounds, there is always some meanness, some
make-shift observable; while in the great country seats of
England, on the contrary, all is uniform. In the cottages
abroad, even those of a higher order, there are always dirt and
slovenliness—inattention to the minute comforts of humble
life—meals snatched anyhow and anywhere—sleep taken
without an idea of the luxuries of sleep. In England, on
the other hand, notwithstanding the irregularities of fortune, we
find an absolute identity in the various classes of the
population. The labourer—returned, perhaps, from
mending the highway, sits down in state to dinner, with a clean
white table-cloth, and the coarse ware nicely arranged before
him. The floor is swept, perhaps washed, to do honour to
the occasion; and his wife, who is at once the mistress and the
servant of the feast, prides herself on making her husband (whom
she calls her “master”)—<i>comfortable</i>.</p>
<p>We need not be told that this is not a universal
picture. We need not be reminded of the want and misery
which exist in numerous parts of the country, for with these we
are well acquainted. The <i>foreigner</i>, however, to whom
<a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>such scenes
are new, will meet with them frequently enough, and especially on
the road we are now travelling, to induce him to set them down as
one of the grand characteristics of England.</p>
<p>The road presents, also, at various turnings, that truly
English scene, a well-known specimen of which is viewed from
Richmond Hill. A level country lies a few hundred feet
below us, and extends in front, and on either side, till it is
lost in the distance, or bound in by low and filmy hills which
just mark the horizon with their waving line of shadow.
This expanse is studded with towns, and villages, and seats, and
cottages, and square towers, and tapering spires, rising amidst
woods and groves, and surrounded by green fields and
meadows. A great part of the peculiar character of the
landscape is due to the enclosures of various kinds of foliage
which separate one field from another. In most parts of the
continent—and more especially in France—these are of
very rare occurrence; and thus the beauty of the picture, when it
has any beauty at all, depends upon the colours of the different
kinds of grain <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
6</span>or other productions, which make the vast expanse of
vegetation resemble an immense and richly variegated
carpet. In spring, therefore, before these colours have
been fairly brought out, it may easily be conceived that France
is one of the least interesting countries in Europe. With
us, on the other hand, the face of the earth resembles a garden,
and more especially in one of those flat landscapes we have
alluded to. The changes of the seasons diversify without
diminishing the beauty; and even winter presents, instead of a
uniform and dreary waste, a varied picture executed in hoar frost
and snow.</p>
<p>Worcester is one of the most aristocratic looking towns in
England, and presents every token of being a wealthy and
flourishing place. Its cathedral, an edifice of the
beginning of the thirteenth century, has drawn hither many a
pilgrim foot even from foreign countries. Our present
business, however, is with the works of nature, or with those of
art fallen into decay, and their fragments standing amidst the
eternal youth of the hills and rivers, like monuments of the
insignificance of man.</p>
<p><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Worcester
is famous for its manufactures of porcelain and gloves; but our
attention was more strongly attracted to exports of another kind,
of which it appeared to be at least the entrepôt, if it was
not the original market. At a little distance from the
town, several waggons had halted near a public house, and their
freight, a numerous party of peasant girls, were breakfasting by
the road side. They were eating and drinking as joyously as
if their laps had been filled with far more enticing food than
bread and ale. They were on their way to some greater
mart—perhaps to the all-devouring metropolis; and when
breakfast was over, they resumed their slow journey, some few who
had mounted the waggons singing in parts, and the rest, walking
by the side, joining in the chorus. They had no fears, poor
girls, of the result of their adventure—or rather, no
forethought.</p>
<p>But it is not till after we pass the little town of Kington,
on the eastern borders of Herefordshire, that the picturesque
commences, and we must hasten on to our more immediate
task. Between Kington and New Radnor, <a
name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>are the Stanner
Rocks, with the Devil’s Garden on their summit, luxuriously
planted—of course by no human hand—with wild
flowers. Beyond New Radnor (formerly the county town, but
now a paltry village,) opens the Vale of Radnor on one side, and
on the other, a rude mountain scene, distinguished by a waterfall
of some celebrity, called Water-break-its-neck. The stream
rushes down a precipitous descent of seventy feet, into a hollow
with craggy and unequal sides. The spot of the cascade is
marked by an insulated rock, eighteen or twenty feet high,
standing erect above it like a monument.</p>
<p>After passing the village of Penybont, the Llanbadarn Vawr, or
great church of Badarn, is to the left of the road, an edifice
which dates from the time of the Conqueror; and nothing else of
interest is observable till we reach Rhaiadyr, on the Banks of
the Wye. As it will be more convenient, however, to examine
the river in descending with the stream, we shall only say here,
that the journey from Rhaiadyr to the summit of Plinlimmon lies
through woods, and hill passes, becoming ruder <a
name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>and wilder at
every step we advance. The character of the population
seems to change in conformity with their physical
circumstances. The want of tidiness which marks the British
mountaineer is the more conspicuous from the contrast it presents
to the opposite quality we have admired in the plains; and
already the women have assumed the round hat of the ruder sex,
and destroyed with its masculine associations the charms peculiar
to their own. Against this absurdity we must protest,
whether we meet with it in the Welsh girl, or the fair equestrian
of Hyde Park. It betrays not only the most pitiful taste,
but the most profound ignorance of nature, on which is founded
the theory of female beauty.</p>
<p>Stedva Gerrig, or “the Rest on the Stones” now
commonly called by the name of the mountain, is a hamlet of three
or four houses situated on a stream which separates the counties
of Montgomeryshire and Cardiganshire, in a nook of comparatively
level land, into which abut several of the lower ridges of
Plinlimmon. The spot has little of the wildness of mountain
scenery, but its extreme solitude; for being here <a
name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>near the top
of the mountainous group, and surrounded by its remaining
elevations, we are insensible of our real altitude above the
level of the country. These elevations, besides, have none
of the ruggedness of character we usually find in such
places. They are, in general, smoothly-swelling eminences,
which if rising from the plain would receive the name of hills;
they are wholly naked of trees, or even brushwood; and being
covered with green herbage, they at first sight give one the idea
of an extensive grass farm, rather than a sterile mountain.
It is the altitude of the spot, however, and the nipping blasts
to which it is exposed, that render it naked of the larger kinds
of vegetation; and there is only a nook here and there capable of
bearing even a scanty crop of oats. This region, therefore,
excepting a few fields around Stedva Gerrig, supplies subsistence
only to sheep; and the greater number even of these we found had
been withdrawn to situations less exposed to the Welsh winds.</p>
<p>Of the few inhabitants of the hamlet, the principal man of
course is the innkeeper; and the other fathers of families are
shepherds. <a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
11</span>The latter class of men have wages amounting to twelve
pounds a year, and enjoy their houses and little fields of corn
and potatoes, with as much pasturage as they have use for free of
rent. The husband, assisted by his sons, when young, tends
the sheep on the mountain; the wife makes flannel, and knits
stockings; and the daughters go out to service at an early
age. Their little menage is comfortable. Their bread
is barley cakes; they sometimes salt a pig; they provide
themselves with a quarter of beef at one time, and, like their
betters, “live at home, and kill their own
mutton.” Nay, one of these flourishing shepherds is a
rival of <i>the</i> innkeeper; his hut being duly licensed to
sell ale, cyder, &c., and the sign-board having the following
intimation:—“The notorious hill of Plinlimmon is on
these premises, and it will be shown with pleasure to any
gentlemen travellers who wishes to see it.” And this
intimation (letting grammar alone) is correct; for although the
notorious article in question, viz., the loftiest part of
Plinlimmon is not entirely in the garden, curtained off, like the
balloon at the Yorkshire Stingo, from the gaze <a
name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>of all who do
not pay a shilling to see it, yet it is actually on the premises,
about three or four miles—only a sheep
walk—distant.</p>
<p>The Plinlimmon inn, undoubtedly, is the place for our
money. It is now—although its character was very
different only two years ago—neat, clean, and
comfortable. We do not say that it affords the
accommodation of a city on the top of a Welsh mountain, but yet
to the traveller who has seen more of the world than the plains
of England, it will make a very desirable resting-place.
Such traveller, on dismounting from the Aberystwith mail, will be
right glad to sit down by a clean and bright fire-side, and if
the turf should not be lighted in the parlour, he will be proud
of the privilege of the kitchen. There, if he has our own
good fortune, he will find the landlady, a frank, cheerful, and
kindly woman, with the table drawn in quite to the hearth, and
reading “Elegant Extracts.” Materials of
another kind will speedily grace the board, viz., bread, butter,
cheese, eggs, and excellent home-brewed ale. Do you sneer
at this bill of fare? A fico for thy travellership!
Then will mine host enter in the midst, a bold, <a
name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>intelligent,
yet modest fellow; and, bustling through the various parts of the
scene, will “come, like a shadow, so depart” the
substantial form of the serving maiden, her cheeks round, and
flushed, her eye beaming with innocent gaiety, and her full and
swelling chest seeming as if it were with difficulty withheld
from bursting the corsage. These three, by the way, are the
only inhabitants of the hamlet who speak English.</p>
<p>After supper, the traveller, if he be not of the heathen sect
of Tee-totallers, takes a glass of brandy and water, for the
reason assigned by St. Paul in his Epistle to Timothy, or any
other orthodox reason; and finally, he will enter into a clean
and comfortable bed, and sleep, not the less soundly it is to be
presumed, that his meal had not involved the murder of a chicken,
or of any other of his fellow creatures of the earth.</p>
<p>The next morning the landlord walked with us to the source of
the Wye, about three miles distant. We ascended and
descended several of the rounded summits already mentioned; and
upon the whole, the little excursion is somewhat trying to the
lungs. A rill flowed between <a name="page14"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 14</span>every two eminences, destined soon or
late to unite with the Wye, and at length the latter stream
appeared, bubbling down the side of a slope in a volume which
might be comprised in the circumference of a teacup. Higher
up, a few rushes seem to hide the fountain from which it springs;
but following for a brief space a line of damp, plashy earth
above, we reach a tiny pool, little more than a hand-breadth
across, supplied by droppings rather than gushes from a bank of
black earth—and this is the source of the Wye.
Looking down its tortuous valley, the view is majestic from the
massive forms of the objects which surround it; but the solitude,
the dreariness, the utter desolation of the scene, form the
distinctive features of the picture.</p>
<p>Plinlimmon, or Pumlumon, is not, correctly speaking, a single
mountain, but several distinct mountains rising from one
base. Each of these distinct mountains, again, is
subdivided into several others; but in the aggregate, there is
little of the variety which might be expected from so
extraordinary an assemblage. It is entirely destitute of
wood. There are none of <a name="page15"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 15</span>the craggy peaks and precipices which
usually form the picturesque of mountain scenery. All is
smooth but blackened turf, frequently undulating over fathomless
bogs, the mysteries of which the traveller who ventures into this
desolate region without a guide has a fair chance of
exploring. The summit, of which the highest point is two
thousand four hundred and sixty-three feet above the level of the
sea, forms a plateau of several miles; whence the hills of
Cardiganshire are seen to the south; Cardigan bay and Saint
George’s channel to the west; to the north, the
perpendicular brow of Cader Idris; to the north-west, the
three-peaked Breidden hills; and to the east, the fertile plains
of Herefordshire and Shropshire.</p>
<p>Besides the Wye, there are several other rivers which have
their source on Plinlimmon, the most distinguished of which is
the Severn. About two miles distant from where we now
stand, this stream issues from a little bog-hole, in a volume
which might be stepped across by a child. The whole
mountain, in fact, seems a reservoir of water; and it is not
surprising <a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
16</span>that Owen Glendwr should have been able to maintain
himself here, as he did in 1401, even with so small a force as a
hundred and twenty men. The entrenchments made by the hero
may still be traced; and brazen spearheads, and other instruments
of war, have been found within them in our own day.</p>
<h2><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
17</span>CHAPTER II.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Descent of Plinlimmon—Singular
illusion—Llangerrig—Commencement of the
Picturesque—The Fall of the Wye—Black
Mountain—Course of the river—Builth—Peculiarity
of the scenery—Approach to the English border—Castle
of the Hay—First series of the beauties of the Wye.</p>
<p>Leaving Stedva Gerrig, the road runs by the side of the stream
before mentioned, through a succession of mountain valleys,
which, being without the grandiose forms of the view from
Plinlimmon, are uninteresting from the want of trees. On
the left there was a wreath of grey smoke flying backward on the
wind, from the brow of the steep which forms the side of the
valley; and we speculated within ourselves as to whether this was
the ensign of <a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
18</span>some unlawful still. It proved, however, to be the
foam of a little mountain torrent, caught suddenly by the gust
ere it reached the edge of the precipice; and so complete was the
illusion, that it was not till we had climbed to the spot, that
we were convinced of the phenomenon being the production of water
instead of fire.</p>
<p>The valley here was wide, and the vista backwards towards
Stedva Gerrig of considerable length. A very remarkable
effect was produced by the light of the early sun streaming
through masses of grey clouds, and flashed back again not only by
the stream, but by the entire surface of the soil which was
completely saturated by torrents of rain that had fallen during
the night. Just after this, and nearly three miles from the
inn, the Wye suddenly burst into the valley from the left, and
rushing beneath a bridge, flung itself into the little
river. The latter, conscious that although its volume was
greater, its strength and impetuosity were less than those of the
marauder, quietly resigned itself to its fate, receiving the name
and acknowledging the authority of its lord and spouse; and
thenceforth, we found ourselves <a name="page19"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 19</span>wandering along the banks, less known
than those less renowned, of the classic Vaga.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p19b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Llangerrig"
title=
"Llangerrig"
src="images/p19s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>The sameness of the scenery continued for five miles further,
till on entering the hamlet of Llangerrig, consisting of a few
huts of the meanest description, and an old church, of which a
view is annexed, trees began to add their interest to the
picture. The valley, however, was wide, the trees small,
and the river, notwithstanding its receiving here another
accession, was still insignificant. By degrees, however, as
we proceeded, the hills became closer, and the massiveness of
their forms lent a certain degree of grandeur to the scene.
These again disappeared; and the hills returned: and the Wye as
before ran brawling through a commonplace valley. A series
of vicissitudes went on till the hills, assuming the character
without the magnitude of mountains, threw themselves wildly
together, and we found ourselves in a savage pass, the steep
abutting masses of which were in some cases formed of grey and
naked rock.</p>
<p>The river here is occasionally almost choked up with stones
and fragments of rocks, which <a name="page20"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 20</span>must either have rolled from the
heights into the bottom of the valley, or been uncovered in their
original beds by the action of the water. Here opens (in
our judgment) the first of the numerous picturesque views
presented by the Wye. The spot is marked by the accession
of a tributary stream, which is crossed by means of a bridge.</p>
<p>After getting out of this gorge, the scenery becomes softer
and more commonplace; and at three miles nearer, the vista is
terminated by the little church tower of Rhaiadyr, painted
against a misty hill at some distance beyond.</p>
<p>In the time of the Welsh princes, there was here a fortress of
some importance, of which no vestiges remain. It was
erected, we are told, by Rhys, prince of South Wales, in the time
of Richard II., and burnt down in 1231, by Llewellin ap
Jorwerth. The little town itself is modern, and consists
principally of two streets intersecting each other at right
angles. The name, which is in full <i>Rhaiadyr Pwy</i>,
means the Fall of the Wye, but is no longer applicable, the
cataract having been almost levelled in 1780, when the bridge was
erected. From <a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
21</span>this bridge the view of the river is exceedingly fine,
as will be seen by the annexed engraving; although all the
remnant of the waterfall is the plunging of the stream over a low
ledge of rocks. The town itself has a good deal of
character. It is decidedly a Welsh town; and
notwithstanding the commingling that must have taken place in the
races, it possesses that foreign aspect which is so exciting to
the curiosity.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p21b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Rhaiadyr"
title=
"Rhaiadyr"
src="images/p21s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>This appearance, however, is still more evident in the next
place at which we arrive, Builth; but the traveller must not be
in a hurry to get there. The valley of the Wye, during the
fourteen miles which intervene, presents a continuous series of
picturesque views, sufficient of themselves to make the
reputation of the river. The stream rushes the whole way
through a singularly rocky and winding bed, bound in by lofty and
fantastic banks, and these by hills, naked or wooded, barren or
fertile, of every variety of form. One of the most
remarkable of the latter is the Black Mountain, which is posted
directly in front, and fills up the valley, as if to guard the
pass from the <a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
22</span>further progress of the Wye: but our wandering stream
sweeps abruptly round its base, and escaping by a narrow defile,
pursues its triumphant way towards Builth. One of those
pictures is imitated in the annexed engraving, and it will not be
difficult to find the identical spot chosen by the artist.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p22b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Near Rhaiadyr"
title=
"Near Rhaiadyr"
src="images/p22s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>For more than half the distance the road runs close by the
side of the river; but on reaching a few houses called Newbridge,
we diverge a little, and do not come near again till we have
travelled a distance of nearly five miles and approached the town
of Builth. The pedestrian, however, cares little for roads;
and, rejoining the river at will, he finds the series of views
continued—sometimes grand, sometimes beautiful, sometimes
picturesque, sometimes absolute gems of pastoral repose.
The river increases visibly before our eyes; and at length, when
near Builth, it rolls along, still foaming, still brawling, but
in a stream of considerable volume. Its principal
tributaries between Rhaiadyr and this place, are the Elian, the
Ithon, and the Yrfon; the last of which is celebrated by the
defeat of Llewellin in 1282, which took <a
name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>place at the
spot where the little river is crossed by a bridge, just before
it falls into the Wye, above Builth.</p>
<p>This part of the country, however, is completely
secluded. There never was, so far as we know, a public
conveyance between Rhaiadyr and Builth; and at the latter town,
at this season of the year—although it is still early in
October—the traveller will find no means of communication
with the rest of the world, except for those who journey with
post horses, and those who make use of the locomotive powers of
their own limbs.</p>
<p>Builth is finely situated, its narrow streets rising in
irregular terraces on the side of a hill on the right bank of the
Wye. The houses are as Welsh as can be, and have a
primitive, old world look, that has a great charm in our
eyes. The town is approached by a stone bridge of
considerable length; at the end of which, on the left hand, are
some mounds of grass and ivy, which conceal the remains of a
castle supposed to date from the eleventh century. All,
however, is conjecture as regards this castle, which was a small
fortress, with a keep of <a name="page24"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 24</span>forty yards in circumference,
surrounded by a ditch, and defended towards the south by two
trenches. It was repaired in 1209, by Gilbert, Earl of
Gloucester; after the death of Llewellin, it became an English
fortress; and in 1690, was accidentally destroyed by a fire,
which at the same time consumed the greater part of the
town. Builth, however, is older than its castle. It
is set down by the learned as the Bullæum Silurum of the
Romans; and various druidical remains in the neighbourhood carry
back the ken of the antiquarian to a still more remote epoch,
which is lost in shadows.</p>
<p>It was in this neighbourhood, as we have said, that Llewellin,
the last of the Welsh princes, was defeated and slain in
1282. Tradition relates, that while at Aberedw, a short
distance down the river, on the opposite bank, he was surprised
by the English, and escaped so narrowly, that he had only just
time to pass the drawbridge of Builth, before his pursuers came
up. The English, however, succeeded in cutting him off from
his army, by getting between the town and a village on the right
bank of the Wye where it was posted. Llewellin, <a
name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>upon this,
attempted to conceal himself in the woods, but he was discovered,
and beheaded, and his body buried at a place called Cern y
Bedd.</p>
<p>The air of Builth is supposed to be very salubrious, and for
this reason many respectable families have chosen it for their
residence. The abundance of game in its woods and hills,
and of trout, salmon, and grayling in its streams is another
inducement, and probably the <i>cause</i> of the good health of
its visitors. In this neighbourhood are mineral springs of
three kinds,—saline, sulphurous, and chalybeate,—and
a pump-room, frequently attended by a numerous company.</p>
<p>From a hill above the town is obtained a fine view of the
Llynsyraddon, the largest lake in Wales except Bala. The
country people believe that its bed was formerly the site of a
city; and, as in Ireland, Brittany, and other places where a
similar tradition prevails, they still see the towers of old
“’neath the calm, cold wave reclining.”
Giraldus calls the lake <i>Clamosam</i>, from the “terrible
thundering noise it makes upon the breaking up of the ice in
winter.”</p>
<p><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>The
valley of the Wye is less wild after passing Builth, but more
beautiful. After the fourth milestone, there is a
magnificent specimen of a formation of the hills which may be
said to be the grand peculiarity of this district. It
consists of a massive range on the opposite bank, laid out in
square terraces, such as Martin delights to heap on each other in
his pictures. But here, where Nature is the builder, these
masses of architecture are of rough, disjointed stones, hoary
with age, and sometimes overgrown with moss and lichens. On
the right bank where we stood, a small house is built just above
the road, as if to enjoy the picture; and, a little further on,
another of more aristocratic pretensions. A view, including
a portion of the latter—the green, smooth-shaven pastures
which answer for a lawn and extend to the water’s
edge—the Wye foaming and brawling at the bottom, half
hidden by trees of the deepest shadow—with the castellated
mount beyond, and the sweep of the valley closed in by hills to
the left—would form a whole, which Gilpin, with the
dogmatism of art, might call “correctly
picturesque.”</p>
<p><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>A
little further on, we had an opportunity of inspecting these
rocks more closely, which are only remarkable from the forms they
assume. In the instance before us, they were two immense
cubes of stone, as precise as if ruled by the square, and cut
with the chisel. They stood exactly horizontal with the
ground, and the upper was of smaller proportions than the
lower. No other rock or even stone was near. At some
distance another entirely insulated mass presented itself, as
large as a cottage of two stories, with walls as perpendicular,
and secluded like a cottage by trees.</p>
<p>The small village of Glasbury presents a view well worth
notice. This is particularly the case at Maeslough Hall,
where Gilpin characterises the scenery as “wonderfully
amusing,” declaring that the situation is one of the finest
in Wales. On passing the seventh milestone, the valley
spreads out into a wide plain bounded by an amphitheatre of
hills; and as we proceed, numerous villas peeping through the
trees, show that we have now left entirely behind us the
peculiarities of Welsh scenery, and are again on the borders of
merry England. As we <a name="page28"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 28</span>approach the Hay, the aristocratical
buildings become more numerous, and the romance of the scene
diminishes, till at length we enter a small, but neat and
comfortable-looking town.</p>
<p>The Hay has some historical associations of the doings of
Llewellin and King John, by the latter of whom its castle was
destroyed in 1216; but with the exception of a Gothic gateway
there are no remains to interest the antiquarian. There are
said, indeed, to be the fragments of some Roman fortifications;
but we are something like Sir Walter Scott in this respect, who
had seen so many ghosts, that at last he found it difficult to
believe in them. Tradition relates that the castle was
built in one night by the celebrated Maud de Saint Wallery, alias
Maud de Hain, alias Moll Walbee. “She built (say the
gossips),” as we find in Jones’s Brecknock,
“the castle of Hay in one night: the stones for which she
carried in her apron. While she was thus employed, a small
pebble, of about nine feet long, and one foot thick, dropped into
her shoe. This she did not at first regard; but in a short
time, finding it troublesome, she indignantly threw it over the
river Wye into Llowes <a name="page29"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 29</span>churchyard in Radnorshire (about
three miles off), where it remains to this day, precisely in the
position it fell, a stubborn memorial of the historical fact, to
the utter confusion of all sceptics and unbelievers.”</p>
<p>Between Builth and the Hay ends one series of the beauties of
the Wye. The stream hitherto is a mountain rivulet,
sometimes almost a torrent, and its characteristics are wildness
and simplicity. Its course is impeded by rocks, amidst
which it runs brawling and foaming; and, generally speaking, it
depends upon itself, and upon the nature of its own bed for the
picturesque, the hills around forming only the back ground.
We shall see, as we get on, the manner in which this will change,
till the banks become the objects of admiration, and the stream
itself, although much increased in volume, is considered a mere
adjunct, and its bosom a convenient site from which to view
them.</p>
<p>Gilpin’s observations on this point are very judicious,
although he had not the advantage of seeing with his own eyes the
upper part of the Wye. “It is possible, I
think,” says he, “the Wye may in this place (alluding
to the country <a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
30</span>between Builth and the Hay) be more beautiful than in
any other part of its course. Between Ross and Chepstow,
the grandeur and beauty of its banks are its chief praise.
The river itself has no other merit than that of a winding
surface of smooth water. But here, added to the same
decoration from its banks, the Wye itself assumes a more
beautiful character; pouring over shelving rocks, and forming
itself into eddies and cascades, which a solemn parading stream
through a flat channel cannot exhibit. An additional merit
also accrues to such a river from the different forms it assumes
according to the fulness or emptiness of the stream. There
are rocks of all shapes and sizes, which continually vary the
appearance of the water, as it rushes over or plays among them;
so that such a river, to a picturesque eye, is a continued fund
of new entertainment.”</p>
<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
31</span>CHAPTER III.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Clifford
Castle—Lords-marchers—Fair Rosamond—Ruins of
the Castle—The silent cottage—Approach to
Hereford—Castle—Cathedral—Nell
Gwynn—Cider—Salmon—Wolves.</p>
<p>Leaving Hay, the valley widens, the background softens, and
the whole scene assumes the character of an English vale, where
the hills on each side are cultivated to the summit. On the
right, as we proceed, a deep umbrageous wood comes in to give
effect, just where effect was wanting; and, surmounting a conical
eminence above the road, near the second milestone, the hoary
ruins of Clifford Castle intermix with the monotony of modern
life the associations of the olden time.</p>
<p><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
32</span>Clifford Castle was built by William Fitzosborne, earl
of Hereford, but was held at the time of the Domesday Survey by
Rudolphus de Totenie. It was obtained by the Cliffords by
the marriage of Walter Fitz-Richard with Margaret, daughter of
Ralph de Cundy. Walter Fitz-Richard—a descendant of
Richard II., duke of Normandy—whose father accompanied the
Conqueror into England, having married the heiress of Ralph de
Cundy, of Clifford Castle, took the name of De Clifford, and the
place remained the baronial seat of the family for two
centuries.</p>
<p>The nobles of that age were not merely required to do military
service for their lands, but other imposts were laid upon them by
the feudal custom, which had the effect of a true property
tax. At the marriage of Matilda, daughter of Henry I., with
Charles V. of Germany, the king collected a sum equal to about
£135,000 of our money from the land, at a fixed rate per
hide; and the returns (<i>certificationes</i>) show very clearly
the distribution of property at the time. We find Walter de
Clifford set down for one hide in Herefordshire in Wales.
It may be noted, in <a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
33</span>passing, that Henry was not only generous in granting
lands to his own and his father’s followers, but the same
request being made to him by some Flemings, whose share of terra
firma had been wrested from them by an incursion of the sea, he
made no scruple to comply. “Being very
liberall,” say the Welsh chronicles, “of that which
was not his owne, he gave them the land of <i>Ros</i>, in West
Wales, or Dynet, where Pembroke, Haverford, and Tenby are now
built; and they there remain to this day, as may well be
perceived by their speech and conditions being farre differing
from the rest of the countrye.”</p>
<p>The Norman knights who settled on the Welsh borders acquired
the name of Lords Marchers, being styled Marchiones Walliæ
in the Red Book of the Exchequer; although the title of nobility
derived from this, <i>Marquis</i>, was not introduced till the
reign of Richard II. These lords marchers, of whom were the
Cliffords and other families in Hereford, had each a law for his
own barony, and determined of their own authority all suits
between their tenants. They were entitled to the goods and
chattels of such of their tenants as died intestate. This
<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>power, in
fact, was such as could only be continued by violence; and hence
the coolness or treachery of some of them when any serious
attempt was made by the sovereign to introduce the laws and
customs of the English into Wales. After the death of
Llewellin, the last prince of Wales, this was at length effected
by Edward I.; but still, the Marches, not being included in the
division of the land into counties became a scene of such
anarchy, that it was found necessary to institute a court of
judicature for that district alone. This court continued
till the first year of William and Mary, when it was dissolved by
an act of Parliament, in consequence, as the preamble states, of
its having become “a great grievance to the
subject.” Previous to this, however, in the time of
Henry VIII., the Marches of Wales were definitely united to
England; when Clifford and other places, which were before a
debatable land of bloodshed and confusion, became a part of
Herefordshire.</p>
<p>But Clifford Castle is not associated merely with ideas of war
and rapine, but with those of love and beauty. Here was
born that too celebrated lady, of whom Dryden says—</p>
<blockquote><p><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
35</span>“Jane Clifford was her name, as books aver,<br />
Fair Rosamond was but her <i>nom de guerre</i>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p35b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Clifford Castle"
title=
"Clifford Castle"
src="images/p35s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>She was the daughter of one of the earls of Clifford, and
became celebrated for her amour with Henry II.; who built her a
bower in Woodstock Park, which he defended from his jealous wife
by the classical device of a labyrinth. Queen Eleanor,
however, who was as well read in ancient history as her spouse,
was not slow in hitting upon the expedient of the clue of thread;
and, on reaching her rival, the historical romancers add, she
compelled her to swallow poison. Whatever may have been her
fate, Fair Rosamond was buried at Godstow, and a Latin epitaph
inscribed on her tomb to this effect:</p>
<blockquote><p>“Here lies not Rose the Chaste, but Rose the
Fair,<br />
Whose breath perfumes no more, but taints the air.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The ruins of the castle, completely covered with ivy, look
down solemn and sad upon the Wye:</p>
<blockquote><p>“Clifford has fallen—howe’er
sublime,<br />
Mere fragments wrestle still with time;<br />
<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Yet as
they perish, sure and slow,<br />
And rolling dash the stream below,<br />
They raise tradition’s glowing scene,—<br />
The clue of silk, the wrathful queen;<br />
And link in memory’s firmest bond<br />
The love-lorn tale of Rosamond.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>We carried away with us for a considerable distance the dreamy
repose of Clifford Castle; but this was at length broken by
repose of another character. The scene was a little wayside
hut, purporting to be an inn, where the weary pedestrian might
obtain shade or shelter, if no refreshment. An old man, and
an old woman, occupied the two fireside corners, the one reading,
the other sewing, in profound silence. Around the hearth,
there was a semi-circle of five cats, in various attitudes of
rest, but not one breaking the stillness of the place even by a
pur. A dog, apparently kept in proper order by his feline
associates, lay outside the semicircle, and shared in the
tranquillity of the scene. We paused for a moment at the
door, feeling that our presence was an intrusion; but, after a
brief question, and a brief reply, the good wife dropped her eyes
again upon her work, and the dog, who had himself raised his
head, returned to his <a name="page37"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 37</span>slumber with a sigh. As for the
other inhabitants, our presence had produced no effect upon them
at all, and we withdrew to proceed upon our wanderings,
unconsciously taking care to tread without noise.</p>
<p>From this place to Hereford, the road runs through a rich and
well cultivated country, dotted here and there with houses and
villages, but not thickly enough to disturb the idea of pastoral
repose. Approaching Bradwardine, where the old castle said
to have been the residence of the family of that name is
<i>not</i>, the soil swells into wooded eminences, one of which
is called Mirebeck Hill; and Brobury’s Scar, a picturesque
cliff rising from the bank of the river, adds still further to
the diversity of the prospect. Then came the various villas
which usually adorn the neighbourhood of a large town—and
which here are true embellishments to the landscape; and finally
we enter the ancient, sober, quiet cathedral city of
Hereford.</p>
<p>Hereford was a principal town of Mercia under the Heptarchy,
the palace of Offa, the most powerful of the Mercian princes,
being within three miles of it on the north-eastern side.
Its <a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
38</span>church, in the time of Offa, was probably nothing more
than a wooden building; but to the rise of that church in wealth
and reputation was owing, according to the usual sequence of
events at the period, the prosperity of the town. Offa had
treacherously inveigled to his court Ethelbert, prince of the
East Angles, when he murdered him, and usurped his crown.
The body of the victim was buried in the church, where by working
of miracles it attracted so much attention to the spot, that a
new church of stone was constructed on the site of the wooden
edifice, and dedicated to <i>Saint Ethelbert</i>.
Multitudes of course flocked to visit the martyr’s tomb;
the church was richly endowed by the remorse or hypocrisy of the
assassin; and Hereford speedily rose from its comparative
obscurity.</p>
<p>About the year 939, the city was first enclosed by walls, the
fragments of which now existing are supposed to stand upon the
original foundations. They were eighteen hundred yards in
extent, enclosing the town on all sides except towards the south,
where it has the defence of the Wye. There were six gates,
and fifteen embattled watch-towers. The castle, concerning
<a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>the date
of which antiquarians are not agreed, stood on the south and east
sides of the city, with the Wye on the south and the cathedral on
the west. Leland describes the keep as having been
“high and very strong, having in the outer wall ten
semicircular towers, and one great tower within.” He
adds, that “it hath been one of the largest, fayrest, and
strongest castels in England.” In the time of the
civil wars, Hereford was the scene of some strife, but since then
nothing has occurred—not even the introduction of
manufactures—to disturb its repose.</p>
<p>With the exception of the cathedral, a grand view of which is
to be had from the Castle Green Promenade—a fine public
walk on a small scale—there is nothing to detain the
traveller. Some fragments of the city walls, however, and
of an old priory, may be visited by the antiquary; together with
an old house, a “brotherless hermit,” the last of a
race demolished for the purpose of widening the street where the
town hall stands—or rather sits—resting uneasily on
some thin columns. The house, adorned with grotesque faces,
bears its date, 1621.</p>
<p>The traveller may also go, if he will, to Pipe <a
name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>Lane,
formerly called Pipe Well Street, leading from the bridge to the
cathedral, to see the house where Nell Gwynn was not born, and
the bedchamber where she did not sleep. These curiosities
will be shown for a trifle, and they must now suffice: the
dwelling which really had the distinction of giving birth to
Mistress Eleanor having been pulled down more than twenty years
ago.</p>
<p>After the removal of this celebrated lady to London, she made
her first appearance in Drury Lane Theatre, in the character of a
fruit-girl, not on the stage, but in the lobby. Mr. Hart,
the manager, however, was induced to notice her by her natural
humour and vivacity, and he produced her upon the boards about
the year 1667. Here she became a favorite of Dryden, who
wrote some of his prologues and epilogues expressly for
her. “The immediate cause of her becoming the object
of the king’s affection is thus represented. At the
duke’s theatre, under Killegrew’s patent, the
celebrated Nokes appeared in a hat larger than that usually
assigned to Pistol, which diverted the audience so much as to
help off a bad play. Dryden, in return, caused a hat to <a
name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>be made of
the circumference of a large coach wheel, and made Mrs. Gwynn
speak an epilogue under the umbrella of it, with the brim
stretched out in its utmost horizontal extension, not unlike a
mushroom of that size. No sooner did she appear in this
strange dress, than the house was in convulsions of
laughter. Amongst the rest, the king gave the fullest marks
of approbation, by going behind the scenes after the play, and
taking her home in his own coach to sup with him.” <a
name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41"
class="citation">[41]</a> Her son, born in 1670, was
afterwards created duke of St. Albans; and her grandson became a
prelate of the church, and the denizen of the episcopal palace
nearly adjoining the humble house in Pipe Lane, where his
maternal ancestor was born. Mrs. Gwynne was one of the few
royal favorites who have not abused their power, otherwise than
in spending money which should have been under the control of the
nation. She was munificent in her charities, and may be
considered, if not the founder of Chelsea Hospital, the cause of
its having been founded. “Her stature was short, <a
name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>her hair
inclined to red; her eyes were small and lively, and she
possessed what the French term embonpoint. Her feet were of
the most diminutive size, and as such were the subject of
frequent mirth to the merry monarch.”</p>
<p>The staple commodity of Hereford is cider; but the reputation
of the county for this production dates backward only to the
reign of Charles I., when, according to Evelyn, it became
“in a manner one entire orchard.” The apples
are merely a variety of the crab, as the pears are descended from
the common wild pear. The plantations are found in every
aspect, and on every soil; but in general the west winds, so much
praised by the Roman poets, and after them by Philips the bard of
cider, are unwholesome to the plant, from the circumstance of
their blowing over the Welsh mountains, which are capped with
snow even in the spring. The best colours for cider fruits
are red and yellow, the juice of the green being harsh and
poor. The pulp should be yellow, but this part of the apple
is not so important as the rind and kernel, in which the strength
and flavour of the liquid reside; and for this reason the smaller
the apple <a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
43</span>is the better. From twenty-four to thirty gallons
are required to fill the provincial hogshead of one hundred and
ten gallons.</p>
<p>The cider-mill used even at this moment is a rude and
imperfect contrivance, consisting of a circular stone, about
twelve hundred weight, set on its edge in a shallow circular
trough, and drawn round by a horse. The apples are
gradually introduced into the trough, and a quantity may be thus
mashed equal to a hogshead of cider in the day. The
expressed juice is put into casks, not quite filled, and in the
open air; and as soon as the vinous fermentation takes place, it
is racked. When two years old it may be bottled, after
which it will become rich and sparkling, and so remain for twenty
or thirty years. Perry is made with pears pretty nearly in
the same way.</p>
<p>The salmon is still the principal fish taken in the Wye,
though far less plentiful than formerly. It was at one time
a common clause in the indentures of apprentices that they should
not be compelled to live on salmon more than two days in the
week. Wolves were formerly so numerous in this district,
that in 1234 a proclamation <a name="page44"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 44</span>was issued commanding them to be
destroyed, and calling upon “all the king’s liege
people to assist therein.” A wolf would now be an
extraordinary spectacle indeed on the sunny slopes, or prowling
among the apple orchards of Hereford! But the Wye has seen
changes more remarkable than this.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p44b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Hereford"
title=
"Hereford"
src="images/p44s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h2><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
45</span>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Beauty and tameness—The travelling
hill—Ross—The silver tankard—The Man of
Ross—The sympathetic trees—Penyard
Castle—Vicissitudes of the river—Wilton
Castle—A voyage to sea in a basket—Pencraig Hill.</p>
<p>Comparatively speaking, there is little worthy of remark
between Hereford and Ross; and yet Gilpin’s charge of
<i>tameness</i> is unjust. What it wants is
excitement. The valley of the Wye is here
beautiful—neither more, nor less; but its beauty is similar
to that of the portion we have just traversed between the Hay and
Hereford, and we therefore call it tame. Why did we not
apply the word before? Because the contrast presented by
the valley after leaving Hay with the wilder or grander features
we had passed <a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
46</span>formed one of the <i>vicissitudes</i> of the
river. This will be understood by a traveller who journeys
up the stream. On reaching Ross, after emerging from the
tumult, or sublimity, of the lower passage, he will gaze with
delight on one of the most quietly beautiful landscapes in
England—whose smooth green eminences, gentle groves,
orchards and hop plantations (the latter far finer objects than
the vineyards of the continent), white cottages, villages, and
village spires, give an endless and yet simple variety to the
picture. After passing Hereford, in quest of new
excitement, the scene-hunter will pronounce a similar character
of landscape <i>tame</i>.</p>
<p>Six miles from Hereford, the Lay adds its waters to the Wye,
and near the confluence we remark an abrupt elevation, which
being wholly different in character from the rest of the soil
conveys the idea of an accident of nature. And such it
actually is.</p>
<p>Marclay Hill—for so the elevation is called—in the
time of Elizabeth, according to Camden, “rose as it were
from sleep, and for three days moved on its vast body with an
horrible noise, driving everything before it to an higher
ground.” <a name="page47"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 47</span>Fuller states that the ascent gained
by the surprising traveller was eleven fathoms, that its bulk was
twenty acres, and that the time it took to perform the feat was
fourteen hours. Sir Richard Baker, in the “Chronicles
of England,” is still more minute. “In the
thirteenth year of Queen Elizabeth,” says he, “a
prodigious earthquake happened in the east parts of
Herefordshire, at a little town called Kinnaston. On the
seventeenth of February, at six o’clock in the evening, the
earth began to open, and a hill, with a rock under it, making at
first a great hollowing noise, which was heard a great way off,
lifted itself up, and began to travel, bearing along with it the
trees that grew upon it, the sheepfolds and flocks of sheep
abiding there at the same time. In the place from whence it
was first moved it left a gaping distance forty foot broad, and
fourscore ells long: the whole field was about twenty
acres. Passing along it overthrew a chapel standing in the
way, removed a yew tree planted in the churchyard from the west
to the east: with the like force it thrust before it highways,
sheepfolds, hedges, and trees; made tilled ground pasture, and
again turned pasture into tillage. <a
name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>Having walked
in this sort from Saturday evening till Monday noon, it then
stood still.” The yew tree still exists as a witness
of the fact, and the church bell was dug up not many years
ago.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p48b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Ross"
title=
"Ross"
src="images/p48s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>The traces of a Roman camp on Woldbury Hill, and on Eaton Hill
those of an ancient fortification, forming a link in the chain of
defences which formerly ran along this part of the country, may
be inspected with advantage by the pedestrian who is read in
antiquarian lore; but to others there will appear nothing which
should detain their steps before the little town of Ross.
Here commences the tour of the lower Wye—of that part of
the river which is known to fame as <i>the</i> Wye. As for
the town itself, it is neat and prim-looking, sitting quietly
upon an eminence above the river. It is full of memories of
the Man of Ross, which sanctify it from the boisterous
vulgarities of a town. The “heaven-directed
spire” which he taught to rise is its prominent feature;
and this object keeps the lines of Pope ringing in our ears like
the church bell, and with a little of its monotony.</p>
<p>This bell, by the way, is something more than <a
name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>an ordinary
bell. It bears the name of John Kyrle, and was cast at
Gloucester, in 1695, at his own expense. Nay, it possesses
a relic more valuable than his name, for there is incorporated
with its substance his favorite silver tankard. He attended
himself at the casting, and, drinking solemnly the orthodox toast
of “Church and King,” he threw the cup into the
molten mass. In a local guide-book, we find several little
particulars of this fine old fellow, which are interesting from
their naïveté.</p>
<p>It appears he was entered a gentleman commoner, of Baliol
College, Oxford, in 1654, and that he was intended for the bar
but soon relinquished all thoughts of that profession, and
returning to Ross gave himself up to agriculture and building,
and the improvement of his native town.</p>
<p>An old maiden cousin, of the euphonous name of Bubb, kept
house for him many years. In his person, John was tall,
thin, and well-shaped; his health was remarkably good, and he
scarcely knew any of the frailties of old age until within a very
short time of his death. His usual dress was a suit of
brown <i>dittos</i>, and a king William’s <a
name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>wig, all in
the costume of his day. He disliked crowds and routs, but
was exceedingly fond of snug, social parties, and “of
dinnering his friends upon the market and fair days.”
He was also exceedingly pleased with his neighbours dropping in
without ceremony, loved to make a good long evening of it,
enjoyed a merry story, and always seemed sorry when it was time
to break up. His dishes were generally plain and according
to the season, but he dearly loved a goose, and was vain of his
dexterity in carving it. During the operation, which he
invariably took upon himself, he always repeated one of those old
sayings and standing witticisms that seem to attach themselves
with peculiar preference to the cooked goose. He never had
roast beef on his table save and except on Christmas day; and
malt liquor and good Herefordshire cider were the only beverages
ever introduced. At his kitchen fire there was a large
block of wood, in lieu of a bench, for poor people to sit upon;
and a piece of boiled beef, and three pecks of flower, made into
loaves, were given to the poor every Sunday. The number he
chose at his “invitation dinners,” were nine, eleven,
<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>or
<i>thirteen</i>, including himself and his kinswoman, Miss Bubb;
and he never cared to sit down to table until he had as many as
made one of these numbers. He not only superintended the
labours of the road makers, planters, and gardeners, but commonly
took an active part in them himself, delighting above all things
to carry a huge watering-pot to water the trees he had newly set
in the earth. “With a spade on his shoulder and a
glass bottle of liquor in his hand, he used to walk from his
house to the fields and back again several times during the
day.”</p>
<p>Without the trees planted by John Kyrle, Ross would be
nothing, so far as the picturesque is concerned; and a delightful
tradition, the truth of which is vouched by undeniable evidence,
proves that the trees were not ungrateful to their founder.
A rector, as the story goes, had the impiety to cut down some of
these living monuments of the taste of John Kyrle, which shaded
the wall of the church beside his own pew; but the roots threw
out fresh shoots, and these, penetrating into the interior, grew
into two graceful elms, that occupied his seat with their
foliage. If any one doubt the fact, let him <a
name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>go and
see. The trees are still there; their branches curtain the
tall window that opens upon the pew; and their beautiful leaves
cluster above the seat,</p>
<blockquote><p>“And still keep his memory green in our
souls.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Besides the elms in the churchyard and neighbourhood, there is
a fine avenue, planted by John Kyrle, called the Prospect, or the
Man of Ross’s Walk. It is on the ridge of a hill
behind the church, and commands a view of the valley of the Wye,
about which there is some difference of opinion. In
King’s anecdotes the planter’s taste for prospects is
commended; and it is said that “by a vast plantation of
elms, which he disposed of in a fine manner, he has made one of
the most <i>entertaining</i> scenes the county of Hereford
affords.” Gilpin, on the other hand, who travelled
with an easel before his mind’s eye, cannot make a picture
of it; and Gray the poet asserts, in reference to the spot in
question, that “all points that are much elevated spoil the
beauty of the valley, and make its parts, which are not large,
look poor and diminutive.”</p>
<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>The
only other relic shown at Ross is a fragment of an oak bedstead,
on which Charles I. slept, on his way from Ragland Castle.
A house in Church Lane, called Gabriel Hill’s Great Inn,
contains the chamber so distinguished.</p>
<p>Here the traveller may hire a boat, if he choose, for the
remainder of his journey. The Wye, however, is navigable to
Hereford in barges of from eighteen to forty tons; and sometimes
in lighter boats even to the Hay, but the shoals in summer and
the floods in winter frequently interrupt the navigation.
In 1795 the river rose fifteen feet at the former place within
twenty-four hours, and carried away bridges, cattle, sheep,
timber, and everything that stood in its way.</p>
<p>But even if he determine afterwards to proceed by the river,
the traveller will do well to walk from Ross to the ruins of
Penyard Castle; not that these ruins are in themselves worthy of
his attention, but the road is beautiful throughout, and from the
summit, Penyard Chace, he will see the little town he has left,
and our wandering Wye in a new phasis. The country is
diversified with hills and valleys, and wooded spaces between; <a
name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>and more
especially when the shadows of evening are stealing over the
landscape, the whole is a scene of enchantment.</p>
<p>Although the lower passage of the river commences at Ross, we
do not, for two or three miles further, get fairly into its
peculiarities. From the gentle, the graceful, the gay, it
glides almost insensibly into the picturesque, the bold, and the
grand. The tranquillity of its course from the Hay—a
tranquillity dearly purchased by the labours of its wild career
during the upper passage—has prepared it for new
vicissitudes, and new struggles. The following description,
by archdeacon Coxe, applies to a great part of the portion we are
now entering upon, and cannot be improved either in fidelity or
style.</p>
<blockquote><p>“The effects of these numerous windings are
various and striking; the same objects present themselves, are
lost and recovered with different accompaniments, and in
different points of view: thus the ruins of a castle, hamlets
embosomed in trees, the spire of a church bursting from the wood,
figures impending over the water, and broken masses of rock
fringed with herbage, sometimes are seen on one side, sometimes
on <a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>the
other, and form the fore-ground or background of a
landscape. Thus also the river itself here stretches in a
continuous line, there moves in a curve, between gentle slopes
and fertile meadows, or is suddenly concealed in a deep abyss,
under the gloom of impending woods.” “The banks
for the most part rise abruptly from the edge of the water, and
are clothed with forests, or are broken into cliffs. In
some places they approach so near that the river occupies the
whole intermediate space, and nothing is seen but woods, rocks,
and water; in others, they alternately recede, and the eye
catches an occasional glimpse of hamlets, ruins, and detached
buildings, partly seated on the margin of the stream, and partly
scattered on the rising grounds. The general character of
the scenery, however, is wildness and solitude; and if we except
the populous district of Monmouth, no river perhaps flows for so
long a course in a well cultivated country, the banks of which
exhibit so few habitations.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>A little below Ross, on the right bank of the river, are the
ruins of Wilton Castle, which was for several centuries the
baronial residence of the <a name="page56"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 56</span>Greys of the south, and was destroyed
by the Hereford royalists in the time of Charles I. Let us
relate, however, as a circumstance of still more interest, that
it was left, with the adjoining lands, by Thomas Guy, to the
admirable charity in London which he founded, known by the name
of Guy’s Hospital.</p>
<p>The Wye here passes under Wilton bridge, a construction of
rather a curious kind, which dates from the close of the
sixteenth century. Coracles are seldom seen so high up the
river as this; but we mention them here because the hero of
Gilpin’s often repeated anecdote was an inhabitant of
Wilton. This man, it seems, ventured into the British
Channel in a coracle, as far as the isle of Lundy; a very
remarkable voyage to be made in a canvass tub, the navigation of
the estuary of the Severn being quite as trying as that of any
part of the British seas. Previously, however, to this
exploit, the very same feat was performed by an itinerant
stage-doctor of Mitchel Dean in the Forest. The coracles
are a sort of basket made of willow twigs, covered with pitched
canvass or raw hide, and resembling in form the section of a
walnut-shell. Similar <a name="page57"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 57</span>rude contrivances are in use among
the Esquimaux and other savage tribes, and were employed by the
ancient Britons for the navigation of rivers. They are now
the fishing-boats of the rivers of South Wales; and when the
day’s work is done are carried home on the shoulders of
their owners, disposed in such a way as to serve for a hood in
case of rain. The early ships of Britain are described by
Cæsar and Pliny as being merely larger
coracles—clumsy frames of rough timber, ribbed with hurdles
and lined with hides. According to Claudian they had masts
and sails, although they were generally rowed, the rowers singing
to the harp.</p>
<p>At the farm of Weir End, the river takes a sudden bend, and
rolls along the steep sides of Pencraig Hill, which are clothed
with wood to the water’s edge. Soon the ruined
turrets of Goodrich Castle present themselves, crowning the
summit of a wooded eminence on the right bank, and as they vanish
and reappear with the turnings of the river the effect is
magnificent.</p>
<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
58</span>CHAPTER V.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Roman passes of the Wye—Goodrich
Castle—Keep—Fortifications—Apartments—Its
history—Goodrich Court—Forest of Dean—Laws of
the Miners—Military exploit—Wines of
Gloucestershire.</p>
<p>If the conjecture of antiquaries be correct, that the great
Roman road from Blestium to Gloucester, by Ariconium, proceeded
by the ford of the Wye at Goodrich Castle, it is possible that
this spot may have been of some consequence before the period
when history takes any cognizance of the fortress. Blestium
is supposed to be Monmouth, from which the road probably led
along the line of the present turnpike, between an entrenchment
to the left, opposite <a name="page59"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 59</span>Dixon Church, and an encampment on
the Little Doward, to the right, supposed by some to be Roman,
but usually described in the road books as British. The
name of Whitchurch Street, applied to a portion of this route
further on, favours the supposition of a Roman origin.
Ariconium, the next station from Blestium, is Rosebury Hill, near
Ross, according to those who identify Monmouth with
Blestium. There was another Roman way which led from
Blestium to Glevum (Gloucester) by a more direct route; crossing
the Wye at the former place, and leading up the Kymin from the
left bank of the river. At Stanton, a little further on,
the vestiges of a Roman settlement are indubitable, not only in
the name of the place itself, but in the entrenchments that may
be observed near the church, and the Roman cinders scattered
about the fields. At Monmouth and Goodrich Castle,
therefore, were the two great passes of the Wye used by the
Romans. At the latter the river is crossed by a ferry.</p>
<p>“The awe and admiration could not be enhanced with which
I wandered through the dark passages and the spacious courts, and
climbed <a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
60</span>the crumbling staircase of Goodrich Castle.”
So says the German prince: although the time of his visit was
winter, when the Wye and its ruins are stripped of the adjunct of
foliage, which in the imagination of common travellers is
inseparably connected with ideas of the picturesque or beautiful
in natural scenery.</p>
<p>Goodrich Castle forms a parallelogram, with a round tower at
each angle, and a square keep in the south-west part of the
enclosure. A minute account of this remarkable ruin is
given in the “Antiqua Monumenta;” and Mr. Bonner
introduces his brief description, in illustration of his
perspective views, with the remark that “the fortification
(although not of large dimensions) contains all the different
works which constitute a complete ancient baronial
castle.” For this reason, if for no other, it would
demand special observation; but the tourist of the Wye, even if
ignorant of the interest which thus attaches to Goodrich Castle,
will acknowledge that it forms one of the finest objects hitherto
presented by the banks of the river. It stands on the
summit of a wooded hill, in the position of one of the castles of
the Rhine, and in the midst of <a name="page61"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 61</span>a scene of solemn grandeur which
Mason may have had in view when he wrote his spirited description
of the sacred grove of Mona, in “Caractacus.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of
wonder<br />
Gaze on the solemn scene: behold yon oak<br />
How stem it frowns, and with its broad brown arms<br />
Chills the pale plains beneath him: mark yon altar,<br />
The dark stream brawling round its rugged base,<br />
These cliffs, these yawning caverns, this wide circus,<br />
Skirted with unhewn stone: they awe my soul<br />
As if the very genius of the place<br />
Himself appeared, and with terrific tread<br />
Stalked through his drear domain.”</p>
<p> “Yonder
grots,<br />
Are tenanted by bards, who nightly thence,<br />
Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white,<br />
Descend, with harps that glitter to the moon,<br />
Hymning immortal strains. The spirits of the air,<br />
Of earth, of water, nay of heav’n itself,<br />
Do listen to their lay: and oft, ’tis said,<br />
In visible shapes dance they a magic round<br />
To the high minstrelsy.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The keep is the most ancient remains of the castle, and
presents, on a small scale, all the usual features of this part
of a fortification of the olden times. It was composed of
three stories, <a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
62</span>being intended to overlook the works, and had no windows
on the landward side. Each of these stories consisted of a
single small room, the lowest being the prison, without even a
loophole to admit air or light. “The original
windows,” says King, “are the most truly Saxon that
can be.” This applies more particularly to the one in
the middle of the upper story, which appears to have remained
without any alteration; while, in the one beneath, a stone frame
for glass seems to have been inserted. The style of this
addition points to the time of Henry VI., and we may believe that
it was made by the celebrated Earl Talbot, who tenanted one of
these small chambers. Besides the glass window, this
apartment boasts a hearth for fire; and, as is usual in such
buildings, the communication with the floor above is by a
circular staircase in an angle of the massive wall.
“To this staircase is a most remarkable door-way; it was
one large transom-stone, as if to aid the arch to support the
wall above, and in this respect resembles several other Saxon
structures, in which this strange kind of fashion seems to have
been uniformly adopted; until it became gradually altered <a
name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>by the
introduction of a flattish <i>under-arch</i>, instituted in the
room of the transom-stone.” <a name="citation63"></a><a
href="#footnote63" class="citation">[63]</a></p>
<p>The entrance to the keep was by a flight of steps, leading to
the above apartment; but the dungeon had an entrance of its own,
of a construction which leads antiquarians to conjecture, that it
was added in the reign of Edward III., when Richard Talbot
obtained the royal license for making his dungeon a state
prison.</p>
<p>The fortifications to be surmounted before an enemy could
arrive at the keep, were numerous and complete.
Independently of the fosse, there was a deep pit, hewn out of the
solid rock, to be crossed by a drawbridge, and then commenced a
dark vaulted passage between two semicircular towers.
Eleven feet within the passage was a massive gate, defended (as
likewise the drawbridge) by loopholes in the sides of the vault,
and machicolations in the roof, for pouring down molten lead or
boiling water on the assailants. A few feet farther on was
a portcullis, and then a second, the space between protected by
loopholes and machicolations. Presently there was <a
name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>another
strong gate, and finally a stone projection on both sides,
intended for the insertion of beams of timber, to act as a
barricade. If we add that the passage thus defended was
less than ten feet wide, and that the exterior walls of the whole
building were in general seven feet thick, an idea may be formed
of the strength of Goodrich Castle.</p>
<p>Within the ballium, or enclosed space, entered with such
difficulty, were the keep here described, the state apartments,
chapel, &c.; but the whole of these are in so ruinous a
state, as to be nearly unintelligible except to
antiquaries. The great hall was sixty-five feet long and
twenty-eight broad, and appears to have been a magnificent
apartment of the time of Edward I., as its windows
indicate. The fire-place is still distinguishable in the
great kitchen. Communicating with the hall is a smaller
room, from which a passage led into another room of state,
fifty-five feet by twenty; and this opened into the ladies’
tower, standing upon the brow of a lofty precipice, and
commanding a delightful view over the country.</p>
<p>It is curious that so remarkable a structure <a
name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>should be
almost destitute of authentic history, till the very period when
it ceased to exist but as a ruin. All that is known of its
origin is, that a fort, held by a doomsday proprietor, of the
name of Godric, commanded the ford of the river at this place
before the Conquest. The fort consisted, in all
probability, of little more than the keep; to which, at later
periods, additions were made, cognisable by their style, till
Goodrich Castle became a regular fortress. In 1165 it was
the property of the earl of Pembroke, then lord of the whole
district from Ross to Chepstow; and, subsequently, it was a seat
of the Talbot family, who, in 1347, founded a priory of black
canons at Flanesford, which is now a barn, about a quarter of a
mile below the castle. During the civil wars this fortress
played a conspicuous part, being taken and retaken by the
opposing parties. In the first instance it held for the
parliament; but was afterwards seized by Sir Richard Lingen, who,
in 1646, defended it with great gallantry against Colonel Birch
for nearly five months, and thus conferred upon it the
distinction of being the last castle in England, excepting
Pendennis, which held out <a name="page66"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 66</span>for the king. In the following
year it was ordered by the parliament to be “totally
disgarrisoned and <i>slighted</i>,” which sentence was just
sufficiently carried into effect to give the Wye a magnificent
ruin at the very spot where taste would have placed it.
“Here,” says Mr. Gilpin, “a grand view
presented itself, and we rested on our oars to examine it.
A reach of the river, forming a noble bay, is spread before the
eye. The bank on the right is steep, and covered with wood,
beyond which a bold promontory shoots out, crowned with a castle
rising among trees. This view, which is one of the grandest
on the river, I should not scruple to call correctly
picturesque.”</p>
<p>Near the spot where Mr. Gilpin must have been is the ferry
where Henry IV., who was waiting to be taken across, received
intelligence of his queen’s being delivered of a prince at
Monmouth Castle. The king, according to tradition, was so
overjoyed at the news, that he presented the ferry and boat,
which at this time belonged to the crown, to the ferryman.
On the left bank, nearly opposite, are the church and village of
Walford, in the former of which is <a name="page67"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 67</span>buried Colonel Kyrle, who deserted
the service of Charles I. for that of the parliament.</p>
<p>Goodrich Court, to which a winding path leads from the castle,
is somewhat nearer Ross. It is the seat of Sir Samuel
Meyrick, the well known antiquary, and presents, in the
architecture, an exact imitation of a mansion of the middle of
the fourteenth century. In this respect, as well as in the
arrangement of its proprietor’s valuable collection of old
armour, the house may be said to be absolutely perfect. It
forms in itself and its contents, one of the most interesting
museums in Europe; and it is open, with very little ceremony, to
the inspection of the traveller, as all such things are, when
they do not happen to be the property of persons unworthy to
possess them.</p>
<p>The river sweeps boldly round the wooded headland on which
Goodrich Castle stands; and the ruin is thus presented again and
again, in new phases (but none so interesting as the first), to
the voyager, as he glides down the now varied and romantic
river. A steep ridge on the right bank is called Coppet, or
Copped Wood Hill, where the stream makes a sweep of five miles,
<a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>to perform
the actual advance of one. The mass of foliage on the
opposite bank is a part of the Forest of Dean, variegated, by
rocks, hamlets, and village spires. Bishop’s Brook
here enters the Wye, and serves as a boundary between the
counties of Hereford and Gloucester, and between the parishes of
Walford and Ruerdean. “The view at Ruerdean
church,” says Mr. Gilpin, “is a scene of great
grandeur. Here both sides of the river are steep, and both
woody; but on one (meaning the left bank), the woods are
interspersed with rocks. The deep umbrage of the Forest of
Dean occupies the front, and the spire of the church rises among
the trees. The reach of the river which exhibits this scene
is long; and of course the view, which is a noble piece of
natural perspective, continues some time before the eye; but when
the spire comes directly in front, the grandeur of the landscape
is gone.”</p>
<p>The famous Forest of Dean is in the space which here lies
between the Severn and the Wye. “In former
ages,” as Camden tells us, “by the irregular tracks
and horrid shades,” it was so dark and dreary as to render
its inhabitants <a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
69</span>more audacious in robberies. In the time of Edward
I. there were seventy-two furnaces here for melting iron; and it
is related, that the miners of those days were very industrious
in seeking after the beds of cinders, where the Romans of Britain
had been at work before them, which remains, when burnt over
again, were supposed to make the best iron. The privileges
of these miners were, no doubt, for the most part assumed, but
some granted by law are highly curious. The following are
specimens:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Also, if any smith holder, or any other be
debtor, for mine to a miner, the which smith holder or other be
within, then the miner is bailiff in every place (except his own
close), to take the horse of the debtor, if he be saddled with a
work saddle, and with no other saddle; and be it that the horse
be half within the door of the smith, so that the miner may take
the tail of the horse, the debtor shall deliver the horse to the
miner. And if he so do not, the miner shall make and levy
hue and cry upon the said horse, and then the horse shall be
forfeit to the king for the hue and cry made and levied, and <a
name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>yet the miner
shall present the debtor in the Mind Law, which is the court for
the mine.”</p>
<p>“And the debtor before the constable and his clerk, the
gaveler and the miners, and none other folk to plead the right,
only the ministers shall be there, and hold a stick of holly, and
the said miner demanding the debt, shall put his hand upon the
said stick, and none other with him, and he shall swear by his
faith, that the said debt is to him due; and the prove made, the
debtor, in the same place, shall pay the miner all the debt
proved, or else he shall be brought to the castle of St.
Briavells till grace be made, and also he shall be amerced to the
king in two shillings.</p>
<p>“Also the miner hath such franchises to inquire the mine
in every soil of the king’s of which it may be named, and
also of all other folk, without withsaying of any man.</p>
<p>“And also if any be that denieth any soil, whatsoever it
be, be it sound or no, or of what degree it may be named, then
the gaveler, by the strength of the king, shall deliver the soil
to the miners, with a convenient way, next stretching to the
king’s highway, by the which mine may <a
name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>be carried to
all places and waters that lean convenient to the said mine,
without withsaying of any man.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Forest of Dean plays a conspicuous part in the wars of
Monmouthshire, serving as a natural outwork for the county.
The following transaction is described by Sanderson, the
historian of Charles I.:—“After Sir William
Waller,” says he, “had refreshed his men, he advanced
towards Monmouthshire, invited by some gentlemen to reduce these
parts. At his coming to the town of Monmouth, the garrison
of the lord Herbert retired, leaving a naked place to Sir
William; where he found small success of his parties, sent abroad
for supplies of money. He marches to Usk, and spending some
time to no purpose in that county, he returns, the stream of the
people affording him no welcome, being all universal tenants of
that county to the earl of Worcester.</p>
<p>“In this time Prince Maurice enters Teuxbury, with a
brigade of horse and foot added to the lord Grandeson, resolving
to make after Waller, or to meet his return out of Wales. A
bridge of boats wafts him over the Severn, with a body <a
name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>of two
thousand horse and foot. Waller was nimble in his retreat,
not to be catcht in a noose or neck of Wales; but, by a bridge of
boats, came back at Chepstow, with his foot and artillery, and
himself, with his horse and dragoons, passed through the lowest
part of the Forest of Dean, near the river side of Severn; and
ere the prince had notice, sends forth two parties to fall upon
two of the Prince’s quarters, which was performed, while
Waller’s main body slipped between both, and a party was
left also to face them, and make good the retreat, which came off
but disorderly, with loss of some soldiers. It was held a
handsome conveyance, and unexpected, to bring himself out of the
snare by uncouth ways.”</p>
<p>Gloucestershire, of which the Forest of Dean forms a part,
although still boasting one of the richest soils in England, is
no longer a <i>wine country</i>. “The ground,”
according to William of Malmesbury, “spontaneously produces
fruit in taste and colour far exceeding others, many of which
will keep the year round, so as to serve their owners till others
come in again. No county in England has more or richer
vineyards, <a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
73</span>or which yield greater plenty of grapes, and of a more
agreeable flavour. The wine has not a disagreeable
sharpness to the taste, as it is little inferior to that of
France in sweetness.” On this Camden remarks, that it
is more owing to “the indolence of the inhabitants than to
the alteration in the climate,” that in his time wine was
no longer a production of the county.</p>
<p>Vines were introduced into Britain by the Romans, and the
hills of South Wales became more especially famous for their
vineyards. They were mentioned in the Domesday Book, before
the time of William of Malmesbury; and tithes of wines are
frequently alluded to in the records of cathedrals.</p>
<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
74</span>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Iron furnaces of the
Wye—Lidbroke—Nurse of Henry V.—Coldwell
Rocks—Symond’s Yat—New Weir—Monmouth.</p>
<p>The woods rising amphitheatrically on the left bank, just
before reaching Ruerdean, are called Bishop’s Wood; and
there will be observed, for the first time of their presenting
themselves conspicuously, the iron furnaces, which form a very
striking characteristic of the river.</p>
<p>The iron furnaces on the Wye rather add to than diminish the
effect of the scenery. This is caused by the abundance of
wood in the furnace districts, which conceals the details, while
it permits the smoke to ascend in wreaths through <a
name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>the trees,
and float like a veil around the hills. These works,
however, are merely a modern revival of a species of industry
which extends backwards beyond the reach of history. The
heaps of cinders which are discovered on the hills of
Monmouthshire are the production either of bloomeries, the most
ancient mode of fusing iron, or of furnaces of a very antique
construction. The operation of smelting was performed in
both of these by means of charcoal; and after the lands were
cleared, the want of fuel led to the decline of the iron
works. About eighty years ago, in consequence of the
discovery of the mode of making pig iron, and subsequently even
bar iron, with coal instead of charcoal, this branch of industry
suddenly revived; although on the Wye charcoal is still burnt,
and made upon the spot, where, instead of vulgarising the
district, it adds a very remarkable feature to the
picturesque.</p>
<p>At Lidbroke, on the same side, the commoner sympathies of life
come into play, and the vulgar occupations of men serve at once
to diversify the scene, and even to give it a new character of
the picturesque. The lower passage has hitherto <a
name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>been chiefly
distinguished by a romantic grandeur, both in the forms of
nature, and the associations of history; and even the iron
furnaces, from the circumstances we have mentioned, have added a
charm congenial to the character of the picture. At
Lidbroke, the new adjunct is nothing more than a <i>wharf</i>,
with little vessels lying near it,—boats passing and
repassing,—horses, carts, men, women, and children stirring
along the banks: but the whole, in such a spot, forms an
assemblage which adds, by contrast, to the general effect.</p>
<p>On the opposite bank the district of Monmouthshire, called
Welsh Bicknor, commences—for we have hitherto been in
Hereford—and Courtfield claims our attention for a moment,
as the place where Henry V. is said to have been nursed, under
the care of the countess of Salisbury. The remains of a
bed, and an old cradle, were formerly shown as relics of the
Monmouth hero. Half a mile further down the river is Welsh
Bicknor Church, which has puzzled the antiquarians by its
sepulchral effigy, representing a recumbent female figure in
stone, not ungracefully dressed in a loose robe, but without
inscription <a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
77</span>or coat of arms. Tradition will have it that this
is <i>the</i> countess of Salisbury; and it is perhaps correct in
the person, though wrong in the name, for the lady who nursed
Henry at Courtfield (supposing him to have been there at all)
was, in all probability, Lady Montacute, who married a second son
of the first earl of Salisbury, but was no countess
herself. Her son, however, Sir John de Montacute, who
possessed the manor of Welsh Bicknor, succeeded to the earldom,
and became earl-marshal of England. It was he who was chief
of the Lollards, and was murdered in 1400 by the populace of
Cirencester. The manor, although falling to the crown on
account of his supposed treason, was afterwards restored to the
family, and became the property of his descendant Richard, the
great earl of Warwick and Salisbury. Dugdale traces this
ominous heirloom to Margaret, grand-daughter of the great earl,
daughter of the duke of Clarence, and wife of Lord
Montague. This lady, after witnessing the execution of her
brother Edward, earl of Warwick, and her son Henry Lord Montague,
was herself beheaded in 1541. The manor of Welsh Bicknor,
<a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>and the
mansion of Courtfield, passed subsequently into the ancient
family of Vaughan. We may mention here, however, although
the circumstance is of no great consequence, that Sir Samuel
Meyrick assigns the costume of the figure in Welsh Bicknor Church
to the era of Edward I., about a century before that of Henry
V.</p>
<p>A short distance below the church this abutment of
Monmouthshire terminates, and the right bank of the river lies as
before in Hereford, the left in Gloucester. At Coldwell,
the view is closed in by a magnificent rock scene, differing
entirely in character from any yet afforded by the Wye. To
suffer this to appear—supposing the traveller to be
descending the river—a wooded hill, called Rosemary
Topping, one of the common features of the stream, shifts like a
scene in a theatre, and becomes a side-screen; so that the almost
naked cliff remains the principal object, and confers its
character upon the view, to which the river and its banks to the
right and left are only adjuncts.</p>
<p>The first grand mass of rock is nearly insulated, and reminds
one at first sight of the keep <a name="page79"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 79</span>of some ruined castle. But the
Coldwell rocks want no associations of the kind: they are
fragments of the temples of nature, and have nothing to do with
the history of man. To our judgment, the shadowy hollows
scooped out of the sides of the precipices, and overhung by
foliage, which are nothing more than the sites of <i>lime
kilns</i>, are more advantageous to the picture than the finest
ruins imaginable. They come in without pretence; they make
no effort at rivalry; but present the idea of human nature in an
attitude of befitting humility and simplicity.
“These,” says the German prince, “are craggy
and weatherbeaten walls of sandstone, of gigantic dimension,
perpendicular or overhanging, projecting abruptly from amid oaks,
and hung with rich festoons of ivy. The rain and storms of
ages have beaten and washed them into such fantastic forms, that
they appear like some caprice of human art. Castles and
towers, amphitheatres and fortifications, battlements and
obelisks mock the wanderer, who fancies himself transported into
the ruins of a city of some extinct race. Some of these
picturesque masses are at times loosened by the action of the
weather, and <a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
80</span>fall thundering from rock to rock, with a terrific
plunge into the river.”</p>
<p>From Symond’s Yat to the New Weir, this <i>kind</i> of
scenery continues; although the masses of cliff of course change
their form and situation. The river, in a portion of its
course, washes their base, at one time an almost perpendicular
wall, at another clothed in woods till near the summit, which is
seen rising out of the foliage, and tracing its battlemented
outline upon the sky. From these two points the distance is
only six hundred yards by land, and not less than four miles by
water; and the shorter route is in this case the better. On
the river, we soon lose the magnificence of the picture; while on
shore, there is superadded to this a view of the extravagant
mazes of the Wye on either side of the neck of land on which the
spectator stands. If it be added that the point of view,
Symond’s Yat, appeared to Mr. Coxe to be two thousand feet
high (although this is an evident mistake), it will readily be
imagined that this scene is of itself worth a pilgrimage to the
Wye. The prospect, comprehending portions of Herefordshire,
Gloucestershire, and Monmouthshire, embraces the <a
name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>following
objects, according to those who are versed in the local
names. To the north is seen Coppet Wood Hill, interspersed
with rock and common;—to the north-west appear the spire
and village of Goodrich, and, at the foot of the hill, Rocklands
and Huntsholm Ferry;—to the west, Hunthsolm, behind which
is Whitchurch, and, in the distance, the Welsh hills;—to
the south-west, the mountainous side of the Great
Doward;—to the south, Staunton Church, and the Buck-stone,
upon a promontory; and below, Highmeadow Woods and the river; on
the left, the rock of the New Weir, and on the right, the rocky
wall of the east side of the Doward;—to the south-east, the
village of English Bicknor, a side view of Coldwell Rocks, and
Rosemary Topping;—and, to the east, Ruerdean Wood, with the
church in the distance, Bishop’s Wood, and Courtfield, with
the woody ridges of Hawkwood and Puckwood completing the
panorama.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p81b.jpg">
<img alt=
"The New Weir"
title=
"The New Weir"
src="images/p81s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Gilpin calls the New Weir the second grand scene on the
Wye.</p>
<blockquote><p>“The river,” says he, “is wider
than usual in this part, and takes a sweep round a towering
promontory of rock, which forms the side-screen <a
name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>on the left,
and is the grand feature of the view. It is not a broad,
fractured piece of rock, but rather a woody hill, from which
large projections in two or three places burst out, rudely hung
with twisting branches, and shaggy furniture; which, like the
mane round the lion’s head, gives a more savage air to
these wild exhibitions of nature. Near the top a pointed
fragment of solitary rock, rising above the rest, has rather a
fantastic appearance—but it is not without its effect in
marking the scene . . . On the right side of the river, the bank
forms a woody amphitheatre, following the course of the stream
round the promontory. Its lower skirts are adorned with a
hamlet, in the midst of which volumes of thick smoke, thrown up
at intervals from an iron forge, as its fires receive fresh fuel,
add double grandeur to the scene. . . .</p>
<p>“But what peculiarly marks this view, is a circumstance
on the water. The whole river at this place makes a
precipitate fall—of no great height indeed, but enough to
merit the name of a cascade, though to the eye above the stream
it is an object of no consequence. In all the scenes we had
yet passed, the water moving with a <a name="page83"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 83</span>slow and solemn pace, the objects
around kept time, as it were, with it; and every steep, and every
rock which hung over the river, was solemn, tranquil, and
majestic. But here the violence of the stream, and the
roaring of the waters, impressed a new character on the scene:
all was agitation and uproar, and every steep and every rock
stared with wildness and terror.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Let us add the testimony of another great authority on the
picturesque; more especially as his remarks serve to corroborate
our own on the effect received by the river from objects which
elsewhere are mean and common.</p>
<blockquote><p>“A scene at the New Weir on the Wye, which
in itself is truly great and awful, so far from being disturbed,
becomes more interesting and important by the business to which
it is destined. It is a chasm between two high ranges of
hills, that rise almost perpendicularly from the water: the rocks
on the sides are mostly heavy masses, and their colour is
generally brown; but here and there a pale craggy shape starts up
to a vast height above the rest, unconnected, broken, and bare:
large trees frequently force out their way amongst them; and many
<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>of these
stand far back in the covert, where their natural dusky hue is
heightened by the shadow that overhangs them. The river
too, as it retires, loses itself in the woods, which close
immediately above, then rise thick and high, and darken the
water. In the midst of all this gloom is an <i>iron
forge</i>, covered with a black cloud of smoke, and surrounded
with half-burnt ore, with coal, and with cinders: the fuel for it
is brought down a path, worn into steps narrow and steep, and
winding among precipices; and near it is an open space of barren
moor, about which are scattered the huts of the workmen. It
stands close to the cascade of the Weir, where the agitation of
the current is increased by large fragments of rocks, which have
been swept down by floods from the banks, or shivered by tempests
from the brow; and the sullen sound, at stated intervals, of the
strokes from the great hammer in the forge, deadens the roar of
the waterfall. Just below it, while the rapidity of the
stream still continues, a ferry is carried across it; and lower
down the fishermen use little round boats called truckles
(coracles), the remains perhaps of the ancient British
navigation, which <a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
85</span>the least motion will overset, and the slightest touch
may destroy. All the employments of the people seem to
require either exertion or caution; and the ideas of fear or
danger which attend them give to the scene an animation unknown
to the solitary, though perfectly compatible with the wildest
romantic situation.” <a name="citation85"></a><a
href="#footnote85" class="citation">[85]</a></p>
</blockquote>
<p>To this, however, we must add as a note, that both Weir and
forge have now vanished. The more headlong rush and louder
roar of the river mark the place where the former stood; and some
limekilns contribute the smoke of the latter without its
noise.</p>
<p>During the whole of this part of the passage, the stream is
interrupted by fragments of rock, around which the water rushes
tumultuously; but at the New Weir these interruptions, above
noticed, acquire a character of sublimity, when taken in
conjunction with the rest of the picture. The river,
roaring and foaming, is in haste to escape, and at length is lost
to the eye, as it seems to plunge for ever into sepulchral
woods.</p>
<p>Beyond this, there are several other rock <a
name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>scenes, but
none that will bear description after the foregoing; although to
the traveller wearied with excitement, they come in with good
effect. Below New Weir, the river stretches with a curve
between Highmeadows Wood on the left bank, and the precipitous
cliffs of the Great Doward on the right. Then the Little
Doward peeps over a screen of rocks and shrubs. These two
hills are called King Arthur’s Plain, and between these is
King Arthur’s Hall, the level of an exhausted iron
mine. Then we pass a cluster of rocks called St.
Martin’s or the Three Sisters, and a pool of the river
named St. Martin’s Well, where the water is said to be
seventy feet deep. Various seats and cottages give variety
to the picture, situated in the midst of rich woods and
undulating eminences; and at length the landscape sinks calmly
down, and Monmouth—“delightsome
Monmouth”—is seen in long perspective, terminating a
reach of the river.</p>
<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
87</span>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Monmouth—History of the
Castle—Apartment of Henry of Monmouth—Ecclesiastical
remains—Benedictine priory—Church of St.
Mary—Church of St. Thomas—Monnow Bridge—Modern
town—Monmouth caps—The beneficent parvenu.</p>
<p>Monmouth lies embowered among gentle hills, only diversified
by wood, corn, and pasture; but to view it either from the Wye,
or any of the neighbouring eminences, one would be far from
supposing it to have so tame, or at least so quiet a site.
From one point, its spire is seen passing through a deep and
mysterious wood; from another, it hangs perched on a precipitous
ridge; and from the Wye it rises with considerable stateliness in
the form of an amphitheatre. It stands at the confluence of
the Wye and the <a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
88</span>Monnow, from which it derives its English name.</p>
<p>A royal fortress existed here before the conquest, a
circumstance which renders its early history full of fearful
vicissitudes, although these are but very imperfectly
traced. In the time of Henry III., the castle, after
changing hands repeatedly, was taken and rased to the
ground. “Thus the glorie of Monmouth,” says
Lambarde, “had clean perished, ne had it pleased God longe
after in that place to give life to the noble King Henry V., who
of the same is called Henry of Monmouth.” It was a
favourite residence of the father of this prince, King Henry IV.,
and also of his father, John of Gaunt, “time honoured
Lancaster,” to whom it came by his marriage with Blanch,
daughter and heiress of Henry, duke of Lancaster, whose title he
was afterwards granted. Henry V. was born here in 1387, and
from this circumstance is styled Henry of Monmouth. This
prince enlarged the duchy of Lancaster with his maternal
inheritance, and obtained an act of parliament that all grants of
offices and estates should pass under the seal of the
duchy. Henry VI. and <a name="page89"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 89</span>VII. possessed the castle of
Monmouth, as part of the duchy, by right of inheritance; but
between these reigns it was given by Edward IV. to Lord Herbert,
afterwards earl of Pembroke. Although the duchy, however,
continued in the crown, the castle, together with other
possessions in Monmouthshire, was alienated, and became private
property, but at what period does not clearly appear. In
the reign of Elizabeth, it is ascertained, by different grants,
to have been still parcel of the duchy, and also in that of James
I., by the following presentment made under a commission:
“Item, wee present that his majestie hath one ancient
castell, called Monmouth Castell, situated within the liberties
of the said towne, which is nowe, and hath been for a long time,
ruinous and in decaye, but by whom it hath byn decayed wee knowe
not, nor to what value, in regarde it was before our
rememberment, savinge one greate hall which is covered and
mayntayned for the judges of the assise to sitt in. And for
and concerning any demean lands belonginge to the same castell,
wee knowe not of any more save only the castell hill, wherein
divers have gardens, and the castell green, <a
name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>which is
inclosed within the walls of the said castell.”</p>
<p>Before the end of the seventeenth century, we find the castle
in the hands of the first duke of Beaufort, if the following
anecdote, indicative either of an ambitious or a fantastic
spirit, can be believed. “The marchioness of
Worcester,” says the author of the Secret Memoirs of
Monmouthshire, “was ordered by her grandfather, the late
duke of Beaufort, to lie in of her first child in a house lately
built within the castle of Monmouth, near that spot of ground and
space of air, where our great hero Henry V. was born.”</p>
<p>Whatever mutilations this castle may have undergone since the
days of its royal magnificence, by whomever it may have been at
length “decayed,” or at whatever period it came into
the hands of the Beauforts, this at least is certain, that there
is now not more than enough left to indicate its site.
“The transmutations of time,” says Gilpin, “are
often ludicrous. Monmouth Castle was formerly the palace of
a king, and the birthplace of a mighty prince; it is now
converted into a yard for fattening ducks.” The <a
name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>ruins,
however, must have been concealed from his view by the stables
and other outhouses that had risen from the fragments, so as
completely to hide them from the townward side. Coxe, a
much more correct observer, although less learned in the laws of
the picturesque, describes them in 1800 as presenting, when
viewed from the right bank of the Monnow, “an appearance of
dilapidated grandeur which recalls to memory the times of feudal
magnificence.”</p>
<p>Although the roof and great part of the walls had already
fallen, the site of two remarkable apartments could be traced
distinctly; that in which Henry was born, and another adjoining
which had been used, even within the memory of some of the
inhabitants, for the assizes. The latter was sixty-three
feet in length and forty-six in breadth, and was no doubt the
“greate hall” mentioned in the presentment quoted
above as being “mayntayned for the judges of the assise to
sitt in.”</p>
<p>The apartment of Henry of Monmouth is thus described by the
archdeacon:</p>
<blockquote><p>“The apartment which gave birth to the
Gwentonian hero was an upper story, and the <a
name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>beams that
supported the floor still project from the side walls; it was
fifty-eight feet long, and twenty-four broad, and was decorated
with gothic windows, of which some are still remaining, and seem
to be of the age of Henry III. The walls of this part are
not less than ten feet in thickness. About fifty years ago,
a considerable part of the southern wall fell down with a
tremendous crash, which alarmed the whole town, leaving a breach
not less than forty feet in length. On the ground floor
beneath are three circular arches terminating in chinks, which
have a very ancient appearance; at the north-eastern angle,
within a stable, may be seen a round tower six feet in diameter,
which was once a staircase leading to the grand
apartment.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To the right of this apartment, the same author traced the
vestige of the original walls in a private house built within the
ancient site. They were from six to ten feet, formed of
pebbles and mortar, and is so compact a mass as not to yield in
hardness to solid stone.</p>
<p>Next to the ruined castle of an ancient town, come the
ecclesiastical remains; for the stronghold of the chief, and the
cell of the monk, were <a name="page93"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 93</span>usually the nucleus round which the
town was gathered. The principal relics of the latter kind
in Monmouth are those of a benedictine priory of black monks,
dedicated to St. Mary, which was founded as a cell to the
monastery of St. Florence, near Saumur in Anjou, by Wikenoc, lord
of Monmouth in the reign of Henry I. The ruins are small,
but interesting; and not the less so from containing an apartment
distinguished by a rich gothic bay window, pointed out by
tradition as the study of that mysterious personage, Geoffry of
Monmouth. The church of the priory stood on the site of the
present parish church of St. Mary, of which the tower and the
lower part of the spire are the only remains of the
original. This spire, which is “lofty, and light, and
small,” is the grand scenic feature of the town when viewed
from a distance; and in return, it affords to the traveller who
will take the trouble to ascend it a point from which to view the
country to most advantage. The beautiful vale in which the
town stands, with its undulating eminences, among which wander
the Wye, the Monnow, and the Trothy, is seen in an almost
circular form, <a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
94</span>enclosed from the vulgar world, by a line of hills
mantled with woods and forests.</p>
<p>The ancient church of St. Thomas stands near the bridge of the
Monnow, and from its circular arches, and extreme simplicity of
appearance, is probably older than the conquest. This does
not apply, however, to the entire building, the western window,
and some other morçeaux, displaying the ornamented Gothic
of a late period. The antiquity of the building, it should
be said, is rendered the more probable by its standing beyond the
bridge, where the suburbs of the modern town are supposed to
occupy the site of the British town during the Saxon era.</p>
<p>The bridge, of which a view is given in Grose’s
Antiquities, is itself an object of interest, containing, on its
centre, the Monnow Gate, the only one of the four original gates,
mentioned by Leland, that remains entire. Both bridge and
gate bear evidence of very high antiquity, and were probably
erected by the Saxons as a barrier against the Welsh. The
town was farther fortified by a wall and moat, of which the
latter was entire in the time of Leland, and some fragments of
the former remaining. But all vestiges <a
name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>of those
defences have now vanished, with the exception of the Monnow
Gate, and some pieces of a tower.</p>
<p>Of the modern town, it can be said that it is neat and clean,
with one broad and well-built street. It is neither mean
nor elegant, and presents no offensive contrast to the beautiful
scenery by which it is surrounded. The navigation of the
Wye is its principal support, for at the present day at least it
has no manufactories, although celebrated in that of its own
Henry for <i>caps</i>. “If your majestie is
remembered of it, the Welchmen did goot service in a garden where
leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth
caps.” The account given of this staple article by
Fuller, in his Worthies, is worth quoting.</p>
<blockquote><p>“These,” says he, “were the most
ancient, general, warm, and profitable coverings of men’s
heads in this island. It is worth our pains to observe the
tenderness of our kings to preserve the trade of cap-making, and
what long and strong struggling our state had to keep up the
using thereof, so many thousands of people being thereby
maintained in the land, especially <a name="page96"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 96</span>before the invention of
fulling-mills, all caps before that time being wrought, beaten,
and thickened, by the hands and feet of men, till those mills, as
they eased many of their labour, outed more of their
livelihood. Capping anciently set fifteen distinct callings
on work, as they are reckoned up in the statute: 1. carders, 2.
spinners; 3. knitters; 4. parters of wool; 5. forfers; 6.
thickeners; 7. dressers; 8. walkers; 9. dyers; 10. battelers; 11.
shearers; 12. pressers; 13. edgers; 14. liners; 15. band-makers,
and other exercises. No wonder then that so many statutes
were enacted in parliament to encourage this
handicraft.” * * * * “Lastly; to keep up the
usage of caps, it was enacted, in the 13th of Queen Eliz. cap.
19, that they should be worne by all persons (some of worship and
quality excepted) on sabbath and holy days, on the pain of
forfeiting ten groats for the omission thereof.</p>
<p>“But it seems that nothing but hats would fit the heads
(or humours rather) of the English, as fancied by them fitter to
fence their fair faces from the injury of wind and weather, so
that the 39th of Queen Elizabeth this statute was repealed; <a
name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>yea, the cap,
accounted by the Romans an emblem of liberty, is esteemed by the
English (falconers and hunters excepted) a badge of servitude,
though very useful in themselves, and the ensign of constancy,
because not discomposed, but retaining their fashion, in what
form soever they may be crouded.</p>
<p>“The best caps were formerly made at Monmouth, where the
capper’s chapel doth still remain, being better carved and
gilded than any other part of the church. But on the
occasion of a great plague happening in this town, the trade was
some years since removed hence to Beaudley, in Worcestershire,
yet so that they are called Monmouth caps unto this day.
Thus this town retains, though not the profit, the credit of
capping, and seeing the child keeps the mother’s name,
there is some hope in due time she may return to her.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Monmouth appears also to have dealt largely in ale, if we may
judge by a grant of Henry IV. as lord of the manor, to its
burgesses. “That the brewers of ale there, who were
anciently held to pay the king’s ancestors and progenitors
eight gallons of ale at every brewing, in the <a
name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>name of
Castlecoule, during the time the king, or his heirs, were
dwelling in the said town, should now pay in lieu thereof 10d.
each brewing, except when the king, his heirs or his councils,
holding his sessions there, were present in the said town, in
which case the ancient custom of Castlecoules should be
observed.”</p>
<p>We must not omit an anecdote connected with the history of a
free-school, founded here in the reign of James I. William
Jones, born at Monmouth, as Burton tells us in his History of
Wales, was forced to quit the place for not being able to pay ten
groats. He removed to the great field for adventurers,
London, and became first a porter, then a factor, and afterwards
went over to Hamburgh, where he found such sale for his Welsh
cottons, that in a very short time he realised a handsome
fortune. He founded a school in his native place, allowing
fifty pounds a year to the master, and a hundred pounds salary to
a lecturer, together with an almshouse for twenty poor people,
each having two rooms and a garden, and two shillings and
sixpence a week. It is said, however, by other authorities,
that Jones was a native of Newland, <a name="page99"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 99</span>in Gloucestershire; and after having
made his fortune in London, that he returned thither in the
assumed character of a beggar, to try the liberality of his
townsmen. In this he found them wanting, for they
tauntingly told him to go and ask relief at Monmouth, where he
had lived at service. He took their advice, and being
better received there, founded the above charities in token of
his gratitude.</p>
<h2><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Welsh pedigree of queen Victoria—A
poet’s flattery—Castles of
Monmouthshire—Geoffrey of Monmouth—Henry of
Monmouth—The Kymin—Subsidiary tour—Sir David
Gam—White Castle—Scenfrith—The Castle
spectres—Grosmont—Lanthony Abbey.</p>
<p>“Monmouthshire,” as has been well observed,
“though now an English county, may be justly considered the
connecting link between England and Wales, as it unites the
scenery, manners, and language of both.” In ancient
times, it was a debatable land of another kind, when Romans,
Saxons, and Normans, strove by turns against the aboriginal
Britons. During the Roman invasion it was a part of the
territory of the Silures, who inhabited the eastern division of
South Wales, and were one of the three great <a
name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>Welsh
tribes; but in the conflict of the Saxons, Gwent (its British
name) played the most distinguished part of all, under its
sovereign Utha Pendragon and the renowned king Arthur. To
Gwent, moreover, if chronicles say true, we are indebted for our
present sovereign lady, who is descended collaterally from its
princes. Merrich, the son of Ithel, king or prince of
Gwent, died without issue male, leaving one daughter, Morvyth,
who espoused Gwno, great grandson to Rees ap Theodore, prince of
South Wales, and lineal ancestor of Sir Owen Tudor, grandfather
of Henry VII. “So that it appears,” say the
Secret Memoirs of Monmouthshire, “that the kings of
Scotland and England are originally descended from Morvyth, this
Gwentonian prince’s daughter, and heir to Meyrick, last
king of Gwent, who, according to several authentic British
pedigrees, was lineally descended from Cadwalladar, the last king
of Britain, and as our historians do testify, did prognosticate,
fifteen hundred years past, that the heirs descended of his loins
should be restored again to the kingdom of Britain, which was
partly accomplished in king Henry VII., and more by the accession
<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>of James
I. to the British throne, but wholly fulfilled in the happy union
of all Britain by the glorious queen Anne; whom God long
preserved of his great goodness, and the succession of the
Protestant line.”</p>
<p>We know not what value may be attached to this illustrious
ancestry by Queen Victoria; but her predecessor, Queen Elizabeth,
was fond of tracing her descent from the ancient kings of her
country—a predilection which the courtly Spenser does not
omit to flatter in his Faerie Queene.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Thy name, O soveraine Queene, thy realme
and race,<br />
From this renowned prince derived arre,<br />
Who mightily upheld that royal mace<br />
Which thou now bear’st, to thee descended farre<br />
From mighty kings and couquerors in warre,<br />
Thy fathers and thy grandfathers of old,<br />
Whose noble deeds above the northern starre,<br />
Immortall fame for ever hath enrold;<br />
As in that <i>old man’s booke</i> they were in order
told.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The <i>old man</i> have referred to is Geoffrey of Monmouth,
of whom more anon.</p>
<p>It is to the Norman invasion that Monmouthshire <a
name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>owes its
castles; for the great barons were not employed by the state, as
had been the case with the Saxons, to conquer the territory, but
were invited to enter upon adventures at their own cost, and for
their own gain. The lands they subdued became their own;
they were created lords-barons over them; and castles speedily
bristled up all over the territory to maintain the authority so
acquired. Pennant states the number for Wales at a hundred
and forty-three, of which Monmouthshire, as the frontier region
between the belligerents, had of course the greatest proportion,
amounting, it is said, to at least twenty-five. In these
baronial lands, the writs of ordinary justices of the royal
courts were not current. The barons marchers, as they were
called, had recourse to their feudal lord the king in person; and
the same abuses and confusion were the result which we have
noticed in Herefordshire, till Henry VIII. abolished this
anomalous government, divided Wales into twelve shires, and
withdrew Monmouthshire into the list of the English
counties. It is interesting to trace the chain of
fortresses thus destined to become, still earlier than in the <a
name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>natural
course of time, a series of ruins. They extend, in this
county, along the banks of the Monnow, the Wye, and the Severn,
and from Grosmont, diagonally, to the banks of the Rumney; while
castellated mansions, such as Raglan, which we shall notice
presently (at first only a rude fortress), arose in all quarters
to keep the natives in due respect.</p>
<p>King Arthur, mentioned above as prince of Gwent, did not reign
at Monmouth, but at Caerleon; although he is closely associated
with the former place, inasmuch as the gothic room in the priory
which we have pointed out, on the authority of tradition, as the
study of Geoffrey of Monmouth, was in all probability the
birthplace of his most heroic achievements. Geoffrey, in
fact, for it is needless to attempt to conceal the fact from our
readers, was an historical romancer rather than an
historian. The groundwork of his celebrated performance was
Brut y Breninodd, or the Chronicle of the Kings of Britain,
written by Tyssilio, or St. Telian, bishop of St. Asaph, in the
seventh century; but Geoffrey owns himself, that he made various
additions to his original, particularly of Merlin’s
prophecies. <a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
105</span>After all, however, if we may venture to express our
private opinion on so recondite a subject, it seems to us that a
monkish history, of the seventh century, must have been
reasonably fertile in itself in wonderful incidents and legendary
tales, and that in all probability Geoffrey of Monmouth deserves
less credit as a romancer than he has received from one party, as
well as less credit as an historian than he has received from the
other.</p>
<p>However this may be, the work has served as a valuable
storehouse for our poets and romancers. It has even
supplied the story of King Lear to Shakspeare, who deepened the
pathos by making Cordelia die before her father; whereas, in the
original story, Lear is restored to his kingdom, and Cordelia to
life. Milton drew from it his fiction of Sabrina in the
Mask of Comus; and in early life he had formed the design of
writing an epic poem on the subject taken up from Geoffrey by
Spenser, in the second book of the Faerie Queene—</p>
<blockquote><p>“A chronicle of Briton kings,<br />
From Brute to Arthur’s reign.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
106</span>Dryden, also, intended to produce an epic poem on the
subject of king Arthur, but he contented himself with an opera,
in which he has sublimely described the British worthy</p>
<blockquote><p> “in
battle brave,<br />
But still serene in all the stormy war,<br />
Like heaven above the clouds; and after fight<br />
As merciful and kind to vanquished foe<br />
As a forgiving God.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Pope followed, in like manner, with plentiful materials for
the pavement of a certain place—good intentions; but after
all, our national history has been left to the muse of Blackmore.
<a name="citation106"></a><a href="#footnote106"
class="citation">[106]</a></p>
<p>Geoffrey was born in Monmouth, and is supposed to have been
educated in the monastery, although the room pointed out as his
study is evidently of a more modern date. He became
archdeacon of his native town, and in 1152 was consecrated bishop
of St. Asaph. This is all <a name="page107"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 107</span>that is known of his history; and
his works, with the exception of his great romance adverted to
above, are confined to a treatise on the Holy Sacraments, and
some verses on the enchanter Merlin.</p>
<p>Perhaps a word may not be amiss on the other worthy connected
by birth with the fame and the ruins of Monmouth. Henry V.
passed some of his earliest years in this county; but in his
youth was transferred to Oxford, where he studied under his uncle
Cardinal Beaufort, then chancellor of the university, and where,
as Stowe relates, he “delighted in songs, meeters, and
musical instruments.” He is thus described by the
chronicler, on the authority of John of Elmham:</p>
<blockquote><p>“This prince exceeded the meane stature of
men, he was beautiful of visage, his necke long, body long and
leane, and his bones small; neverthelesse he was of great
marvellous strength, and passing swift in running, insomuch that
he with two other of his lords, without hounds, bow, or other
engine, would take a wild buck or doe in a large
parke.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Henry is usually treated as a mere warrior; <a
name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>and it is
the custom to sneer at him as such, by those who are unable to
judge of the minds of men by the spirit of the age in which they
live. He was remarkable, however, for more than his
military prowess, and exhibited many traits of a truly great
character. Some of these are very agreeably detailed by Mr.
Coxe, who relates also, from Speed, that “every day after
dinner, for the space of an hour, his custom was to lean on a
cushion set by his cupboard, and there he himselfe received
petitions of the oppressed, which with great equitie he did
redresse.” His sudden change from the wild
licentiousness of his youth is described by his contemporary,
Thomas de Elmham, as having taken place at the bedside of his
dying father; and we need not remark that in that age, the
religious feeling he exhibited on the occasion was not
inconsistent with the ferocity of the hero.</p>
<blockquote><p>“The courses of his youth promis’d it
not;<br />
The breath no sooner left his father’s body,<br />
But that his wildness, mortified in him,<br />
Seem’d to die too: yea, at that very moment,<br />
Consideration like an angel came,<br />
And whipped the offending Adam out of him;<br />
<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>Leaving
his body as a paradise,<br />
To envellop, and contain celestial spirits.<br />
Never was such a sudden scholar made;<br />
Never came reformation in a flood,<br />
With such a heady current, scouring faults;<br />
Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulness,<br />
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,<br />
As in this king.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Monmouth, as the half-way station between Ross and Chepstow
for the tourists of the Wye, usually claims a large portion of
their attention; and, independently of its historical
associations, the delightful walks in the neighbourhood
abundantly repay it. The views from numerous points are
very beautiful; and one more especially, independently of the
nearer parts of the picture, commands on all sides an expanse of
country which seems absolutely unlimited.</p>
<p>“If among these views,” says the historical
tourist, “one can be selected surpassing the rest, it is
perhaps that from the summit of the Kymin, which rises from the
left bank of the Wye, and is situated partly in Monmouthshire,
and partly in Gloucestershire. On the centre of this
eminence overhanging the river and town, a pavilion has been
lately erected by subscription, <a name="page110"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 110</span>to which is carried a walk, gently
winding up the acclivity. . . .</p>
<p>“I shall not attempt to describe the unbounded expanse
of country around and beneath, which embraces an extent of nearly
three hundred miles. The eye, satiated with the distant
prospect, reposes at length on the near views, dwells on the
country immediately beneath and around, is attracted with the
pleasing position of Monmouth, here seen to singular advantage,
admires the elegant bend and silvery current of the Monnow,
glistening through meads, in its way to the Wye, and the junction
of the two rivers, which forms an assemblage of beautiful
objects.</p>
<p>“The level summit of the Kymin is crowned with a
beautiful wood, called Beaulieu Grove, through which walks are
made, terminating in seats, placed at the edge of abrupt
declivities, and presenting in perspective, through openings in
the trees, portions of the unbounded expanse seen from the
pavilion. There are six of these openings, three of which
comprehend perspective views of Monmouth, stretching between the
Wye and the Monnow, in different positions. At one <a
name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>of these
seats, placed on a ledge of impending rocks, I looked down on a
hanging wood, clothing the sides of the declivities, and sloping
gradually to the Wye, which sweeps in a beautiful curve, from
Dixon Church to the mouth of the Monnow; the town appears seated
on its banks, and beyond the luxuriant and undulating swells of
Monmouthshire, terminated by the Great and Little Skyrrid, the
Black Mountains, and the Sugar Loaf, in all the variety of
sublime and contrasted forms.”</p>
<p>It is not our intention to notice any of the numerous seats
and mansions with which this delightful region abounds; but,
leaving the tourist to make such easy discoveries for himself, we
would hint to him that, while at Monmouth, he has an opportunity,
without great expense of time or labour, of making himself
acquainted with many interesting objects which ought to be
considered as adjuncts of the tour of the Wye. Between this
place and the Hay the river describes an irregular semicircle, of
which the Monnow, for about half way, may be said to be the cord;
and this latter stream, as the most important and beautiful
tributary of the Wye, <a name="page112"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 112</span>has a claim upon the pilgrim which
should not be set aside.</p>
<p>This minor excursion, however, will not be complete without
diverging a little to the left at the outset for the purpose of
visiting White Castle; for this ruin is inseparably associated
with the other reliques of baronial power presented by the
route. It is within a short distance of Landeilo Cresseney
on the Abergavenny road, where a farm will be pointed out to the
traveller, called the Park, belonging to the duke of Beaufort, as
the site of Old Court, formerly the residence of the valiant Sir
David Gam, who, before the battle of Agincourt, reported to Henry
V. that there were “enough of the enemy to be killed,
enough to run away, and enough to be taken
prisoners.” It is said that the children of this
Welsh worthy were so numerous as to form a line extending from
his house to the church. From Gladys, one of these
children, the dukes of Beaufort and earls of Pembroke are
descended. The farm alluded to was formerly the red deer
park of Raglan Castle.</p>
<p>White Castle must have been constructed in the earliest period
of the Norman era, if not before <a name="page113"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 113</span>the conquest; and the massive ruins
that still remain attest that it must have kept the country side
in awe, as the abode of one of those fierce barons who were the
prototypes of the giants and dragons of the romancers. This
fortress, with those of Scenfrith and Grosmont on the banks of
the Monnow, belonged to Brien Fitz Count, the Norman conqueror of
the tract called Overwent, stretching from the Wye to
Abergavenny; and they were afterwards seized by Henry III., and
given by him to the celebrated Herbert de Burgh. Herbert
resigned them anew to the crown, after being imprisoned and
almost famished to death. Henry granted them to his son
Edward Crouchback, and they afterwards fell to John of Gaunt, in
the way we have related of Monmouth Castle, and became parcel of
the duchy of Lancaster.</p>
<p>The ruins stand on the ridge of an eminence, surrounded by a
moat. The walls, which are very massive, describe nearly an
oval, and are defended by six round towers, not dividing the
courtine in the usual way, but altogether extramural, and
capable, therefore, of acting as independent fortresses, even
after the inner court had <a name="page114"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 114</span>been taken. The principal
entrance was protected by a portcullis and drawbridge, and by an
immense barbican, greatly disproportioned to the size of the
castle, on the opposite site of the moat. The name of the
place was Castell Gwyn, White Castle, or Castell Blanch, all
which mean the same thing in British, Saxon, and Norman.</p>
<p>In the time of James I., it is presented as “ruinous and
in decay time out of mind,” and yet, during the reign of
his immediate predecessor Elizabeth, it is described in the
Worthines of Wales as “a loftie princely place.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“Three castles fayre are in a goodly
ground,<br />
Grosmont is one, on hill it builded was;<br />
Skenfrith the next, in valley it is found,<br />
The soyle about for pleasure there doth passe;<br />
Whit Castle is the third of worthy fame,<br />
The county there doth bear Whit Castle’s name,<br />
A stately seate, a loftie princely place,<br />
Whose beauties give the simple soyle some grace.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Scenfrith is not more than five miles from White Castle, but
the access to it is only fit for pedestrians. The ruin
stands on a secluded spot in the midst of hills, and overlooks
the placid <a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
115</span>Monnow, the passage of which it was no doubt its duty
to guard. It is a small fortress severely simple, and
exhibiting all the marks of high antiquity. There are no
traces of outworks; but the walls are flanked by five circular
towers. About the middle of the area is a round tower,
which was the keep or citadel. Scenfrith seems to have no
history peculiarly its own; it was one of “the three
castles,” changing hands with them apparently as a matter
of course, and that was enough for its ambition.</p>
<p>The road from Scenfrith to Grosmont leads through Newcastle;
but the remains of the fortress, from which this place derived
its name, are barely discernible, and its history has for ever
perished. In the absence of human associations, however, it
is well provided with those of another kind. The mount, or
barrow, under which its fragments are hidden, is the haunt of
spirits; and an oak tree in the neighbourhood is so completely
protected by such means, that an attempt even to lop a branch is
sure to be punished by supernatural power.</p>
<p>The ruins of Grosmont Castle stand on an eminence near the
Monnow, surrounded by a <a name="page116"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 116</span>dry moat, with barbican and other
outworks. Its pointed arches declare it by far the youngest
of the three sisters. The remains now left enclose only a
small area; but walls and foundations may be traced, which show
that its original size was really considerable, and this is
confirmed by the presence of a spacious apartment, which no doubt
formed the great baronial hall. In the reign of Henry III.
it was invested by Llewellin, and the siege raised by the king;
and, on another occasion, Henry retreated to Grosmont, where his
troops were surprised by the Welsh as they slept in the trenches,
and lost five hundred horses, besides baggage and treasure.
The banks of the Monnow, from which the ruins rise, are
precipitous, and tufted with oaks, and the whole scene is
singularly picturesque. The hero of the village tradition
is here John of Kent, or Guent, who built a bridge over the
Monnow in a single night, by means of one of his familiar
spirits. Many other stories as wonderful are related of him
by the inhabitants; some say he was a monk, versed in the black
art; others that he was a disciple of Owen Glendowr; and others
that he was the great magician himself.</p>
<p><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>At
Grosmont the line of the Monnow turns away to the west, towards
its source among the Black Mountains; but the traveller who
eschews more fatigue than is necessary will take the route by
Craig-gate and Crickhowell, and so get into a road which will
lead him along the Honddy, a tributary of the Monnow, to the
magnificent ruins of Lanthony Abbey, the furthest object we
propose to him in this subsidiary tour.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Here it was, stranger, that the patron
saint<br />
Of Cambria passed his age of penitence—<br />
A solitary man; and here he made<br />
His hermitage; the roots his food, his drink<br />
Of Honddy’s mountain-stream. Perchance thy youth<br
/>
Has read with eager wonder how the knight<br />
Of Wales, in Ormandine’s enchanted bowers,<br />
Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veins<br />
Flows the pure blood of Britain, sure that blood<br />
Has flowed with quicker impulse at the tale<br />
Of Dafydd’s deeds, when through the press of war<br />
His gallant comrades followed his green crest<br />
To conquests. Stranger! Hatterel’s mountain
heights,<br />
And this fair vale of Cwias, and the stream<br />
Of Honddy, to thine after thoughts will rise<br />
More grateful, thus associate with the name<br />
Of Dafydd and the deeds of other days.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“After catching a transient view of the Honddy,”
says archdeacon Coxe, “winding through a deep glen, at the
foot of hills overspread with <a name="page118"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 118</span>wood and sprinkled with white
cottages, we proceeded along a hollow way, which deepened as we
advanced, and was scarcely broad enough to admit the
carriage. In this road, which, with more propriety might be
termed a ditch, we heard the roar of the torrent beneath, but
seldom enjoyed a view of the circumjacent scenery. We
passed under a bridge thrown across the chasm, to preserve the
communication with the fields on each side: this bridge was
framed of the trunks of trees, and secured with side rails, to
prevent the tottering passenger from falling in the abyss
beneath. It brought to my recollection several bridges of
similar construction, which I observed in Norway, which are
likewise occasionally used as aqueducts, for the purposes of
irrigation. Emerging from this gloomy way, we were struck
with the romantic village of Cwnyoy, on the opposite bank of the
Honddy, hanging on the sides of the abrupt cliff, under a
perpendicular rock, broken into enormous fissures. We
continued for some way between the torrent and the Gaer, and
again plunged into a hollow road, where we were enclosed, and saw
nothing but the overhanging hedgerows. . . . <a
name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>The abbey
was built like a cathedral, in the shape of Roman crosses, and
though of small dimensions, was well proportioned. The
length, from the western door to the eastern extremity, is 210
feet; and the breadth, including two aisles, 50; the length of
the transept, from north to south, 100. It was constructed
soon after the introduction of the Gothic architecture, and
before the disuse of the Norman, and is a regular composition of
both styles. The whole roof, excepting a small fragment of
the north aisle, is fallen down, and the building is extremely
dilapidated. The nave alone exhibits a complete specimen of
the original plan, and is separated on each side by the two
aisles, by eight pointed arches, resting on piers of the simplest
construction, which are divided from the upper tier of Norman
arches by a straight band of <i>fascia</i>. From the small
fragment in the northern aisle, the roofs seem to have been
vaulted and engroined, and the springing columns, by which it was
supported, are still visible on the wall. Four bold arches,
in the centre of the church, supported a square tower, two sides
of which only remain. The ornamental arch <a
name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>in the
eastern window, which appears in the engraving of Mr.
Wyndham’s Tour, and in that published by Hearne, has now
fallen. The only vestiges of the choir are a part of the
south wall, with a Norman door, that led into the side aisle, and
the east end of the south wall; a bold Norman arch, leading from
the transept into the southern aisle of the choir, still
exists. The walls of the southern aisle are wholly
dilapidated; and the side view of the two ranges of Gothic
arches, stretching along the nave, is singularly picturesque; the
outside wall of the northern aisle is entire, excepting a small
portion of the western extremity; the windows of this part are
wholly Norman, and make a grand appearance. In a word, the
western side is most elegant; the northern side is most entire;
the southern the most picturesque; the eastern the most
magnificent.”</p>
<p>The abbey originated in a small chapel, built here as a
hermitage by St. David, the titular saint of Wales; but for the
account of its foundation and history, we must refer the reader
to Mr. Coxe’s Tour, Dugdale’s Monasticon, or the
History of Gloucestershire.</p>
<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
121</span>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
<p class="gutsumm">Raglan Castle—Description of the
ruins—History of the Castle—The old lord of
Raglan—Surrender of the fortress—Charles I. and his
host—Royal weakness—The pigeons of Raglan—Death
of the old lord—Origin of the steam Engine.</p>
<p>That magnificent specimen of what is called a castellated
mansion, Raglan castle, is so interesting in itself, and at so
convenient a distance from the river, that it forms an
indispensable part of the tour of the Wye. The ruins stand
upon an eminence, near the village of the same name, eight miles
from Monmouth, and cover, with their massive forms, an area of
one-third part of a mile in circumference. This includes
the citadel, which was not contained within the fortress as
usual, but formed a separate building, connected <a
name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>with it by
a drawbridge. It was called Melyn y Gwent, or the Yellow
Tower of Gwent. It was of a hexagon form, five stories
high, defended by bastions and a moat, and surrounded with raised
walks or terraces. The building was faced with hewn stone,
of a greyish colour, and from its smoothness resembling polished
marble.</p>
<p>The earliest style of this edifice dates only from the reign
of Henry V.; but the greater part was probably added afterwards,
when, by the marriage of Sir Charles Somerset into the house of
Herbert, and the acquisition then of the lordships of Raglan,
Chepstow, and Gower, the house of Beaufort became one of the
greatest in the county. The building is of a description
peculiar to that period in the history of Monmouthshire, when the
barons had superadded to their warlike habits those of modern
luxury and magnificence. Externally, the place has
evidently been a strong fortress; internally a splendid
mansion. The ascent to the state apartment is both noble
and well contrived; while the circular staircase in the hexagon
citadel, the windows of the great hall, and the chimney-pieces,
with their light and elegant cornices, <a
name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>are in the
style of modern edifices. The kitchen and butlery were
connected with the hall, and indicate, by their construction, the
princely hospitality of the lords of Raglan. All the rooms
had chimneys, those of each floor distinct from the rest.
The cellars were extensive—so were the subterranean
passages and dungeons. The architecture is various, some
parts of the most elegant gothic, some heavy and unwieldy,
representing at once the two distinct characters of luxury and
war. The southern declivity, towards the village, was laid
out in fish-ponds; three parks of considerable extent supplied
game and recreation; and the proprietor of this unique mansion
was able, through the fertility of his surrounding estates, to
maintain a garrison of eight hundred men.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Of these noble ruins,” says Mr. Coxe,
“the grand entrance is the most magnificent; it is formed
by a gothic portal, flanked with two massive towers: the one
beautifully tufted with ivy, the second so entirely covered, that
not a single stone is visible. At a small distance, on the
right, appears a third tower, lower in height, almost wholly
ivyless, and with its machicolated <a name="page124"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 124</span>summit, presenting a highly
picturesque appearance. The porch, which still contains the
grooves for two portcullises, leads into the first court, once
paved, but now covered with turf, and sprinkled with
shrubs. The eastern and northern sides contained a range of
culinary offices, of which the kitchen is remarkable for the size
of the fire-place; the southern side seems to have formed a grand
suite of apartments, and the great bow window of the hall, at the
south-western extremity of the court, is finely canopied with
ivy. The stately hall which divides the two courts, and
seems to have been built in the days of queen Elizabeth, contains
the vestiges of ancient hospitality and splendour: the ceiling is
fallen down, but the walls still remain; it is sixty feet in
length, twenty-seven in breadth, and was the great
banqueting-room of the castle. At the extremity are placed
the arms of the first marquis of Worcester, sculptured in stone,
and surrounded with the garter: underneath is the family motto,
which fully marks the character of the noble proprietor, who
defended the castle with such spirit from the parliamentary army:
‘Mutare <a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
125</span>vel timere sperno;’ ‘I scorn either to
change or to fear.’ The fire-place deserves to be
noticed for its remarkable size, and the singular structure of
the chimney. The hall is occasionally used as a fives
court.</p>
<p>“To the north of the hall are ranges of offices, which
appear to have been butteries; beyond are the traces of splendid
apartments. In the walls above I observed two
chimney-pieces, in high preservation, neatly ornamented with a
light frieze and cornice: the stone frames of the windows are
likewise in many parts, particularly in the south front,
distinguished with mouldings and other decorations, which Mr.
Windham justly observes, would not be considered inelegant, even
at present.</p>
<p>“The western door of the hall led into the chapel, which
is now dilapidated; but its situation is marked by some of the
flying columns, rising from grotesque heads, which supported the
roof. At the upper end are two rude whole-length figures,
in stone, several yards above the ground, recently discovered by
Mr. Heath, under the thick clusters of ivy. Beyond the
foundations of the chapel is the area of the second <a
name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>court,
skirted with a range of buildings, which, at the time of the
siege, formed the barracks of the garrison. Not the
smallest traces remain of the marble fountain, which once
occupied the centre of the area, and was ornamented with the
statue of a white horse.</p>
<p>“Most of the apartments of this splendid abode were of
grand dimensions, and the communications easy and
convenient. The strength of the walls is still so great,
that if the parts still standing were roofed and floored, it
might even now be formed into a magnificent and commodious
habitation.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The fountain mentioned above was called the White Horse, from
the figure from which the water played. In a note supplied
by Dr. Griffin to Williams’s History of Monmouthshire, it
is said that the people who showed the ruins used to exhibit part
of the body of a <i>black</i> horse which stood in the middle of
the water which supplied the castle. The cause of the
change of colour was that during the siege the parliamentarians
poisoned the fountain! The horse, it seems, absorbed the
fatal drug, and not only became black, but when struck by any
hard substance, emitted a fetid smell. <a
name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>It is
difficult to trace the early history of the castle, from the
contradictory accounts given of it by Dugdale; but in the time of
Henry V. the proprietor was Sir William ap Thomas, second son of
Sir Thomas ap Guillim, from whom the earls of Pembroke, Powis,
and Caernarvon are descended in the male, and the dukes of
Beaufort in the female line. William, the eldest son of
this Sir William, was created by Edward IV. lord of Raglan,
Chepstow, and Gower; and, in obedience to the royal command, he
discontinued the Welsh custom of changing the surname at every
descent, and took Herbert as his family name, in honour of his
ancestor Herbert Fitzhenry, chamberlain to Henry I. Richard
was for some time detained at Raglan in the custody of lord
Herbert, who was a distinguished partisan of the house of York,
and who at length died on the scaffold, at Banbury, in this
cause, having previously been created earl of Pembroke. His
son, by the desire of Edward IV., yielded this title to the
Prince of Wales; and, dying without male issue, the castle of
Raglan, and many other noble possessions devolved upon his
daughter Elizabeth. The heiress married Sir <a
name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Charles
Somerset, natural son of the duke of Somerset, who lost his head
in 1463 for his devotion to the house of Lancaster; and he, a
brave soldier, a prudent statesman, and an accomplished courtier,
was created by Henry VIII., for his services, earl of
Worcester.</p>
<p>It is probable that the castle of Raglan, owed a great part of
its magnificence to him. In the following reign, it is thus
mentioned in the Worthines of Wales.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Not far from thence, a famous castle
fine,<br />
That Raggland hight, stands moted almost round,<br />
Made of freestone, upright, straight as line,<br />
Whose workmanship in beauty doth abound.</p>
<p>“The curious knots, wrought all with edged toole,<br />
The stately tower that looks ore pond and poole,<br />
The fountain trim, that runs both day and night,<br />
Doth yield in showe a rare and noble sight.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Four earls of Worcester held almost royal state in this
princely abode; but the fifth earl and first marquis was destined
to witness its fall. He was one of the most devoted friends
of <a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
129</span>Charles I.; and may be said to have defended not only
his own mansion but all Monmouthshire from the parliamentary
arms.</p>
<p>The defeat of the royal army at Marston Moor was the signal
for the fall of Monmouth and of Raglan Castle. Prince
Rupert immediately directed his attention to the marches of
Wales, and ordered colonel Gerard to force his way through
Gloucestershire by the Aust passage: but the latter was opposed
by Massey, and defeated. Monmouth soon after fell into the
hands of Massey by the treachery of Kirle, lieutenant-colonel to
Holtby, governor of the town for Charles; and lord Worcester at
Raglan, in great alarm, demanded the assistance of prince
Rupert’s cavalry.</p>
<p>Throgmorton, on whom the command of Monmouth devolved, set out
with a party of three hundred horse to surprise the castle of
Chepstow, and in his absence the following brilliant exploit was
performed by the royalists, which we give in the words of
Sanderson. “The cavaliers from Ragland and Godridg,
about break of day, lodg themselves undiscovered behind a rising
ground near Monmouth, and <a name="page130"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 130</span>viewing all advantages, fourty of
them come up to the higher side of the town towards Hereford,
having a sloping bank cast up of good height, with a ditch, over
which they pass, mount the bank, and climbed over, and so got to
the next part, fell upon the guard, some killed, other fled, and
with an iron bar break the post chain, force the gate, and open
it to the horse, who ride up with full career to the main guard,
seized them, and took the rest in their beds, with colonel
Broughton, four captains, as many lieutenants and ensigns, the
committee, all the common souldiers, two hundred prisoners, two
sakers, a drake, nine hammerguns, ammunition and provision, and
five hundred muskets.”</p>
<p>But the fate of the war was now determined, and after the
battle of Naseby Charles was unable to meet the parliamentarians
in a general engagement, and retired to the castle of
Raglan. Thence he secretly departed to commit himself to
the Scottish army; and the marquis of Worcester was besieged at
Raglan for six months. The old lord, who was then
eighty-four years of age, on hearing of the landing of his son
lord Glamorgan with some Irish forces, sent the following <a
name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>bold letter
to the parliamentarian committee at Chepstow.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Having notice that you are not ignorant of
my son’s landing with the Irish forces, I am so much of a
father, and tender of the whole country’s ruin, that if
this coming to this place be hasted by the occasion of your
answer, you and not I will be the occasion of the country’s
curse. You have taken from me my rents and livelihood, for
which if you give unbelied reparations, I shall be glad to live a
quiet neighbour amongst you; if otherwise, you will force me to
what my own nature hath no liking of, and yet justifiable by the
word of God, and law of nature. I expect your answer by the
messenger, as you give occasion.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">H.
Worcester</span>.</p>
<p>“Raglan, May 29, 1646.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This brought on a long and fruitless negotiation. The
old lord saw that even the master of Raglan was not the master of
circumstances; and, at length, it was agreed that the castle
should be delivered up. “Nobly done,” says
Sanderson, “to hold out the last garrison for <a
name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>the king in
England or Wales.” In the articles of surrender,
however, the soldierly honour of the marquis was spared as much
as possible, it being agreed “that all the officers,
gentlemen, and soldiers, with all other persons there, should
march out with their horses and arms, colours flying, drums
beating, trumpets sounding, matches lighted at both ends, bullets
in mouth, each soldier twelve charges of powder, matches and
bullets proportionable, bag and baggage, to any place within two
miles of any garrison where the marquis shall mention.”</p>
<p>Soon after this surrender, the castle was demolished, and the
timber cut down in the parks, the loss to the family, in personal
property, without including the forfeiture and an estate of
twenty thousand pounds a year, being estimated at upwards of a
hundred thousand pounds. The Chase of Wentwood, including
Chepstow Castle and Park, was immediately bestowed upon Oliver
Cromwell; who appears also to refer, in the settlements upon his
family to other estates in Monmouthshire, parcels of the noble
property of the marquis of Worcester.</p>
<p>In a publication of that day, entitled “Witty <a
name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Apothegms
delivered at several times, and on several occasions, by king
James I., king Charles I., and the marquis of Worcester,”
several anecdotes are given which throw a strong light upon the
character of this fine old lord of Raglan.</p>
<p>“In the midst of the civil commotions, Charles I. made
several visits to Raglan Castle, and was entertained with
becoming magnificence. The marquis not only declined all
offers of remuneration, but also advanced large sums; and when
the king thanked him for the loans, replied, Sir, I had your word
for the money, but I never thought I should be so soon repayed;
for now you have given me thanks, I have all I looked
for.” At another time, the king, apprehensive lest
the stores of the garrison should be consumed by his suite,
empowered him to exact from the country such provisions as were
necessary for his maintainance and recruit, “I humbly thank
your majesty,” he said, “but my castle will not stand
long if it leans on the country; I had rather be brought to a
morsel of bread, than any morsels of bread should be brought me
to entertain your majesty.”</p>
<p><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>The
following conversation shows the amiable weakness of
Charles’s humanity.</p>
<p>Sir Trevor Williams, and four other principal gentlemen of
Monmouthshire, being arrested for disloyalty, and conducted to
Abergavenny, the king was advised to order them to an immediate
trial, which must have ended in their conviction; but Charles,
moved by the tears and protestations of Trevor Williams, suffered
him to be released, on bail, and committed the others only to a
temporary confinement. “The king told the marquess
what he had done, and that when he saw them speak so honestly, he
could not but give some credit to their words, so seconded by
tears, and withal told the marquess that he had onely sent them
to prison; whereupon the marquess said, what to do? to poyson
that garrison? Sir, you should have done well to have heard
their accusations, and then to have shewn what mercy you
pleased. The king told him, that he heard that they were
accused by some contrary faction, as to themselves, who, out of
distaste they bore to one another on old grudges, would be apt to
charge them more home than the nature of their offences had
deserved; to whom the marquess <a name="page135"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 135</span>made this return, Well, Sir, you may
chance to gain the kingdom of heaven by such doings as these, but
if you ever get the kingdom of England by such ways, I will be
your bondman.”</p>
<p>Another conversation between the marquis and Sir Thomas
Fairfax is worth relating.</p>
<p>“After much conference between the marquess and General
Fairfax, wherein many things were requested of the general by the
marquess, and being, as he thought himself, happy in the
attainment, his lordship was pleased to make a merry petition to
the general as he was taking his leave, viz. in behalf of a
couple of pigeons, who were wont to come to his hand, and feed
out of it constantly, in whose behalf he desired the general that
he would be pleased to give him his protection for them, fearing
the little command that he should have over his soldiers in that
behalf. To which the general said, I am glad to see your
lordship so merry. Oh, said the marquess, you have given me
no other cause, and hasty as you are, you shall not go untill I
have told you a story.</p>
<p>“There were two men going up Holborn in a cart to be
hanged; one of them being very <a name="page136"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 136</span>merry and jocund, gave offence to
the other who was sad and dejected, insomuch that the downcast
man said unto the other, I wonder, brother, that you can be so
frolic, considering the business we are going about. Tush,
answered the other, thou art a fool; thou wentest a thieving, and
never thought what would become of thee, wherefore being on a
sudden surprised, thou fallest into such a shaking fit, that I am
ashamed to see thee in that condition: whereas I was resolved to
be hanged, before ever I fell to stealing, which is the reason
nothing happenning strange or unexpected, I go so composed unto
my death. So, said the marquess, I resolved to undergo
whatsoever, even the worst of evils that you are able to lay upon
me, before I took up arms for my sovereign, and therefore wonder
not that I am so merry.”</p>
<p>“In the correspondence with Fairfax,” says the
author of the Historical Tour, “which preceded the
capitulation, the marquis of Worcester seems to have strongly
suspected that the parliament would not adhere to the
conditions. His apprehensions were not groundless, for on
his arrival in London he was committed to the custody <a
name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>of the
Black Rod. He bitterly complained of this cruel usage, and
deeply regretted that he had trusted himself to the mercy of the
parliament. A few hours before his death, he said to Dr.
Bayley, If to seize upon all my goods, to pull down my house, to
fell my estate, and send up for such a weak body as mine was, so
enfeebled by disease, in the dead of winter, in the winter of
mine age, be merciful, what are they whose mercies are so
cruel? Neither do I expect that they should stop at all
this, for I fear they will persecute me after death.</p>
<p>“Being informed, however, that parliament would permit
him to be buried in his family vault, in Windsor Chapel; he cried
out, with great sprightliness of manner, Why, God bless us all,
why then I shall have a better castle when I am dead, than they
took from me whilst I was alive. With so much cheerfulness
and resignation did this hero expire, in the eighty-fifth year of
his age.”</p>
<p>The second marquis was the author of that puzzling
“Century of the Names and Scantlings of such Inventions as
I can at present call to mind to have tried and
perfected.”</p>
<p><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
138</span>“It appears,” we are told, “from a
passage in the Experimental Philosophy of Dr. Desaguliers, that
Captain Savary derived his invention of the fire engine, since
called the steam engine, from the 68th article in the Century of
Scantlings; and that to conceal his original he bought up all the
marquis’s books, and burnt them.” The following
is the “scantling.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“An admirable and most forcible way to drive
up water by fire, not by drawing or sucking it upwards, for that
must be, as the philosopher calleth it, <i>intra sphæram
activitatis</i>, which is at but such a distance. But this
way hath no bounder, if the vessels be strong enough; for I have
taken a piece of a whole cannon, whereof the end was burst, and
filled it three quarters full of water, stopping and screwing up
the broken end, as also the touch-hole, and making a constant
fire under it, within twenty-four hours it burst, and made a
great crack; so that having a way to make my vessels that they
are strengthened by the force within them, and the one to fill
after the other, I have seen the water run like a constant
fountain stream forty feet high; one vessel of water, rarified by
fire, drives up forty feet of <a name="page139"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 139</span>cold water. And a man that
attends the work has but to turn two cocks, that one vessel of
water being consumed, another begins to force and refit with cold
water, and so successfully, the fire being tended and kept
constant, with the self-same person may likewise abundantly
perform in the interim between the necessity of turning the said
cocks.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>We now renew our onward course, but with many a lingering look
at “delightsome Monmouth.”</p>
<h2><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
140</span>CHAPTER X.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Troy House—Anecdote—Antique
custom—Village Churches of
Monmouthshire—White-washing—The bard—Strewing
graves with flowers—St. Briavels’
Castle—Llandogo—Change in the character of the
river—The Druid of the Wye—Wordsworth’s
“Lines composed above Tintern Abbey.”</p>
<p>Just below Monmouth the Wye forms a sharp curve, the apex of
which is met by the Monnow and the Trothy, in such a way that
these two streams, tending to nearly the same point, but coming
from different directions, and the two sides of the Wye curve,
make the place resemble the meeting of four roads. We have
already seen how interesting the Monnow is; the Trothy, which
passes White Castle, and has its source in the mountains near the
Great Skyrrid, is hardly less so; the Wye we have followed from
the summit <a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
141</span>of Plinlimmon, through a tract of mingled beauty and
grandeur, unrivalled in England; and we are now about to trace
its course to the monastic ruins of Tintern, and through the
fairy land of Piercefield to its destined bourne, the Severn.</p>
<p>The banks are at first low, and the country laid out in level
meadows, framed in at a short distance by swelling hills.
Troy House is the first object that arrests our attention in
front by its sombre woods. In the reign of James I. it was
the property of Sir Charles Somerset, the brother of the gallant
defender of Raglan Castle, between whom and Charles I. a
conversation relating to Troy House took place, which is thus
reported in the “Apothegms.”</p>
<p>“Sir Thomas Somerset, brother to the marquis of
Worcester, had a house which was called Troy, five miles from
Ragland Castle. This Sir Thomas, being a complete
gentleman, delighted much in fine gardens and orchards, where, by
the benefit of art, the earth was made so gratefull to him at the
same time that the king (Charles the first) happened to be at his
brother’s house, that it yielded him wherewithal to send
him a present; and such a one as (the times <a
name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>and seasons
considered) was able to make the king believe that the sovereign
of the planets had now changed the poles, and that Wales (the
refuse and outcast of the fair garden of England) had fairer and
riper fruit than England’s bowels had on all her
beds. This present, given to the marquis, he would not
suffer to be presented to the king by any other hand than his
own. ‘Here I present you, sir,’ said the
marquis, (placing his dishes on the table) ‘with that which
came not from Lincoln that was, nor from London that is, nor from
York that is to be, but from Troy.’ Whereupon the
king smiled, and answered the marquis, ‘Truly, my lord, I
have heard that corn grows where Troy town stood, but I never
thought there had grown any apricots before.’”</p>
<p>Some articles said to be relics of Henry V. are preserved
here: the bed in which he was born, the cradle in which he was
rocked, and the armour in which he fought at Agincourt.
There is also a carved oak chimney-piece from Raglan Castle.</p>
<p>Soon the hills approach nearer, and, covered with rich
foliage, sweep down more suddenly <a name="page143"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 143</span>towards the river. On the
right bank is Penalt church, standing on a wooded eminence; and
behind it, an extensive common distinguished for a superstitious
custom, derived, as is supposed, from the days of the
druids. When a funeral passed that way, the cortege stopped
at an oak tree, and placed the corpse on a stone seat at its
foot. The company than sang a psalm, and resumed their
procession. It may be remarked that wherever an old oak
tree is found in this part of the country, in an insulated or
otherwise remarkable situation, there is sure to be connected
with it some religious tradition, or some observance whose origin
is lost in antiquity. The churches are usually an
interesting feature in the landscape, for it would seem as if
their founders had sought purposely out for them solitary places,
by the banks of rivers or in the midst of groves or fields.
In general they are exceedingly simple in appearance, many having
the marks of great antiquity, and almost all being whitewashed
from top to bottom. An antiquary has ingeniously accounted
for this peculiarity, by the custom the Normans had of
constructing even large buildings of pebbles and rag-stone, <a
name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>which
obliged them to cover the inequalities, outside and inside, by a
coat of lime and sand. However this may be, the effect is
not unpleasing; more especially when the rural temple, as is
frequently the case, is shaped like a barn, and without a
belfry. Such churches, more especially in the mountainous
districts, still present the rounded arches, and other
peculiarities, which denote that their rude walls were raised by
our Saxon ancestors, if not by the ancient Britons
themselves.</p>
<p>We find the white walls, so common in Wales, alluded to as a
poetical circumstance by one of the bards of the fourteenth
century, in a piece of considerable beauty; and in the succeeding
paragraph there is an allusion to another Welsh custom, of more
classical authority, that of strewing the graves of the dead with
flowers. The poem is an invocation to summer, to shed its
blessings over the country of Gwent. The following is the
paragraph referred to, with the second allusion, terminating the
ode by an abrupt and pathetic transition.</p>
<blockquote><p>“If I obtain thee, O summer, in thy splendid
hour, with thy fair growth and thy sporting <a
name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>gems; thy
serenity pleasantly bear, thou golden messenger, to
Morganoc. With sunshine morn gladden thou the place, and
greet the whitened houses; give growth, give the first fruits of
the spring, and collect thou blossoms to the bushes; shine
proudly on the wall of lime, full as light and gaily bright;
leave there in the vale thy footsteps in juicy herbage, in fresh
attire; diffuse a load of delicious fruits, in bounteous course
among its woods; give thy crop like a stream over every lawn, the
meadows, and the land of wheat; clothe the orchard, the vineyard,
and the garden, with thy abundance and thy teeming harvest; and
scatter over its fair soil the lovely marks of thy glorious
course!</p>
<p>“And oh! whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender
sprays thick of leaves remain; I will pluck the roses from the
branches; the flowerets of the meads, and gems of the woods; the
vivid trefoils, beauties of the ground, and the gaily smiling
bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the memory of a
chief of favorite fame: Humbly I will lay them on the grave of
Ivor!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The Ivor here alluded to was Ivor Hael, or the Generons, an
ancestor of the Tredgear family <a name="page146"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 146</span>of Morgans, whose pedigree is
traced, by the Welsh bards from the third son of Noah. The
poet David, ap Gwillim, styled the Welsh Ovid, loved a lady of
the name of Morvid, in whose praise his prolific muse produced no
fewer than a hundred and forty-seven poems. A rich rival,
however, gained the unwilling prize; and the son of song consoled
himself by carrying off his lost mistress on two several
occasions, when her husband, Rhys Gwgan, was with the army in
France, where he served in the rank of captain at the battle of
Crecy. For both these offences he was fined and imprisoned,
and in both instances liberated by the gentlemen of Gwent, who
came forward in a body in favour of their darling bard. The
above extract is taken from one of two poems which he wrote in
testimony of his gratitude. It may be added, that when
flowers are planted on graves, it was, and we believe is the
custom to surround the area with stones, which are periodically
<i>whitewashed</i>.</p>
<p>On the bank opposite Penalt, or a little further down, is
Redbrook, upper and lower, the one standing above the other on
the hill side. The stream from which they derive this name
<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
147</span>separates Monmouthshire from Gloucestershire, and the
Wye then continues the boundary. The brook, also, serves
the purpose of turning the wheels of some iron and tin works; but
without vulgarising any more than such accidents have done
heretofore, the scenic romance of the river. Wye Seal House
comes next, on the same side of the river, with the hamlet of
Whitebrook and its paper-mills on the opposite bank. Then
Pan-y-van hill, and the ruins of the old manor-house of
Pilton—then an iron bridge over the Wye, and then
Big’s-weir House, and its surrounding grove, with Hudknolls
behind, and the ruins of St. Briavels’ Castle on their
summit.</p>
<p>This fortress stands in the forest of Dean, and dates from the
reign of Henry I., when it was founded by Milo, earl of Hereford,
for the residence and defence of some of the
lords-marchers. St. Briavels, formerly a place of some
importance, is now a village. Its inhabitants enjoyed
several singular immunities which are now obsolete; but they have
still a right of common in Hudknolls wood, a tract of land on the
banks of the Wye seven miles long. They are supposed to <a
name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>enjoy the
privilege through the performance of a strange ceremony on
Whit-sunday. Each inhabitant pays twopence to the
churchwardens, who buy bread and cheese with the fund, which they
cut into small pieces, and distribute to the congregation
immediately after the service is ended, in the midst of a general
scramble. They are also allowed to cut wood, but not
timber, in any part of the forest. It is said that a
countess of Hereford procured for them their privileges by the
performance of a feat similar to that of the Lady Godiva.</p>
<p>St. Briavels’ Castle was erected by Milo St. Walter,
earl of Hereford, in the time of Henry I., as a barrier against
the Welsh. Two circular towers alone remain entire with a
narrow gateway between, composing the north-west front.
They contain several apartments, the walls of which are eight
feet thick. One is used as a prison for the hundred.
In the interior are two other similar gateways, on the right and
left of which are the remains of spacious rooms.</p>
<p>The governor of St. Briavels—for it became a royal
fortress after the Hereford family had <a
name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>possessed
it for about a century—had formerly jurisdiction over the
forest of Dean; and it is recorded, that in his court the miners
were sworn upon a branch of holly instead of the testament, lest
the holy book should be defiled by their fingers.</p>
<p>We now enter a long reach of the river, with Tiddenham Chase
Hill rising boldly in front; till Llandogo appears, a beautiful
little village on the right bank, seated on a hill side in the
midst of gardens and orchards, and with its small church near the
edge of the water, peeping through the trees. This is a
scene of quiet beauty, which after the massive forms we have
passed, we term <i>prettyness</i>. Whatever be its proper
name, however, in the pedantry of taste, it is not surpassed on
the Wye in its own kind. It is unfortunate, nevertheless,
that at this spot an unfavourable change should be observed in
the river—although only in the river considered as a volume
of water, and not taken in conjunction with its scenery.
Here the Wye becomes a tide stream, acted upon by the ebb and
flow of the Severn sea; and in consequence, it is henceforward
habitually turbid, and no longer a current <a
name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>of pure
element, subject only to the influence of rains and freshes.</p>
<p>This circumstance has also its effect upon the moral character
of the river. Large barges are floated up by the tide to
Brook Weir, a little lower down, which is midway between Monmouth
and Chepstow, or nine miles from each; and there they receive the
merchandise brought thither in small inland vessels from the
upper part of the Wye. Our romantic stream, therefore,
whose outlines hitherto have been broken only by the smokes of
furnaces hidden among the trees, and whose still life has been
varied only by the corracles of the ancient Britons, and other
inland craft that never dreamt of the breezes of the salt sea,
becomes now a small highway of trade, a sort of water lane by
which the corn, and hoops, and fagots, and other productions of
the interior are conveyed to Bristol. But even the coasting
barge, with her blackened sails, and sixty tons of cargo, is not
here “a jarring and a dissonant thing.”
Creeping with the tide along those solemn banks, she acquires a
portion of their solemnity; floating silently through those
pastoral vales, she is invested, for the time being, <a
name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>with their
simplicity. Her characteristics are swallowed up in the
character of the river—the spell of the Wye is upon
her!</p>
<p>If you doubt the fact, let us wander on but a little further;
let us turn the point of Lyn Weir, and, looking along the reach
beyond, inquire with what vulgarised ideas, with what broken
associations, we find ourselves gliding into the region of
Tintern! Near this spot, the great Druid of the Wye, the
poet of nature internal and external, produced a poem which in
all probability will be read, either with tears or smiles of
delight, long after the works of man shall have completely
obliterated those features of the grand, the beautiful, the
simple, and sublime, to which it is our humble task to point the
finger.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Five years have past, five summers, with
the length<br />
Of five long winters! and again I hear<br />
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs<br />
With a sweet inland murmur.—Once again<br />
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,<br />
That on a wild secluded scene impress<br />
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect<br />
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.<br />
The day is come when I again repose<br />
<a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>Here,
under this dark sycamore, and view<br />
These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts,<br />
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,<br />
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves<br />
Among the woods and copses, nor disturb<br />
The wild green landscape. Once again I see<br />
These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines<br />
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,<br />
Green to the very doors, and wreaths of smoke<br />
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees;<br />
With some uncertain notice, as might seem<br />
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,<br />
Or of some hermit’s cave, where, by his fire,<br />
The hermit sits alone.</p>
<p> “These beauteous
forms,<br />
Through a long absence, have not been to me<br />
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:<br />
But oft, in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din<br />
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,<br />
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,<br />
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;<br />
And passing even into my purer mind,<br />
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too<br />
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,<br />
As have no slight or trivial influence<br />
On that best portion of a good man’s life,<br />
His little, nameless, unremembered acts<br />
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,<br />
To them I may have owed another gift,<br />
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood<br />
In which the burden of the mystery<br />
In which the heavy and the weary weight<br />
Of all this unintelligible world<br />
<a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>Is
lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,<br />
In which the affections gently lead us on,<br />
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame<br />
And even the motion of our human blood<br />
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep<br />
In body, and become a living soul:<br />
While with an eye made quiet by the power<br />
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,<br />
We see into the life of things.</p>
<p> “If this<br />
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft,<br />
In darkness and amid the many shapes<br />
Of joyless daylight, when the fretful stir<br />
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world<br />
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;<br />
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,<br />
O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods,<br />
How often has my spirit turned to thee.</p>
<p>“And now with gleams of half extinguished thought,<br />
With many recognitions dim and faint,<br />
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,<br />
The picture of the mind revives again,<br />
While here I stand, not only with the sense<br />
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts<br />
That in this moment, there is life and food<br />
For future years, and so I dare to hope,<br />
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first<br />
I came among these hills; when like a roe<br />
I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides<br />
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,<br />
Wherever nature led: more like a man<br />
<a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>Flying
from something that he dreads, than one<br />
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then<br />
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,<br />
And their glad animal movements all gone by)<br />
To me was all in all.—I cannot paint<br />
What then I was. The sounding cataract<br />
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,<br />
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,<br />
Their colours and their forms, were then to me<br />
An appetite; a feeling and a love<br />
That had no need of a remoter charm,<br />
By thought supplied, nor any interest<br />
Unborrowed from the eye.—That time is past,<br />
And all its aching joys are now no more,<br />
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this<br />
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts<br />
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,<br />
Abundant recompense. For I have learned<br />
To look on nature, not as in the hour<br />
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes<br />
The still, sad music of humanity<br />
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power<br />
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt<br />
A presence that disturbs me with the joy<br />
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime<br />
Of something far more deeply interfused,<br />
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,<br />
And the round ocean and the living air,<br />
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:<br />
A motion and a spirit, that impels<br />
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,<br />
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still<br />
A lover of the meadows, and the woods,<br />
And mountains; and of all that we behold<br />
From this green earth; of all the mighty world<br />
<a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>Of eye,
and ear,—both what they half create,<br />
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise,<br />
In nature and the language of the sense,<br />
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,<br />
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul<br />
Of all my moral being.”</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
156</span>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Vales of the Wye—Valley of
Tintern—Tintern
Abbey—History—Church—Character of the
ruin—Site—Coxe’s
description—Monuments—Insecurity of sepulchral
fame—Churchyarde on tombs—Opinions on
Tintern—Battle of Tintern.</p>
<p>The “Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on
revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour,” are justly
esteemed one of the masterpieces of modern poetry; but
independently of this, they belong so peculiarly to the river we
are attempting to illustrate, and are associated so intimately
with the character of its scenery, and its reputation as a
fountain of high thoughts and beautiful feelings, that our volume
would have been incomplete without them. It is curious that
this piece, which is dated in the <a name="page157"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 157</span>concluding years of the last
century, should be the only fruits as yet given to the world of
the poetical inspiration of the Wye—for the effusions of
Bloomfield are not to be named with those of Wordsworth.</p>
<p>We have seen that where the picturesque character of the Wye
is chiefly formed by its banks, which is the case from Goodrich
Castle downwards, these embrace the stream with more or less
straitness, rising in naked crags from the water’s edge, or
throwing their waving woods over the current. At intervals,
however, they recede to some little distance from either side;
picturesque hills forming the side-screens, and hills, rocks, and
trees terminating the perspective in front, and enclosing the
river like a lake. In such cases, the bottom is formed by a
green pastoral meadow, through which the stream wanders
leisurely, as if reposing after former struggles, and preparing
for new ones. These lonely vales are not merely secluded
from “the hum, the crowd, the shock of men,” but from
all turbulent thoughts and unholy desires. The world lives
in them only in the recollections of dead things, and feelings,
and persons. They are <a name="page158"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 158</span>spots, to use the fine but
unappreciated image of Maturin,</p>
<blockquote><p>“Where memory lingers o’er the grave
of passion,<br />
Watching its tranced sleep!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The admirable taste so unequivocally displayed by the monks of
old, in the selection of sites for their ascetic retreats, could
not have overlooked this characteristic of the Wye; and
accordingly we find, in the most beautiful of these delightful
nooks, standing on a gently swelling meadow, by the banks of the
lake-like river, the finest conventual ruins in England.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p158b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Tintern"
title=
"Tintern"
src="images/p158s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Tintern Abbey, though one of the oldest of the Cistercian
communities in this country, was never famous either for its
wealth, or the number of its brethren; and at the dissolution it
contained only thirteen monks, supported by a rental of between
two and three hundred pounds at the highest calculation. <a
name="citation158"></a><a href="#footnote158"
class="citation">[158]</a> It was founded in 1131 by Walter
de Clare, and dedicated to the Virgin <a name="page159"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 159</span>Mary; but the endowments were
greatly increased by Gilbert de Strongbow, lord of Striguil and
Chepstow, and afterwards earl of Pembroke. The religious
colony consisted of Cistercians, otherwise called White Monks,
introduced into England only three years before, where they
formed an establishment at Waverley in Surrey. These
brethren spread so luxuriantly, however, that in the reign of
Henry VIII. there were thirty-six greater, and thirty-nine lesser
monasteries, and twenty-six nunneries, of their rule.</p>
<p>The founder of the church was Roger Bigod, earl of Norfolk;
and it would appear that the choir was finished and consecrated
before the rest of the building was complete, a circumstance not
unusual at that time. The consecration took place in 1268;
and in the body of the church the architecture is of a style long
subsequent. The remains of the church are now the only
interesting parts of the ruin, at least as a picture: and they
are in fact what is called “Tintern Abbey;” although
there are still fragments remaining here and there of the other
parts of the pile. The church was built in the regular
cathedral <a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
160</span>form; with a nave, north and south aisles, transept and
choir, and a tower which stood in the centre.</p>
<p>Complete as the demolition is, there are at least vestiges,
even in the most ruinous parts, which explain the original form,
and even most of the details of the edifice. The very
effects of time, as may be well supposed, are here among the
principal advantages. The broken outlines, the isolated
columns, the roofless walls, are all adjuncts of the picturesque;
but added to these, there are the curtains, the canopies, the
chaplets, coronals, festoons, of ivy, mosses and lichens, which
give as much effect to a ruin, as rich draperies do to naked
walls.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p160b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Tintern Abbey"
title=
"Tintern Abbey"
src="images/p160s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>The tiles which formed the flooring have been removed; and a
carpet of smooth turf laid down, on which fragments of columns,
monuments, statues, and sculptures are scattered. This of
course is not entirely the doing of time; but art is not
displayed obtrusively enough to offend. A ruined edifice,
it should be observed, although this is frequently forgotten by
critics, is a work of man and nature <i>conjointly</i>; and the
traces, therefore, of taste or ingenuity are not to be <a
name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>condemned,
as if these were exercised in shaping a cliff or amending a
cataract.</p>
<p>Gilpin describes Tintern Abbey as occupying “a great
eminence, in the middle of a circular valley;” and another
author declares its site, somewhat tautologically, to be a
<i>flat plain</i>; to which some idle person has taken the
liberty of appending this marginal note, in the copy of the work
in the British Museum—“Flat plain indeed! It is
situated just at the brow of a richly wooded hill!”
The truth is, that the ruin itself is not to be entirely depended
upon, as it contrives to assume a different appearance even in
respect of position, at every turn. Viewed from a short
distance down the river, it actually looks as if standing on an
eminence; but on a nearer approach, we find it in reality not
greatly elevated above line of the water. It is in fact
built at the bottom of the valley, in a spot chosen apparently
for solitude and meditation. The solitude, however, it must
be confessed is not now so complete as one would wish. The
inhabitants of the monastery, it is true, have vanished, but
their places have been supplied by poor cottagers, who hide their
misery in the very cells of the <a name="page162"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 162</span>monks; and, if this were not enough,
fragments of the ruin have been broken up, or unearthed, for the
construction of other hovels. In the following description
will be found the opinions on this remarkable scene of archdeacon
Coxe, who, together with the less correct, but more
<i>artistical</i> Gilpin, have been hitherto the only recognised
authorities of the Wye.</p>
<blockquote><p>“We disembarked about half a mile above the
village of Tintern, and followed the sinuous course of the
Wye. As we advanced to the village, we passed some
picturesque ruins hanging over the edge of the water, which are
supposed to have formed part of the abbot’s villa, and
other buildings occupied by the monks; some of these remains are
converted into dwellings and cottages, others are interspersed
among the iron founderies and habitations.</p>
<p>“The first appearance of the celebrated remains of the
abbey church did not equal my expectations, as they are
half-concealed by mean buildings, and the triangular shape of the
gable ends has a formal appearance.</p>
<p>“After passing a miserable row of cottages, and forcing
our way through a crowd of importunate <a
name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>beggars, we
stopped to examine the rich architecture of the west front; but
the door being suddenly opened, the inside perspective of the
church called forth an instantaneous burst of admiration, and
filled me with delight, such as I scarcely ever before
experienced on a similar occasion. The eye passes rapidly
along a range of elegant gothic pillars, and, glancing under the
sublime arches which supported the tower, fixes itself on the
splendid relics of the eastern window, the grand termination of
the choir.</p>
<p>“From the length of the nave, the height of the walls,
the aspiring form of the pointed arches, and the size of the east
window, which closes the perspective, the first impressions are
those of grandeur and sublimity. But as these emotions
subside, and we descend from the contemplation of the whole to
the examination of the parts, we are no less struck with the
regularity of the plan, the lightness of the architecture, and
the delicacy of the ornaments; we feel that elegance is its
characteristic no less than grandeur, and that the whole is a
combination of the beautiful and the sublime.</p>
<p><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
164</span>“The church was constructed in the shape of a
cathedral, and is an excellent specimen of gothic architecture in
its greatest purity. The roof is fallen in, and the whole
ruin open to the sky, but the shell is entire; all the pillars
are standing, except those which divided the nave from the
northern aisle, and their situation is marked by the remains of
the bases. The four lofty arches which supported the tower
spring high in the air, reduced to narrow rims of stone, yet
still preserving their original form. The arched pillars of
the choir and transept are complete; the shapes of all the
windows may be still discriminated, and the frame of the west
window is in perfect preservation; the design of the tracery is
extremely elegant, and when decorated with painted glass must
have produced a fine effect. Critics who censure this
window as too broad for its height, do not consider that it was
not intended for a particular object, but to harmonise with the
general plan; and had the architect diminished the breadth, in
proportion to the height, the grand effect of the perspective
would have been considerably lessened.</p>
<p>“The general form of the east window is <a
name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>entire, but
the frame is much dilapidated; it occupies the whole breadth of
the choir, and is divided into two large and equal compartments,
by a slender shaft, not less than fifty feet in height, which has
an appearance of singular lightness, and in particular points of
view seems suspended in the air.</p>
<p>“Nature has added her ornaments to the decorations of
art; some of the windows are wholly obscured, others partially
shaded with tufts of ivy, or edged with lighter foliage; the
tendrils creep along the walls, wind round the pillars, wreath
the capitals, or, hanging down in clusters, obscure the space
beneath.</p>
<p>“Instead of dilapidated fragments overspread with weeds
and choked with brambles, the floor is covered with a smooth
turf, which, by keeping the original level of the church,
exhibits the beauty of its proportions, heightens the effect of
the gray stone, gives a relief to the clustered pillars, and
affords an easy access to every part. Ornamented fragments
of the roof, remains of cornices and columns, rich pieces of
sculpture, sepulchral stones, and mutilated figures of monks and
heroes, whose ashes repose within these <a
name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>walls, are
scattered on the green sward, and contrast present desolation
with former splendour.</p>
<p>“Although the exterior appearance of the ruins is not
equal to the inside view, yet in some positions, particularly to
the east, they present themselves with considerable effect.
While Sir Richard Hoare was employed in sketching the
north-western side, I crossed the ferry, and walked down the
stream about half a mile. From this point, the ruins,
assuming a new character, seem to occupy a gentle eminence, and
impend over the river without the intervention of a single
cottage to obstruct the view. The grand east window, wholly
covered with shrubs, and half mantled with ivy, rises like the
portal of a majestic edifice embowered in wood. Through
this opening and along the vista of the church, the clusters of
ivy, which twine round the pillars or hang suspended from the
arches, resemble tufts of trees; while the thick mantle of
foliage, seen through the tracery of the west window, forms a
continuation of the perspective, and appears like an interminable
forest.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The reputation of Tintern Abbey depends <a
name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>upon no
historical associations. The romance of its situation is
heightened by no romance of incident. It is simply a part
of a picture, and might be entitled in the catalogue of a gallery
“an abbey.” The sepulchral remains it holds
retain neither name nor date; and one of the most entire of the
figures (supposed to be the effigies of the founder of the
monastery, which, however, must be looked for at Gloucester,
where according to Leland he was buried) is disputed the
possession of the usual number of fingers on the right hand; one
antiquary, hesitating between four and five, and another
according to it, more generously, five fingers—and a
thumb! In no part of the country has this means of
prolonging fame been more constantly resorted to than in
Monmouthshire; but unfortunately, owing to its geographical
position as a frontier district, in no part of the country has
the object been more frequently defeated. As a solitary
instance of this among thousands, we are tempted to quote a
fragment which just now catches our eye, from the rhymes of
<i>Churchyarde</i> (a most suitable name), and the rather that it
exhibits the poet of the “Worthines of <a
name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
168</span>Wales” in a more poetical light than usual.
He is describing the tombs in the church of Abergavenny; and
after noting the arms and other particulars, proceeds—</p>
<blockquote><p>“But note a greater matter now,<br />
Upon his tomb in stone,<br />
Were fourteene lords that knees did bow<br />
Unto this lord alone.<br />
Of this rare work a porch is made,<br />
The barrons there remaine<br />
In good old stone, and auncient trade,<br />
To show all ages plaine,<br />
What honour wass to Hastings due,<br />
What honour he did win:<br />
What armes he gave, and so to blaze<br />
What lord had Hastings bin.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But alas for the frailty of fame even so secured! The
dilapidated monument laughed in the unconscious rhymer’s
face through the rents of time; the principal effigies had been
removed to a window, and several of the “fourteene
lords” placed in a porch; and the very name of him whose
memory the whole had been intended to perpetuate, had become a
matter of doubt and controversy! “Some say this great
lord was <a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
169</span>called Bruce and not Hastings, but most do hold opinion
he was called Hastings!”</p>
<p>It may seem almost superfluous to give any further evidence
respecting the picturesque character of Tintern Abbey; but as we
design this volume not merely to act the part of a sign-post, but
to save the common reader the trouble of reference, we shall add
two other quotations.</p>
<blockquote><p>“It would be difficult to imagine a more
favourable situation, or a more sublime ruin. The entrance
to it seems as if contrived by the hand of some skilful
scene-painter to produce the most striking effect. The
church, which is large, is still almost perfect; the roof alone,
and a few of the pillars, are wanting. The ruins have
received just that degree of care which is consistent with the
full preservation of their character; all unpicturesque rubbish
which could obstruct the view is removed, without any attempt at
repair or embellishment. A beautiful smooth turf covers the
ground, and luxuriant creeping plants grow amid the stones.
The fallen ornaments are laid in picturesque confusion, and a
perfect avenue of thick ivy-stems climb up the pillars, and form
a <a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>roof
over head. The better to secure the ruin, a new gate of
antique workmanship, with iron ornaments, is put up. When
this is suddenly opened, the effect is most striking and
surprising. You suddenly look down the avenue of ivy-clad
pillars, and see their grand perspective lines closed, at a
distance of three hundred feet, by a magnificent window eighty
feet high and thirty broad: through its intricate and beautiful
tracery you see a wooded mountain, from whose side project abrupt
masses of rock. Over head the wind plays in the garlands of
ivy, and the clouds pass swiftly across the deep blue sky.
When you reach the centre of the church, whence you look to the
four extremities of its cross, you see the two transept windows
nearly as large and beautiful as the principal one; through each
you command a picture totally different, but each in the wild and
sublime style which harmonises so perfectly with the
building. Immediately round the ruin is a luxuriant
orchard. In spring, how exquisite must be the effect of
these grey venerable walls rising out of that sea of fragrance
and beauty!”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The other extract belongs to the class sentimental, <a
name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>and is not
a description of Tintern Abbey, but of the mood of mind to which
it disposes.</p>
<blockquote><p>“The great tree, or vegetable rock, or
emperor of the oaks (if you please), before which I bowed with a
sort of reverence in the fields of Tintern, and which for so many
ages has borne all the blasts and bolts of heaven, I should deem
it a gratification of a superior kind, to approach again with
‘unsandaled feet’ to pay the same homage, and to
kindle with the same devotion. But I should find amidst the
magnificent ruins of the adjoining abbey, something of a sublime
cast, to give poignancy to my feelings. I must be
alone. My mind must be calm and pensive. It must be
midnight. The moon, half veiled in clouds, must be just
emerging from behind the neighbouring hills. All must be
silent, except the winds gently rushing among the ivy of the
ruins. I should then invoke the ghosts of the abbey; and
fancy, with one stroke of her magic wand, would rouse them from
their dusty beds, and lead them into the centre of the
ruin. I should approach their shadowy existences with
reverence, make inquiries respecting the manners and customs, and
genius and fate of antiquity, <a name="page172"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 172</span>desire to have a glimpse of the
destiny of future ages, and enter in conversations which would be
too sacred, and even dangerous to communicate.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The only event unconnected with the monastery which is
assigned to this locality is a <i>battle</i>. Whether it
was fought on the hills above, or whether the demon of war
actually intruded within the charmed circle of Tintern—or
whether the whole is a fable, invented for the express purpose of
desecrating the very idea of the place—we cannot
tell. But however this may be, the fact, or the falsehood,
is commemorated in the following epitaph, which is placed on the
north side of the chancel of the church of Mathern.</p>
<blockquote><p>Here lyeth entombed the body of<br />
Frederic, King of Morganoch or<br />
Glamorgan, commonly called<br />
St. Thewdrick, and accounted a martyr,<br />
because he was slain in a battle against<br />
the Saxons, being then Pagans, and in<br />
defence of the Christian religion. The<br />
battle was fought at Tintern, when he<br />
obtained a great victory. He died here<br />
being in his way homeward, three<br />
<a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>days
after the battle, having taken<br />
order with Maurice his son, who suc-<br />
ceeded him in the kingdom, that in the<br />
same place he should happen to decease, a<br />
church should be built, and his body buri-<br />
ed in y<sup>e</sup> same, which was accordingly performed<br />
in the year
1601.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
174</span>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">The Wye below Tintern—Banagor
Crags—Lancaut—Piercefield
Bay—Chepstow—Ancient and modern bridge—Chepstow
Castle—Roger de Britolio—Romance of
history—Chepstow in the civil wars—Marten the
regicide.</p>
<p>The Wye being now a tide river, time requires to be studied by
the traveller who would see it in its beauty or grandeur.
The shores must be hidden by the full stream, and the overhanging
woods fling their shadow as before over the glancing
waters. Some bargain for the moon, to silver the tree tops,
and send her angel-visitings through the vistas of foliage.
But the truth is, before reaching this point we have become the
spoiled children of nature; we have grown fastidious in our
admiration, and would criticise perfection itself.</p>
<p><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>With
the one drawback of the sludginess of the shores at ebb water,
the Wye below Tintern is as worthy of our homage as ever.
But it may be, that the romance of its rocks and woods impending
over the current, and the deep stillness of the scene, broken
only by the rippling sound of its flow, may harmonize <i>too</i>
closely with the holy solitude we have left. Our sensations
are uninterrupted; we carry with us the ruins and their
associations; the mouldering abbey glides upon the stream before
us; and the recesses of the rocks, and deep paths of the woods,
are peopled with the spectres of the monastery. Thus we
have no new impressions to mark our progress, and one of the
finest parts of the river escapes almost without notice.</p>
<p>There is notwithstanding much variety in this part of our
course. The reaches are short; the banks steep, sometimes
overhanging in naked precipices, sometimes waving with romantic
woods; while numerous narrow promontories intercept the view, and
cut the scene into separate pictures. Banagor Crags, on the
left, form a stupendous wall of cliff, extending for a
considerable distance, without presenting anything <a
name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>in
themselves to relieve the eye, except here and there some
recesses or small shrubs, painting their interstices. But,
as if aware of the disadvantage even of a sublime uniformity,
nature has spread upon the opposite side a scene incomparable for
richness and variety. A bright green sward, broken into
narrow patches, swells upwards from the water’s edge, till
it is lost in acclivities mantled with woods; and rising from the
ridge of these, a mass of perpendicular rock towers aloft to the
height, as it is computed, of eight hundred feet, overhung with
shaggy thickets.</p>
<p>We now turn the peninsula of Lancaut, which comes sloping down
from Tiddenham Chase, till it terminates in fertile meadows; and,
on the right, rise from the water’s edge, with a kind of
fantastic majesty, the Piercefield cliffs, capped with
magnificent woods. Twelve projecting masses of these rocks
have received the names of the twelve apostles, and a thirteenth
is called St. Peter’s Thumb. While wondering where
this will end, we sweep round another point, and find ourselves
in Piercefield Bay. To the right a line of perpendicular
cliffs is still seen, but <a name="page177"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 177</span>crowned instead of trees with an
embattled fortress; which, for a moment, might seem to have been
cut out of the rock. The view is closed by a range of red
cliffs, with the magnificent iron bridge of Chepstow spanning the
river. This is the last of the great views <i>on</i> the
Wye; and if seen under favorable circumstances of time and tide,
it is one of the finest.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p177b.jpg">
<img alt=
"Chepstow"
title=
"Chepstow"
src="images/p177s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>Chepstow stands on the side of an acclivity, overlooked itself
on all sides by loftier hills, so that from every part of the
town a different view is obtained. Approaching it from the
road which leads from the New Passage, this position, owing to
the singularity of a part of the higher ground, gives the scene a
very peculiar appearance. Nothing is seen but the red
cliffs of the Wye, and the tall masts of the shipping rising
among them; and it is not till close at hand that the houses
appear, shelving down to the river. Archdeacon Coxe
observes, that he has seldom visited any town whose picturesque
situation surpassed that of Chepstow; and according to Mr.
Wyndham, another traveller in this district, “the beauties
are so uncommonly excellent, that the most exact critic in
landscape would scarcely <a name="page178"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 178</span>wish to alter a position in the
assemblage of woods, cliffs, ruins, and water.” Among
these features, the Wye and its banks are conspicuous. The
ridge of cliff on the left bank below the bridge is remarkable
both for its form and variety of colouring; while, on the
opposite bank above, the gigantic remains of the castle,
stretching along the brink of the precipice, give an air of
romance to the picture, not frequently found in one of the
crowded haunts of men.</p>
<p>The bridge is of cast iron, and was completed only in
1816. There are five arches, resting on stone piers; but
although in reality a massive structure, it has the air of
lightness, when viewed from the river, which iron bridges usually
possess. The old bridge was formerly composed of a level
floor, carried along wooden piers, except in the centre, where a
massive pillar of stone, dividing Gloucester and Monmouth, was
the support. Afterwards, however, stone piers were
substituted for those on the Monmouth side, before the two
counties joined in the erection of the present noble
structure.</p>
<p>“According to tradition,” says Mr. Coxe,
“the bridge of the Wye was formerly half a <a
name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>mile above
the present bridge, at a place called Eddis, nearly opposite to
the alcove in Piercefield grounds, and seemingly in a direction
leading towards an ancient encampment which encircles the
grotto. The remains of the abutments are said to have been
visible in the memory of some of the present generation; and the
vestiges of a pitched road were recently found in digging near
the spot. I walked to the spot, but could not discern the
smallest traces of the ancient bridge, and the ground on which
the pitched road was discovered was planted with potatoes.
I was, however, amply gratified for my disappointment by the
pleasantness of the walk by the side of the river, the beauty of
the hanging woods of Piercefield, and the picturesque appearance
of the castle.”</p>
<p>The castle of Chepstow is said by some antiquaries, to have
been built originally by Julius Cæsar; which is denied by
others, on the reasonable grounds, that Julius Cæsar never
was there, and that Roman reliques, although abundant in the
neighbourhood, have never been discovered in the town.
However this may be, the name by which it is at present known, is
Saxon, <a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
180</span>and denotes a place of traffic; and Leland traces at
least its prosperity to its situation being favourable for
commerce. “The towne of Chepstowe,” says he,
“hath been very strongly walled, as yet well doth
appere. The walles began at the grete bridge, over the Wy,
and so came to the castel; the which yet standeth fayer and
strong, not far from the ruin of the bridge. A grete
lykelyhood ys, that when Carguen began to decay, then began
Chepstow to flourish, for yt standeth far better, as upon Wy
there ebbing and flowing, by the Rage coming out of the Severn,
so that to Chepstowe may come grete shippes.”</p>
<p>The castle, as we have said, crowns the brow of a precipice,
forming here the right bank of the Wye; and its walls, on the
northern side, are so close to the edge as to seem nothing more
than a prolongation of the rock. The rest of the fortress
was defended by a moat and its own lofty towers.</p>
<p>The area was divided into four courts. The first, which
is entered by a Norman gateway, contained the grand hall, the
kitchen, and other apartments, on a scale of considerable
grandeur. <a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
181</span>At the south-eastern angle of this court is the keep,
or citadel, now called Harry Marten’s Tower. The
second court contains no architectural remains, except the walls;
but in the third is a remarkable building, usually designated as
the chapel. It seems to have formed one magnificent
apartment, probably with a gallery running along the sides.
The fourth court was separated from the rest by a moat, which was
crossed by a drawbridge. Whether a former building stood
here or not, William Fitzosborn, earl of Hereford, is said in
Domesday Book to have built the castle of Chepstow. It was
inherited by his third son Roger de Britolio, who was deprived of
his estates, and condemned to perpetual imprisonment for
rebellion. The fierce character of this Norman baron is
well illustrated in the following anecdote preserved by
Dugdale.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Though he frequently used many scornful and
contumelious expressions towards the king, yet he was pleased, at
the celebration of the feast of Easter in a solemn manner (as was
then used), to send to this earl Rodger, at that time in prison,
his royal robes, who so disdained the <a name="page182"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 182</span>favour, that he forthwith caused a
great fire to be made, and the mantle, the inner surcoat of silk,
and the upper garment, lined with precious furs, to be suddenly
burnt. Which being made known to the king, he became not a
little displeased, and said, ‘<i>Certainly he is a very
proud man who has thus abused me</i>; <i>but</i>, <i>by the
brightness of God</i>, <i>he shall never come out of prison as
long as I live</i>.’ Which expression was fulfilled
to the utmost, for he never was released during the king’s
life, nor after, but died in prison.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the reign of Henry I., we find Chepstow in the possession
of the Clare family; of whom Richard de Clare, surnamed, like his
father, Strongbow, is famous for his Irish adventures.
‘At the solicitation of Dermot Macnagh, king of Leinster,
who had been dethroned by his rival Roderic the Great, king of
Connaught (for there were then five kings in Ireland), he
proceeded to that country with twelve hundred men, to espouse the
cause of the unfortunate potentate: being offered, in the spirit
of the age, his daughter for a wife, and his kingdom for an
inheritance. Strongbow landed at Waterford in 1171; <a
name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>married the
princess; and his father-in-law dying at the very moment demanded
by poetical justice, conquered his promised kingdom, and took
possession of Dublin the capital. The romance, however, was
spoiled by Henry II., who, in high dudgeon at this presumption of
a subject, confiscated his estates, and carried an army over to
Ireland, with the purpose of annexing Leinster to the English
crown. Strongbow submitted; abandoned Waterford and Dublin
to his feudal master; was restored to his estates, and made
constable of Ireland. His character is thus described by
Giraldus Cambrensis:</p>
<blockquote><p>“This earle was somewhat ruddie and of
sanguine complexion and freckle face, his eyes greie, his face
feminine, his voice small, and his necke little, but somewhat of
high stature: he was verie liberall, corteous, and gentle; what
he could not compass or bring to passe in deed, he would win by
good word and gentle speeches. In time of peace he was more
redie to yield and obeie than rule and beare swaie. Out of
the campe he was more like to a souldier companion than a
captaine or ruler; but in the camp and in the warres he carried
with him the state and <a name="page184"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 184</span>countenance of a valiante
captaine. Of himselfe he would not adventure anie thing;
but being advised and set on, he refused no attempts; but for
himselfe he would not rashlie adventure or presumptuouslie take
anie thing in hand. In the fighte and battell he was a most
assured token and signe to the whole companie, either to stand
valiante to the fight, or for policie to retire. In all
chances of warre he was still one and the same manner of man,
being neither dismaied with adversitie, or puffed up with
prosperitie.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>By the marriage of a daughter of Richard Strongbow (who had no
male issue) our castle next came into the hands of one of the
greatest men of his time, William, marshal of England, lord
protector of the kingdom; and by the marriage of his daughter
(for although he had five sons they all died without issue), it
fell to Hugh Bigod, earl of Norfolk. This daughter was
Maud, remarkable for having been in her widowhood created
<i>marshal</i> in virtue of her descent, the king himself, Henry
III., solemnly giving the truncheon into her hands. She was
buried in Tintern Abbey in 1248, her body being carried into the
choir by her four sons.</p>
<p><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>After
changing hands several times, Chepstow Castle appears to have
been <i>sold</i> to the earl of Pembroke; whose heiress Elizabeth
conveyed it by marriage, as we have already had occasion to
relate, to Sir Charles Somerset, afterwards earl of
Worcester. Churchyarde mentions the fact of the sale in his
uncouth rhymes.</p>
<blockquote><p>“To Chepstowe yet, my pen agayne must
passe,<br />
When Strongbow once (an earl of rare renown),<br />
A long time since, the lord and maister was<br />
(In princly sort) of casle and of towne.<br />
Then after that, to Mowbray it befell,<br />
Of Norfolke duke, a worthie known full well;<br />
Who sold the same to William Harbert, knight,<br />
That was the earle of Pembroke then by right.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>During the civil wars, this place was considered of great
importance.</p>
<blockquote><p>“At first, Chepstow was garrisoned for the
king, until in 1645, Colonel Morgan, governor of Gloucester, at
the head of three hundred horse and four hundred foot, and
assisted by the mountaineers, with little difficulty made himself
master of the town, and in a few days compelled the governor,
Colonel Fitzmorris, to surrender <a name="page186"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 186</span>the castle. But the castle was
afterwards surprised by the loyalists, under Sir Nicholas Hemeys,
who, in the absence of the governor, by means of a secret
correspondence, obtained possession of the western gate, and made
the garrison prisoners of war. On this event Cromwell
marched against it in person, took possession of the town, but
assailed the castle without success, though garrisoned only by a
hundred and sixty men. He then left Colonel Ewer, with a
train of artillery, seven companies of foot, and four troops of
horse, to prosecute the siege. But the garrison defended
themselves valiantly, until the provisions were exhausted, and
even then refused to surrender under promise of quarter, hoping
to escape by means of a boat, which they had provided for that
purpose. A soldier of the parliamentary army, however, swam
across the river, with a knife between his teeth, cut the cable
of the boat, and brought it away; the castle was at length
forced, and Sir Nicholas Hemys and forty slain in the
assault. This event was considered by the parliament so
important, that the captain who brought the news was rewarded
with fifty pounds, and a letter of thanks was sent <a
name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>to Colonel
Ewer and the officers and soldiers engaged in that
service.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In 1645, the castle, with the other estates belonging to the
marquis of Worcester, were settled upon Oliver Cromwell, but were
given back to the family at the restoration.</p>
<blockquote><p>“For thirty years secluded from mankind,<br
/>
Here Marten lingered. Often have these walls<br />
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread<br />
He paced around his prison. Not to him<br />
Did nature’s fair varieties exist:<br />
He never saw the sun’s delightful beams,<br />
Save when thro’ yon high bars he pour’d a sad<br />
And broken splendor.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>All this, it now appears, is a poetical exaggeration, and the
thirty years’ captivity (diminished to twenty years) passed
away as easily as the sense of captivity would permit. The
regicide was permitted to spend his property as he pleased, to
enjoy the association of his wife, to receive visits, and even to
return them in the neighbourhood, accompanied by a guard.</p>
<p>Marten was one of the most zealous of those men who cast down
the statue of royalty from a <a name="page188"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 188</span>pedestal, upon which, although
re-erected, it can never again stand securely of its own strength
unsupported by public opinion. He does not appear to have
been himself of irreproachable character, but he was honest at
least in theory, and true to his principles, such as they
were.</p>
<p>“Being authorised,” says Anthony Wood, “by
parliament, about 1642, he forced open a great iron chest, within
the college of Westminster, and thence took the crown, robes,
sword, and sceptre belonging anciently to king Edward the
Confessor, and used by all our kings at their inaugurations; and
with a scorn greater than his lusts and the rest of his vices, he
openly declared that there should be no farther use of those toys
and trifles, and in the jolity of that humour he invested George
Wither (an old puritan satyrist) in the royal habiliments; who
being crowned and royally arrayed (as well right became him) did
first march about the room, with a stately garb, and afterwards
with a thousand apish and ridiculous actions exposed those sacred
ornaments to contempt and laughter.”</p>
<p>Marten was a member of the high court of justice, regularly
attended the trial, was present <a name="page189"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 189</span>when sentence was pronounced, and
signed the warrant of death. It is added, that when
Cromwell took up the pen to sign, he spattered some ink upon
Marten; and Marten, when his turn came, returned the
frolic! The two friends, however, were enemies at
last. Cromwell would have made himself king if he had been
able, but Marten said, “If they must have a king, he had
rather have had the last than any gentleman in England; he found
no fault in his person, but in his office.” When the
regicides who surrendered to the king’s proclamation were
condemned, they claimed mercy on the score of having given
themselves up in order to save their lives; and Marten, always
forward and fearless, added, “that he had never obeyed any
proclamation before this, and hoped that he should not be hanged
for taking the king’s word now.” He was at
length condemned to perpetual imprisonment, but both in the Tower
and in Chepstow Castle he was treated with great lenity. He
died of apoplexy in the twentieth year of his confinement, and
seventy-eighth of his age. He was buried in the chancel of
the parish church at Chepstow, and a stone, with an inscription
<a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>written
by himself placed over his body. This was removed, however,
to another part of the church, by the pious loyalty of a
succeeding vicar; but the stone being defaced, a new one was
substituted, by order of the churchwardens, in 1812, with the
original epitaph.</p>
<blockquote><p> Here,<br
/>
September the 9, in the year of our Lord 1680,<br />
Was buried a true Englishman,<br />
Who in Berkshire was well known<br />
To love his country’s freedom ’bove his own,<br />
But living immured full twenty year,<br />
Had time to write, as does appear,</p>
<p style="text-align: center">HIS EPITAPH.</p>
<p>H ere, or elsewhere (all’s one to you, to me),<br />
E arth, air, or water, gripes my ghostly dust;<br />
N o one knows how soon to be by fire set free.<br />
R eader, if you an oft-tried rule will trust,<br />
Y ou will gladly do and suffer what you must.</p>
<p>M y life was spent in serving you,<br />
A nd death’s my pay (it seems), and welcome too;<br />
R evenge destroying but itself, while I<br />
T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly.<br />
E xamples preach to th’ eye, care then (mine says)<br />
N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>The
church was part of the chapel of a priory of Benedictine monks,
founded here soon after the Conquest; and is interesting from its
architecture, being for the greater part in the early Norman
style, but with ornamented gothic windows—and a tower
adorned by the taste of the present age with Greek pilasters!</p>
<h2><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
192</span>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
<p class="gutsumm">Piercefield—Points of view—Curious
appearance—Scenic character of the place—View from
Wyndcliff—Account of Valentine
Morris—Anecdotes—The Wye below Chepstow—Aust
Ferry—Black Rock Ferry—St.
Theodric—Conclusion.</p>
<p>The romantic region of Piercefield, extending from Chepstow to
Wyndcliff—a distance of about three miles by the sinuous
walk, is one of the grand attractions of this place. It is
nothing more, it is true, than a gentleman’s park; but then
the landscape gardener by whom this park was laid out is Nature
herself, who has lavished here her beauty, her grandeur, and her
romance, in the wildest profusion. Art is entirely
subservient to her purposes, opening the view where it was shut
in, and forming paths for the pilgrim foot that would approach to
worship.</p>
<p><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
193</span>“In the composition of the scenery,” says
the historical tourist, “the meandering Wye, the steep
cliffs, and the fertile peninsula of Lancaut, form the striking
characteristics.</p>
<p>“The Wye, which is everywhere seen from a great
elevation, passes between Wyndcliff and the Bangor rocks, winds
round the peninsula of Lancaut, under a semicircular chain of
stupendous cliffs, is lost in its sinuous course, and again
appears in a straight line at the foot of the Lancaut rocks, and
flows under the majestic ruins of Chepstow Castle towards the
Severn.</p>
<p>“The rocks are broken into a variety of fantastic
shapes, and scattered at different heights and different
positions: they start abruptly from the river, swell into gentle
acclivities, or hang on the summits of the hills; here they form
a perpendicular rampart, these jet into enormous projections, and
impend over the water.</p>
<p>“But their dizzy heights and abrupt precipices are
softened by the woods which form a no less conspicuous feature in
the romantic scenery; they are not meagre plantations placed by
art, but a tract of forests scattered by the hand of
nature. In one place they expand into open groves <a
name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>of large
oak, elm, and beech; in another form a shade of timber trees,
copses, and underwood, hiding all external objects, and wholly
impervious to the rays of the sun, they start from the crevices
of the rocks, feather their edges, crown their summits, clothe
their sides, and fill the intermediate hollows with a luxuriant
mass of foliage, bring to recollection of the border</p>
<blockquote><p>“‘Of Eden, where delicious
paradise,<br />
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,<br />
As with a rural mound, the champaign head<br />
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,<br />
With thicket o’ergrown, grotesque and wild,<br />
Access denied, and over head up grew<br />
Insuperable height of loftiest shade,</p>
<p style="text-align: center">* * * * * *</p>
<p>A sylvan scene and as the banks ascend<br />
Shade above shade, a woody theatre<br />
Of stateliest view.’”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>And this grandeur is heightened, not diminished, by the view
presented in the midst of fertile fields, and the simple details
of rural occupation. The peninsula of Laucaut, on the
opposite bank of the Wye, is a comparatively extensive farm,
cultivated to the highest perfection, <a name="page195"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 195</span>and rich with the gifts of
Ceres. It is dotted with trees, and a range of elms fringes
it on the side of the river. Towards the middle of its
pear-shaped area, or rather approaching the isthmus, stands the
farm house, with rocks and woods behind. The principal
points of view are the following:</p>
<p>1. The Lover’s Leap. 2. A seat near two beeches on
the edge of the precipice. 3. The Giant’s Cave, which
occupies the centre of the amphitheatre and overlooks Lancaut
peninsula. 4. The halfway seat under a large beech
tree. 5. The double view. 6. Above Piercewood.
7. The grotto. 8. The platform. 9. The alcove.</p>
<p>But other portions of the grounds not so frequently visited
are noticed by an observant traveller. “From the
Giant’s cave, a road winds beautifully along the brow of
the cliff to a grove of lofty oak, beech, and sycamore, which is
cleared from underwood, in the centre of the extensive forest
which spreads beneath the Lover’s Leap. In this
charming and sequestered spot is a cold bath supplied by a
copious and transparent rill, which springs at the foot of the
winding cliff, and ripples down the side of the declivity.
The road <a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
196</span>then descends to Malridge meadow, on the bank of the
Wye, where the river appears like a lake, and the fertile
peninsula of Lancaut rises in a gentle declivity from the margin
of the stream to the isthmus.</p>
<p>“A beautiful walk, two miles in length, skirts this
meadow, at the foot of the stupendous range of Piercefield
cliffs, and then mounts to the house by steps, cut in a steep
rock. As the house stands several hundred feet above the
river, the ascent is long and difficult, but the toil is amply
repaid by the beauty and sublimity of the scene.”</p>
<p>From some of these points, it may be observed, the Severn,
seen <i>beyond</i> the Wye, appears to be considerably
<i>above</i> it; and, however easily explained the phenomenon may
be, an indescribably puzzling effect is produced by the idea that
the latter river, a few miles lower down, runs into the
former. The fact is noticed by Mr. Coxe, whose description
is truly excellent.</p>
<p>“From the Lover’s Leap the walk is carried through
a thick mantle of forests, with occasional openings, which seem
not the result of art or design, but the effect of chance or
nature, and <a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
197</span>seats placed where the spectator may repose and view at
leisure the scenery above, beneath, and around. This</p>
<blockquote><p> Bowery
walk<br />
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day<br />
Falls on the lengthened gloom,</p>
</blockquote>
<p>is conformant to the genius of Piercefield; the screen of wood
prevents the uniformity of a bird’s eye view, and the
imperceptible bend of the amphitheatre conveys the spectator from
one part of the fairy region to the other without perceiving the
gradation. Hence the Wye is sometimes concealed or
half-obscured by overhanging foliage, at others, wholly expanding
to view, is seen sweeping beneath in a broad and circuitous
channel; hence in one place the Severn spreads in the midst of a
boundless expanse of country, and on the opposite side to the
Wye; at another both rivers appear on the same side, and the
Severn seems supported on the summit of the cliffs which form the
bank of the Wye. Hence the same objects present themselves
in different aspects, with varied accompaniments; hence the magic
transition from the impervious gloom of the <a
name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>forest to
open groves; from meadows and lawns, to rocks and precipices, and
from the beauties of English landscape, to the wildness of Alpine
scenery.</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/p198b.jpg">
<img alt=
"View from Wyndcliff"
title=
"View from Wyndcliff"
src="images/p198s.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p>“The summit of Wind Cliff, which towers above the
northern extremity of the grounds, commands, in one point of
view, the whole extent of this interesting scenery: as I stood on
the brow of this precipice, I looked down on the fertile
peninsula of Lancaut, surrounded with rocks and forests,
contemplated the hanging wood, rich lawns, and romantic cliffs of
Piercefield, the castle and town of Chepstow, and traced the Wye,
sweeping in the true outline of beauty, from the Bangor crags to
its junction with the Severn, which spreads into an estuary, and
is lost in the distant ocean.</p>
<p>“A boundless extent of country is seen in every
direction from this commanding eminence, comprehending not less
than nine counties. In the midst of this expanse, I
principally directed my attention to the subject of my tour,
which now drew to a conclusion. I traced, with pleasing
satisfaction, not unmixed with regret, the luxuriant vallies and
romantic hills of this interesting <a name="page199"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 199</span>country, which I had traversed in
various directions, but I dwelt with peculiar admiration on the
majestic rampart which forms its boundary to the west, and
extends in one grand and unbroken outline, from the banks of the
Severn to the Black Mountains,</p>
<blockquote><p> “‘Where
the broken landscape, by degrees<br />
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;<br />
O’er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds<br />
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.’”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Till Piercefield was inherited by Valentine Morris, whose
father had obtained it by purchase, the capabilities of the place
were unknown, principally, we should think, from the view being
hidden by a deep veil of forest. Morris saw everything,
however, with the eye of taste; and without officiously
intermeddling with nature, he contrived, by merely displaying the
treasures that before were concealed, and by opening out paths
through the woods to enable visiters to enjoy them, to render
Piercefield the fairy-land it now appears. He seems to have
been a man of a princely mind, but a thoughtless, unreflecting
disposition. His beautiful property <a
name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>was nothing
to him without admirers; and he was so grateful for admiration,
that he caused his servants to wait upon and feast, gratuitously,
even the vagrant stranger, as soon as his foot had entered the
magic circle. It is hardly necessary to add, therefore,
that by the time the beauties of Piercefield had become
extensively known, their master was ruined. Various other
circumstances, however, concurred to dissipate a large fortune,
and at length he retired to the West Indies, where he had
inherited considerable property. The following anecdote is
told of his adieu to Piercefield:—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Before his final departure from England, he
indulged himself with bidding adieu to Piercefield. In
company with a friend he surveyed his own creation, for the last
time, with apparent composure and manly resignation. On his
return to Chepstow he was surrounded by the poor; who, throwing
themselves on their knees, thanked him for the numerous instances
of his bounty, and implored the blessing of Heaven on their
generous benefactor. Even this affecting spectacle he bore
with silent fortitude, and entered the chaise which conveyed him
to London. <a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
201</span>But he no sooner reached the Gloucestershire side of
the bridge, than his ear was struck with the mournful peal of
bells, muffled, as is usual on the loss of departed friends;
deeply affected with this mark of esteem and regret, he could no
longer control his emotions, and burst into tears.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>He was made lieutenant-governor, and afterwards governor in
chief, of St. Vincent’s; where his affairs prospered so
much that he had almost recovered his fortune, when the island
was attacked by the French. With his usual nobility of
spirit, he advanced large sums out of his private funds towards
the defence, but all in vain: St. Vincent’s was taken, and
Morris Piercefield never could obtain from government either his
outlay or arrears. He returned to England to seek redress;
was arrested by his creditors, and himself a creditor of the
country to a large extent, languished in a debtor’s prison
for seven years. His books, movables, trifles, everything
were sold for bread; and his wife sunk under the horrors of their
situation, and became insane. Morris at length recovered
his liberty, and Lord North determined to shame his <a
name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
202</span>predecessors in the ministry, by performing an act of
common honesty. A minister, however, is seldom honest from
choice, because the outlay of money curtails his resources, and
because the wilful withholding, even of a just debt, does not
involve his character in society as a man of honour. Lord
North accordingly delayed the restitution as long as he could;
and poor Valentine Morris in 1789, was indebted to his
brother-in-law for a bed on which to die.</p>
<p>We cannot refrain from adding an anecdote relating to one of
the family of Walters, to whom the estate of Piercefield formerly
belonged.</p>
<blockquote><p>“Holding one day a conversation with Mr.
Knowles, whom he employed in building the alcove, he made
inquiries concerning the family of Walters, and asked if any of
them were yet living. Knowles replied that William, the
brother of John who sold the estate, was still alive and in great
distress. ‘Bring him to Piercefield,’ said
Morris, ‘and I will make him welcome.’
‘If you would give him your whole estate he could not walk,
he is so much affected with the gout in his feet, and earns a
precarious livelihood by fishing.’ ‘If he then
cannot come <a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
203</span>to me, I will take the first opportunity of calling on
him.’ Being some time afterwards engaged with Knowles
in forming an opening in the wood, he saw two men in a boat;
‘Stay here,’ he said to Knowles, ‘I will cross
the river in that boat, and examine whether the objects I want to
show can be seen from hence.’ Descending hastily he
hailed the watermen, leaped into the boat, was ferried over, and
on his return entered into conversation with the men, and
inquired their names and condition. ‘My name,’
said one of them, ‘is * * * * *, I am a native of Chepstow;
and that man, pointing to his companion, is William
Walters.’ ‘What, Walters of Piercefield!’
exclaimed Morris. ‘Yes, please your honour, I am the
brother of John, who sold the estate that you now
enjoy.’ Morris made no reply; but giving a gratuity
to each of the men, leaped on shore, rapidly ascended the hill,
and rejoining Knowles, cried, ‘I have been talking with
Walters:’ taking out several guineas, he added,
‘carry these to him, and tell him that he shall never want
while it is in my power to assist him.’ Knowles
suggested, that as the man was much addicted to liquor, he would
render <a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
204</span>him more service by a weekly allowance. The next
market-day one of Morris’s servants carried to Walters a
joint of meat, and a small sum of money, which was continued
weekly until his death. Morris defrayed the expenses of his
funeral, and his carriage conveyed the corpse to St. Arvans,
where it was interred in the family vault.” <a
name="citation204"></a><a href="#footnote204"
class="citation">[204]</a></p>
</blockquote>
<p>From Chepstow to the confluence of the Wye with the Severn,
the distance is three miles; but although the banks are in
general lofty, they possess no features of interest to the
descending traveller. It may be sufficient merely to name
the Red Rocks, the Hardwick Cliffs, and Thornwell Woods.
After these St. Ewan’s Rocks appear on the left bank; and
we glide gradually into the wide expanse of the Severn. A
prolongation, however, of the left bank continues for some time
after we are fairly out of the Wye; the peninsula of Beachley,
extending almost half way across the Severn. From this is
the ferry of the Aust Passage, supposed to have been named after
one of the Roman generals. A <a name="page205"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 205</span>steam-packet now plies instead of an
open boat, and lands passengers at a handsome pier at all hours
of the tide.</p>
<p>On the Monmouthshire coast, a little way beyond the mouth of
the Wye, is the Black Rock Inn of the New Passage ferry,
supposed, notwithstanding its name, to be as ancient as the
other. This ferry was suppressed by Oliver Cromwell, on
account of a catastrophe which took place here of a very
interesting description. When the king was pursued by his
enemies, he crossed the Severn to Chiswell Pill on the opposite
side; but when the boatmen returned to the Black Rock, they found
a party of sixty armed republicans, waiting to follow the royal
fugitive. The ferrymen were royalists, but there was no
resisting commands enforced by so many drawn swords, and
reluctantly they took the enemies of their prince on board, and
pulled across the Severn. They landed their unwelcome
freight upon the English Stones, which appeared to be a part of
the shore, but was in reality separated by water, fordable only
at low tide. The tide had just turned. Some moments,
no doubt, were lost in dismay, and some in shouting <a
name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>to the
treacherous boatmen, who lay upon their oars to watch the
event. The English Stones disappeared with a suddenness
customary in the flow of that river; and the cries of sixty
drowning men were lost in the rush of the wild waters of the
Severn.</p>
<p>Before the Black Rock Inn, and near the mouth of the Wye, is
Mathern, formerly the episcopal residence of the bishops of
Llandaff. The church close by is the one pointed to by
tradition as having been raised over the ashes of Theodoric, the
hermit-king, who desecrated the holy solitude of Tintern with the
sounds of battle.</p>
<blockquote><p>“The manor of Matherne, where there is now a
palace, was given to the bishops of Llandaff by Maurice, king of
Glamorganshire, about the year 560, on the following
occasion:—His father, St. Theodoric, as he is usually
called, having resigned his crown to this son, embraced the life
of a hermit. The Saxons invading the country, Theodoric was
reluctantly called from his hermitage to take the command of the
army; he defeated them near Tintern upon the Wye. Being
mortally wounded in the engagement, he precipitated his return,
that he might die among <a name="page207"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 207</span>his friends, and desired his son to
erect a church, and bury him on the spot where he breathed his
last: but scarcely had he proceeded five miles, when he expired
at a place near the conflux of the Wye and Severn. Hence,
according to his desire, a chapel being erected, his body was
placed in a stone coffin. As I was giving orders to repair
this coffin, which was either broken by chance or decayed by age,
I discovered his bones, not in the smallest degree changed,
though after a period of a thousand years, the skull retaining
the aperture of a large wound, which appeared as if it had been
recently inflicted. Maurice gave the contiguous estate to
the church, and assigned to the place the name of Merthur
Tewdrick, or <i>the martyrdom of Theodorick</i>; who, because he
perished in battle against the enemies of the christian name, is
esteemed a martyr.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Our task is now finished: we turn away to seek “fresh
fields and pastures new,” but the murmur of the Wye will
remain long in our ear.</p>
<h2><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
208</span>DISTANCES IN THE TOUR OF THE WYE.</h2>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>From the source of the Wye to</p>
</td>
<td><p>miles.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Stedva Gerrig</p>
</td>
<td><p>2½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Rhaiader</p>
</td>
<td><p>17½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Builth</p>
</td>
<td><p>14</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Hay</p>
</td>
<td><p>15¼</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Clifford Castle</p>
</td>
<td><p>2½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Hereford</p>
</td>
<td><p>16½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Ross</p>
</td>
<td><p>14¼</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3>FROM ROSS TO MONMOTH AND CHEPSTOW.</h3>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="4"><p style="text-align: center"><i>By Land</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>m</i>.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>f</i>.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>p</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>From Ross by the turnpike to Monmouth</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>In a straight line, or as the crow flies</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">9</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>From Ross to Chepstow by the turnpike</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">24</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>By Coleford</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">21</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>In a straight line</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">16</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>The base or supposed tunnel of the hill, between Coldwell and
the New Weir, is six hundred yards; the circuit of the river is
four miles two furlongs.</p>
<table>
<tr>
<td colspan="4"><p style="text-align: center"><a
name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span><i>By
Water</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>m</i>.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>f</i>.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right"><i>p</i>.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>From Ross to Goodrich Castle</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>To Coldwell </p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>To New Weir</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">2</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>To Monmouth</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">5</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">1</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>From Ross to Monmouth</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">20</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>To Tintern</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>To Chepstow</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">60</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>From Ross to Chepstow</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">37</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: right">60</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3>NAMES OF PLACES AS THEY OCCUR IN DESCENDING THE RIVER FROM
ROSS.</h3>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">right
bank</span>.</p>
</td>
<td><p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">left
bank</span>.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Wilton Bridge and Castle</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Weir End</p>
</td>
<td><p>Hill or New Hill Court</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Pencraig House and Wood</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Goodrich</span> Court</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> Castle</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> Priory or Haverford</p>
</td>
<td><p>Walford Church</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>North side of Coppet Wood Hill</p>
</td>
<td><p>Lays Hill</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>Bishop’s Wood</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>Ruerdean Church</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Court Field</p>
</td>
<td><p>Lidbrook</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Welsh Bicknor</p>
</td>
<td><p>Rosemary Topping</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Mr. Warren’s Monument</p>
</td>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Coldwell Rocks</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>South side of Coppet Wood Hill</p>
</td>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Symond’s Yat</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Goodrich Church</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Whitchurch</p>
</td>
<td><p><span class="smcap">New Weir</span></p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
210</span>Great Doward</p>
</td>
<td><p>Highmeadow Woods</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Arthur’s Vale</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Little Doward and Lays House</p>
</td>
<td><p>Table Mount</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Dixton Church</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Monmouth</span></p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Troy House</p>
</td>
<td><p>Halfway House</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Penalt</p>
</td>
<td><p>Redbrook</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Whitebrook</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Pen-y-van Hill and Maypole</p>
</td>
<td><p>Wye Seal-house</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Paper Mills</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Pilstone House</p>
</td>
<td><p>Big’s Weir House</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Llandogo</span></p>
</td>
<td><p>St. Briavels</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Coedithal Weir</p>
</td>
<td><p>Hudknolls</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Llyn Weir</p>
</td>
<td><p>Brook Weir</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Tintern</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Fielding’s House</p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Tintern Abbey</span></p>
</td>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>Bennagor Crags</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Wyndcliff</span> and Moss Cottage</p>
</td>
<td><p>Fryer’s Rocks</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Lover’s Leap</p>
</td>
<td><p>Lancaut</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Piercefield</span></p>
</td>
<td><p>Piercefield Bay</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Twelve Apostles</p>
</td>
<td><p>Tiddenham Rocks</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><span class="smcap">Chepstow</span></p>
</td>
<td><p>Tutshill</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<h3>FROM MONMOUTH TO CHEPSTOW BY THE NEW ROAD.</h3>
<table>
<tr>
<td><p>Upper Redbrook</p>
</td>
<td><p>2¼ miles.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Lower Redbrook</p>
</td>
<td><p>¼</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Florence College</p>
</td>
<td><p>3</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Big’s Weir</p>
</td>
<td><p>½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Llandogo</p>
</td>
<td><p>1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
211</span>Tintern</p>
</td>
<td><p>2¾</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Tintern Abbey</p>
</td>
<td><p>¾</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Wyndcliff and Moss Cottage</p>
</td>
<td><p>2</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>St. Arvans</p>
</td>
<td><p>1</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Crossway Green</p>
</td>
<td><p>1½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p>Chepstow</p>
</td>
<td><p>½</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><p> </p>
</td>
<td><p>15½</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>The distance from Chepstow to the embouchure of the Wye about
three miles.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<div class="gapmediumline"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">J. Haddon, Castle Street,
Finsbury.</p>
<h2>Footnotes</h2>
<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41"
class="footnote">[41]</a> Duncomb’s Collections.</p>
<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63"
class="footnote">[63]</a> Monumenta Antiqua.</p>
<p><a name="footnote85"></a><a href="#citation85"
class="footnote">[85]</a> Whateley’s Observations on
Modern Gardening.</p>
<p><a name="footnote106"></a><a href="#citation106"
class="footnote">[106]</a> Of late years, Mr. Pennie
attempted to revive a taste for such subjects in his
“Britain’s Historical Drama,” but without
effect. It a work, however, of considerable merit.
Southey’s Madoc has only a slender groundwork in British
history.</p>
<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158"
class="footnote">[158]</a> According to Dugdale,
£132. 1s. 4d.; and Speed, £256. 11s. 6d.</p>
<p><a name="footnote204"></a><a href="#citation204"
class="footnote">[204]</a> Historical Tour.</p>
<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WYE AND ITS ASSOCIATIONS***</p>
<pre>
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