THE CAMBRIAN DIRECTORY. (continued 3)

The Whitecliffe, opposite to the castle, and Hackluyt’s Close, near the Leominster road, are the two other most favourite walks; but that round the castle is resorted to, as the most fashionable promenade.

The town of Ludlow has been calculated to contain seven hundred and two houses, and nearly three thousand five hundred and sixty-five persons. [166] The public buildings are, the Market-house, the Guildhall, the Prison, called Goalford’s Tower, and the Cross: the rooms over the latter, are dedicated for the instruction of thirty poor boys, and fifteen poor girls; and the former, at a proper age, are apprenticed out. The town enjoys no particular manufactory, but its chief trade consists in the article of gloves.

The castle, the palace of the Prince of Wales, in right of his principality, is now entirely in ruins, except Mortimer’s tower, which was repaired by Sir Henry Sidney, during his presidency: it is now inhabited by an old servant of Lord Powis’s, a very civil and intelligent man, who related, with the utmost concern, the sad vicissitudes this castle had experienced; he insisted on our entering the tower of his habitation, and ascending the crumbling stairs, for a full display of the various beauties in the vicinity of Ludlow, he expatiated much on a valuable diamond ring, which he had discovered himself, when attempting to drain a cellar; the inscription of Hebrew characters, round the gold, within the ring, was interpreted by the larned, “A good heart;” this, and several coins of silver and gold, which were found at the same time, are now in the possession of Lord Powis: near the same spot, a number of skeletons were likewise dug up. He next conducted us to a small room in this tower, to observe an old stone placed over the fire-place, with a cross; the letters W. S. and the date 1575, engraven on it.

Over the South-east gateway, leading into the interior of the castle, are the arms of Elizabeth, Queen of England, and beneath, those of the Sydney family, with the following inscription:

HOMINIBUS INGRATIS LOQUIMINI LAPIDES—ANN, REGNI REGINÆ ELIZABETHAE 23.—THE 28 YEAR COPLET OF THE RESIDENCE OF SYR HENRY SYDNEY KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, 1581.

This castle, founded by Roger de Montgomery, on a rock, in the North-east angle of the town, supposed to be in the year 1112, was considerably enlarged by Sir Henry Sydney. Its ancient British name, Dinan Llys Tywysog, signifies the Prince’s Palace. The vicissitudes of war have frequently been exemplified in this castle; it has had its Lords and its Princes; it has been plundered, captured, dismantled, and repaired, in those periods of civil warfare, which this unfortunate country, in former times, continually experienced. Philips, in “ The History and Antiquities of Shrewsbury,” during those melancholy troubles, gives some account of this castle. Some historians affirm, that Edward V. and his brother, were born in Ludlow Castle; but others, not crediting this assertion, attribute their birth to Wigmore: certain, however, it is, that during their minority, they here held their court, under the tuition of Lord Anthony Woodville, and Lord Scales, till they were removed to London, and soon after smothered in the Tower, by the command of their cruel and ambitious uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. Here, likewise, Prince Arthur, the eldest son of Henry VII. celebrated his marriage with the virtuous Catharine of Arragon; and in 1502, he here paid the debt of nature, and was buried in the cathedral church of Worcester.

The account of the representation, at Ludlow, of Milton’s celebrated Mask of Comus, is thus mentioned in the Life of that poet, prefixed to Newton’s edition: “It was in the year 1634, that his Mask was presented at Ludlow Castle. There was formerly a president of Wales, and a sort of a court kept at Ludlow, which has since been abolished; and the president, at that time, was the Earl of Bridgwater, before whom Milton’s Mask was presented, on Michaelmas night; and the principal parts, those of the Two Brothers, were performed by his Lordship’s sons, the Lord Brackly, and Mr. Thomas Egerton; and that of the Lady, by his Lordship’s daughter, the Lady Alice Egerton.”

In the first year of William and Mary, the presidency was dissolved by act of parliament, “being a great grievance to the subject, and a means to introduce an arbitrary power, especially in the late reign, when a new convert family were at the head of it.”

The church next demanded our attention, the only one belonging to this town. The time of the foundation of this ancient and elegant structure cannot now be strictly ascertained: it is situated on an eminence, in the centre of the town. The square tower is lofty, and of very light architecture, but the upper part suffered much, by the all-destroying hand of Oliver Cromwell. The highly-finished statues round the battlements, are much mutilated, and many entirely destroyed. On entering the church, six light Gothic fluted arches on each side, with four similar ones of larger dimensions, supporting the tower, are strikingly grand. Under the organ-loft, we passed into the chancel, now only made use of, for the administration of the sacrament. This is a most elegant building, with thirteen stalls on each side, similar, in stile, to the generality of cathedrals; the seats of the stalls, all of which turn back, exhibit specimens of curious workmanship, with strange devices, and ridiculous conceits. Some of the glass painted windows are still in good preservation; the large one, over the altar-piece, represents the History of St. Lawrence, to whom this church is dedicated, in fifty-four compartments. The other windows of the chancel are much mutilated, collected from different parts of the church, and several panes broken, by the unmeaning idleness of boys;—regardless of these valuable relicks of antiquity.—In the side of the wall, near the altar, are two stone stalls, with a piscina opposite.

In this chancel is a handsome monument, erected to the memory of Robert Townsend, and his wife, with several figures of their sons and daughters carved round the bottom: over them are the arms of their family and connexions: it bears the date of 1581.

A modern monument to Theophilus Solway, Esq.

An ancient one to Ambrosia Sydney, who died at Ludlow Castle. This lady was daughter to Sir Henry Sidney, who attained the important situation of the Presidency of Wales, in the year 1564. He died at Bewdley, 1584, and left this singular injunction to his executors: “that his heart should be buried at Shrewsbury, his bowels at Bewdley, and his body at Ludlow, in the tomb of his favourite daughter Ambrosia:” this order was punctually executed; and the leaden urn, containing his heart, was six inches deep, and five inches in diameter at the top, with this inscription carved three times round it:

Her lith the Harte of Syr Henrye Sydney L. P. Anno Domini, 1586.

For an engraving of this urn, taken from a drawing of Mr. S. Nicholas, see the Gentleman’s Magazine for September, 1794.

Another monument [172a] to Edward Wetson, and his wife, kneeling opposite to each other.

In a small chapel, to the left of the chancel, are three very handsome painted glass-windows, containing the history of the Apostles, in eighteen compartments; there is also a rosary.

In this chapel is an elegant marble tomb, to Sir Thomas Bridgeman, serjeant at law. In this church is likewise buried Sir John Bridgeman, the last president but one of Ludlow Castle. He was extremely rigid in his office: and one Ralph Gittins, who had probably experienced his severity, composed the following epitaph on him:

“Here lies Sir John Bridgeman, clad in his clay; God said to the Devil, sirrah, take him away.” [172b]

A chapel corresponding on the opposite side, contains the royal arms of Charles, and several old iron armoury.

Should the tourist find time to make any stay at Ludlow, several excursions in the neighbourhood, will prove highly gratifying. Oakley Park, the elegant seat of the Dowager Lady Clive, claims the greatest attention; it is situated about two miles from Ludlow, on the banks of the Teme river; just beyond this, is a seat of — Walpole, Esq. About five miles is Downton Castle; the noble mansion, and fine walks of Richard Payne Knight, Esq. one of the representatives in Parliament for the borough of Ludlow. Being necessitated to leave this charming country by a particular day, we had no opportunity of visiting these celebrated, and much admired seats.

With regret we left the fascinating situation of Ludlow, and crossing Lawford’s Bridge, we ascended an eminence, along a fine beautiful terrace, commanding a most charming, and pleasant country to our left, with the fertile county of Hereford, abundant with orchards, which were all bending with the produce of the year. About two miles from Ludlow on the right, we paused to admire the delightful seat of Theophilus Richard Solway, Esq. situated on an eminence, and skirted by a rich plantation of wood, towards the West: it is called the Lodge. Descending into a bottom, a rich country, studded with farm-houses, soon brought us to the town of

LEOMINSTER,

or Lemister, consisting of one long street; the Market-place in the centre, bearing a very old date, and likewise the church, are both deserving of the traveller’s notice. It is situated in a flat, and the country round it not particularly interesting.

From hence, a turnpike-road, shewing to advantage, the rich culture of the country, soon brought us within sight of the venerable cathedral of

HEREFORD,

backed by a sloping eminence just rising behind, and beautifully clothed with wood. Being under a particular engagement to meet a party at Ross, to accompany us down the Wye the following day, time would not allow us to investigate this respectable city, so minutely, as it deserves. Our observations therefore, were so cursory, that “The Hereford Guide,” must supply the deficiences in this part of our journal; this neglect, the tourist must attribute to our delay at the engaging town of Ludlow.

At Hereford, we for some time hesitated respecting the hire of a boat to convey us to Ross; but the exorbitant demand of the boatmen soon determined us to pursue the turnpike-road, and follow, as near as possible, the course of the Wye. The orchards were overcharged with “bending fruit,” and seemed to prognosticate a more favourable cyder season, than has of late been experienced. The retrospect of the city, with its ancient cathedral, formed a most attracting view; and about three miles, a most lovely vale, bounded by the hills of South Wales, arrested our attention. A continuation of the same scenery of orchards, in which Herefordshire so peculiarly abounds, with the road continually dipping into shallow vallies, attended us within five miles of Ross, when, ascending a steep hill, a view of that town, or, rather, of its far conspicuous spire, broke in upon the reposing character of the scene. This presently conducted us to Wilton Bridge, thrown over the Wye, about half a mile from the town; and, leaving the castle of Wilton to the left, ascended the town of

ROSS,

to the inn, so celebrated as the original habitation of Mr. Kyrle; but more generally known by the name of “The Man of Ross.” The landlord seems rather to depend upon the custom of strangers, from this circumstance, than the accommodations the inn offers. On the bridge we paused a short time, to take a view of the meandering Vaga, which here considerably widens; several pleasure-boats, of various construction, were riding at anchor, and united to enliven the watry scene, whilst its smooth tranquil surface, reflected and reverted every object situated on the bank.

The life and character of Mr. Kyrle has too often been insisted on, and too frequently celebrated in verse, to be again repeated, unless to “point its moral to the heart;” teaching us, that self-approbation can confer an inward happiness, superior to all worldly applause; for,

“What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy; The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, Is virtue’s prize.”—

Such a bustle pervaded the whole town, of parties assembling here, for an aquatic expedition to Monmouth, the following day, that with difficulty we obtained a small room: from this circumstance, it would be advisable for parties to secure themselves accommodations during the summer-months, a considerable time beforehand, such is the continued assemblage of parties forming for the Wye: a boat likewise should be hired, and by mentioning the number of your party, the landlord will be a proper judge, respecting the size. Strangers may pass, with pleasure, the greatest part of a day, in surveying the views in the vicinity of Ross; views, which must gratify the most superficial observer; but more particularly from the church-yard. A walk through the latter place to “The Prospect,” so called from the profuse variety of objects, in the beautiful, and the sublime, which are presented from this spot. The sudden burst of such a collection of beauties, the eye, indeed, cannot contain without gratification. The river below bends itself, in the whimsical and fantastical shape of a horse-shoe: this singular wind of the river—the ruins of Wilton Castle—the luxuriant counties of Hereford and Monmouth, and the beautiful Chase Woods, all combine to promote one peculiarly grand and beautiful effect. To enter into a minute description of objects, so various and extensive, is impossible: in fine, to delineate the beauties of the Vaga, with all its accompaniments, would be enumerating every object that is interesting in Nature. Having sufficiently pored over the view from the Prospect, a ramble through the meadows will next prove highly pleasing.

The situation of Ross, though exceedingly beautiful, has nothing in itself to detain attention: the streets narrow, dirty, and inconvenient. The castle of Wilton, situated on the banks of the Wye, was founded in the reign of Henry I.; it was formerly a nunnery, from whence the Greys de Wilton derive their title.

Early in the morning, we congratulated each other on the favourableness of the weather, and with good spirits provided all the necessaries requisite for our water expedition; the enjoyment of which depends much on the season. The hire of the boat to Monmouth, by water, is one pound eleven shillings and six-pence, not including ten shillings for provisions for the men, who likewise expect an additional small sum, after the fatigues of the day. The boat, navigated by three men, will contain ten or twelve people, without any inconvenience, and is properly protected by an awning, from the heat of the sun. The distance from Ross to Chepstow, by water, is more than forty miles, which strangers occasionally accomplish in one day; but this hurrying method will not allow them an opportunity of inspecting, with proper attention, the various objects which deserve to be noticed; and they cannot possibly find time to leave their boat, and climb the rugged, steep banks of the Wye, in search of views, which, though visited by the discerning few, yet merit the regard of every amateur of nature’s landscapes: and here it may not be improper to mention, the boatmen, from laziness, too frequently suffer these most interesting spots to be passed unnoticed by strangers, merely to avoid the delay of a few minutes. Gilpin, in his excellent treatise, “The Observations on the River Wye,” thus analyzes, in the second section, the beauties of the “echoing Vaga,” and divides its constituent parts into—the steepness of its banks—its mazy course—the ground, woods, and rocks, which are its native ornaments—and, lastly, the buildings. To this he might with propriety have added, its echoes—the variety of views from its banks—the fishing coracles, which are continually on the river; for all these contribute to form one pleasing and interesting effect.

We embarked on board our boat, a little below the town; and the first object which drew our attention, was the ivy-mantled walls of Wilton: the annual growth of the few trees which encircle it, will, in time, render it a more picturesque object; it is at present so sufficiently seen from the water, as not to require the stranger to disembark for farther inspection. A few yards below, we passed under Wilton Bridge, communicating the roads from Hereford to Ross: it is an elegant structure, of several arches. From hence, for four or five miles, the banks are tame and uninteresting, and so high above the river, as to prevent a prospect of the adjacent country; but a group of cattle, some ruminating on the brink, some browzing on the ashlings, which overhung the stream, and others

—“from their sides, The troublous insects lashing with their tails; Returning still,”—

formed a “rural confusion.” The velocity of the stream shortly brought us to that noble scenery, about four miles from Ross, which so eminently distinguishes and constitutes the beauty of the Wye; before us, the noble remains of Goodrich Castle, cresting a steep eminence, enveloped with trees, presented themselves; behind, the thick foliage of Chase Woods closed the picture. The happiest gradation of tints, and the liveliest blending of colours, was here conspicuous. On the right hand we landed on the shore, in order to make a minute investigation of the castle: it is certainly a grand ruin, and stands on an eminence, naturally so steep, as to render it, in former times, capable of some resistance against a formidable enemy. On our first entrance into the ruin, we naturally indulged reflections on past scenes, contemplated the traces of ancient splendour; and connecting what remains, with what is destroyed; we pondered on the vanity of human art, and the ravages of time, which exhibit, in this ruin, their compleatest triumph. The warrior, who strove to preserve its original grandeur against the attacks of Cromwell, is buried in Walford church, situated on the opposite side of the river, and seen from the castle. The different parts of the building, bear evident marks of its having been erected at various times; from a seat in the castle-yard is the most advantageous spot for surveying, in one view, the whole of this ruin: an octagon pillar, of light and elegant workmanship, is seen to great advantage through the gate-way, and adds considerably to the magnificence of this ancient pile: it now belongs to Dr. Griffin, of Hadnuck, the lord of the manor. To return to our boat: we took a different and more circuitous route, for the purpose of inspecting the remains of Goodrich Priory, now converted into a farm. The chapel has experienced the same vicissitude; and those walls, which formerly re-echoed with the chaunting of voices, and the solemn peal, now repeat the continued strokes of the flail; in many parts of the walls, the initials of names of persons, who have long since paid the debt of nature, and left behind no other memorial, are carved with characteristic rudeness, shewing, to every passing stranger, the prevalency of that universal passion—the love of fame. The Gothic windows, and the cross, erected on each end of the building, shew evident marks of its former purpose. The boat usually meets the passengers at another reach of the river; but it is a plan by no means to be pursued; since, by missing a circuit round the castle, its different tints, and variety of attitudes, occasioned by one of the boldest sweeps of the Wye, are entirely lost. A short time after we had taken our last retrospect of Goodrich Castle, the spire of Ruredean church appeared in front, just peeping from among the woody skirts of the Forest of Dean: a little below, Courtfield House, belonging to Mr. Vaughn, was seen, in a very picturesque point of view, with the ruins of the chapel, forming the back ground. In Courtfield House, tradition reports, the warlike Henry V. was nursed; and in the church of Welch Buckner, situated to the right, in a noble amphitheatre, enclosed with rocks, first embraced the Christian religion. A busy scene, of craft loading and unloading, and coals shipping for various parts from the quay at Lidbroke, presents a picture of cheerful activity, and forms a pleasing contrast to the quiet, rich, and retired spots, we had left behind us; such spots, as were well adapted to form the mind of Britain’s glory—the virtuous Henry. The banks now became richly clothed with wood, from the summits of the highest rocks to the water’s edge; and a hill in front, called Rosemary Topping, from the mellow luxuriance of its sides, closed the prospect. Almost every sweep presents a new object, to strike the admiration of the spectator: the transitions are sudden, but never so harsh as to disgust; even the contrast between the embellishments of art we had just left, and the wild rocks, which here exhibit nature in her most striking attitudes, give an additional impression to each other.

We now reached those fine mass of rocks, called Coldwell, one of which, Symond’s Yatch, to the left, it is customary for company to ascend, in order to view the mazy and circuitous course of the river, and the extensive prospect around. The Forest of Dean, the counties of Monmouth, Hereford, and Gloucester, were extended before us, studded with villages, diversified with clusters of half-visible farm houses; with many a grey steeple, “embosomed high in tufted trees.” In painting the several views from this summit, the happiest description would fail; the impression can only be conveyed by the eye. The river here makes a most extraordinary winding round the promontory, and having completed a circuit of more than five miles, flows a second time immediately under Symond’s Yatch. The whole of this mazy course may be traced from this eminence. From hence we discovered a very remarkable polysyllabical articulate echo, and we reckoned twelve distinct reverberations from the explosion of a gun, fired on this spot. It is here again customary for the boatmen to impose on strangers, and if they can prevail on them, during their walk to Symond’s Yatch, will take the boat round the circuit of five miles, and meet them at New Wier, in order that no time should be lost; but this laziness we by no means encouraged, and the whole course of this extraordinary and romantic sweep proved highly gratifying. Goodrich spire, which we again wound round, presented itself; huge fragments of massy rocks which have rolled down from the precipices, opposite Manuck Farm, here almost choaked up the course of the stream. The changing attitudes and various hues of Symond’s Yatch, lifting its almost spiral head high above the other rocks, as we receded and drew near it, supplied a combination of tints surprisingly gay and beautiful; and having accomplished a sweep of five miles, we reached, within a quarter of a mile, the spot where we began our ascent to this steep eminence.

The view, at New Wier, next unfolded itself; but a disagreeable scene here generally occurs, and interrupts the pleasure of contemplation: a large assemblage of beggars, men, women, and children, on the banks, bare-footed, and scarcely a rag to cover them, followed our boat, imploring charity; and several almost throwing themselves into the water, to catch your money, which, every now and then, the bigger seize from the less. This idle crew subsist on the trifles they obtain from strangers; and as beggary is their professed trade, if their wants are not satisfied, they generally add insolence, with an oath, to their demands.

But I have omitted to mention, that before we reached the New Wier, the spire of Haunton on Wye, cresting a hill at the extremity of a long reach, and a fantastic barren rock, jutting out from the green foliage which encircles it, presenting itself bold and conspicuous, formed prominent and interesting features in the landscape: this is called “Bearcroft,” receiving its appellation from the very respectable and learned counsellor of that name. Several rocks indeed, particularly in this part of the river, are named by the Council, who have long made it a practice of exploring the rich and bold scenery of the Wye, on their assize circuit. Gilpin, considering New Wier as the second grand scene on the Wye, thus describes it: “The river is wider than usual in this part, and takes a sweep round a towering promontory of rock, which forms the side screen on the left, and is the grand feature of the view.—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. 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 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.” The accuracy and elegancy of this description, drawn by so masterly a pen, I hope, will amply compensate for the length of this quotation. The extensive iron-works, mentioned in this passage, belong to Mr. Partridge. Below the New Wier, a continuation of the same rich scenery still arrested our attention, and rocks and wood seemed to contend, which should be most conspicuous; till the winding of the river, round Doward’s Rock, on which was formerly a Roman station, brought us under the house of Mr. Hatley, which commands a view of the river as far as Monmouth, when it is terminated by the town, and bridge of six arches. As we drew near

MONMOUTH,

the house of Dr. Griffins, situated on an eminence, and a banqueting room, erected by the inhabitants of the place, appeared above the town, on the left.

The town of Monmouth lies too low, to form a grand appearance from the water, but is, in itself, neat and well-built, and pleasantly situated on the banks of the Wye.

As we repaired to our inn, we were both involuntarily led to take a retrospect of the past amusements of the day. The partial gleams of sunshine had given additional tints to the rich and bold scenery, and every thing had conspired to render it a most interesting aquatic excursion. The variety of scenes which Claude would have selected, had he now existed, for his canvas; with rapture, too, would he have caught the tints; and, with the happiest effect, combined the objects into a picture, kept up our attention, and removed that monotony which too often accompanies water excursions. Such has been the pleasure of our first day’s water expedition; and, from the impression it made on us, we eagerly look forward to some future period, when we may again retrace views, which memory will ever hold dear, and the pleasure be then redoubled, with the remembrance of past occurrences.

The evening we dedicated to the survey of Monmouth.—Opposite the Beaufort Arms, the most convenient inn in the town, is the town-house, handsomely built, with a full length statue on the outside, facing the street, with this inscription under it: “Henry the Fifth, born at Monmouth, August the ninth, 1387.” On the birth of this warlike and virtuous prince, the charter was granted to the town of Monmouth: it is governed by a mayor, two bailiffs, fifteen aldermen, nine constables, two serjeants, and two beadles. The castle now bears few vestiges of its former grandeur; and of the regal dome, scarcely a wreck has escaped, through the long lapse of years, the ravages of time: where a mighty king once gave audience, and where vassals knelt, now assemble the animate appendages of a farm-yard.

Near the castle is a very antiquated house, now converted into a school, the property of the Duke of Beaufort. To this town Wihenoc de Menemuc, or Monmouth, in the reign of Henry I. brought over a convent of black Monks from St. Florence, and placed them first in the church of St. Cadoc, near the castle, and after, in the church of St. Mary. It was among other ancient priories, and seized by the crown, during the wars with France; but was restored again, made denison, and continued till the general suppression, in the reign of Henry VIII. [189] From hence we walked to the church-yard; close to which is the room where Geoffry of Monmouth composed his well-known History: this is now a day-school. Monmouth has likewise to boast of a free-school, founded here, from the following curious circumstance: Mr. Jones, a native of Newland, being in distress, left his parish and went to London, where he engaged himself as servant to a Hamburgh merchant, and proving trusty in his office, he was by degrees advanced, till at length he attained a fortune of his own; willing to prove how far the charity of his native place would extend towards him, in disguise, he applied for that relief, which he was enabled to shew towards others, but his parish taking no notice of him, referred him to Monmouth, and would not redress his pretended complaints: the latter however, being more charitably disposed, relieved him according to his wishes. Having thus proved their generosity, he acquainted them of his real situation, and promised to repay their kindness, by obliging them in any demand, they should request. On this, they solicited the foundation of a free-school, which he immediately built, liberally endowed, and which from that time has been well supported. The walk to the Folly, we were informed, would have afforded us some beautiful and extensive prospects; the whole of this information we should probably have found true, but the evening closing, we were very reluctantly necessitated to return to our inn.

Early in the morning we renewed our survey of Monmouth: the church first demanded notice: it is a handsome structure, but the inside offers nothing remarkable for the inspection of the antiquarian. The gaol, built after the plan of the benevolent Howard, is situated in a healthy spot, and, in every respect, rendered as commodious and comfortable, as such a place will allow, for the unfortunate inhabitants. Monmouth, indeed, contains several good houses, and the neighbourhood is respectable. A bridge at the extremity of the town, with the ancient gateway, bears every mark of antiquity.

The hire of the boat, from Monmouth to Chepstow, is on the same plan as from Ross to Monmouth, the distance being nearly equal. Nothing now remained, but to recommence our water excursion; and we accordingly embarked a quarter of a mile below the town, where the river Monnow joins itself with the Wye; from hence Monnow-mouth, or Monmouth. The weather still continued favourable for our schemes: the banks on the left, were, at first, low; but as we receded from the town, the spire of Monmouth in the retrospect, with the Kemmin woods, rising from a rock of great height, on our left, under which the river meanders, engaged our attention; and to our right, Pen-y-van hill, was the bold and rich scenery we enjoyed, on our first re-embarkation.

The same scenery of rock, wood, and water, which so captivated us yesterday, still continued, occasionally diversified by light vessels skimming by our boat, and increasing in number, as we approached nearer the sea. The rude hail of the boatmen, as they passed, was re-echoed by the rocks, and the dingy white sails of the vessels, which soon disappeared round some bold promontory, were particularly picturesque. Coleman’s Rocks appeared alternately, mantled with underwood, and pointed crags; large fragments scattered in the river, here divide the counties of Monmouth and Gloucester. At Redbrooke Hills, the curling smoke issuing from the iron-works, formed a pleasing-accompaniment to the scenery, and the whole exhibited a picture of industrious labour. These works belong to Mr. Turner: the wood and meadow land of Whitebrook Hills, were finely contrasted with the busy scene at Redbrooke. From hence a long reach, with Fidenham Chase Hill rising conspicuously in the front, brought us to the village of

LLANDOGO;

diversified with cottages, from the base to the highest summit of the sloping eminence. This village is about nine miles from Monmouth, and arrests particular observation; here vessels of considerable burden were loading with iron, and other commodities, for various ports. The appearance of the river, here, changed; the translucent stream, which had hitherto alternately reflected, as in a mirror, the awful projection of the rocks, and the soft flowery verdure of its banks, was affected, by the influence of the tide, and rendered turbid and unpleasant to the sight.

A turn of the river soon brought us to the village of

TINTERN:

we here observed the ruins of an old mansion, belonging to Mr. Farmer, of Monmouth; this house appears of an old date, and might probably claim the attention of the curious antiquary, was he not so wrapt up in contemplating the venerable Abbey, which presents its Gothic pile, in solemn majesty. This august building, great in ruins, and awfully grand in appearance, impels the stranger, as it were, imperceptibly, to land and inspect its noble arches, its tottering pillars, and its highly finished windows; the specimens of ancient architecture, which formerly were delicately wrought by the hand of art, are now finely decked by that of nature. On our first entrance, our attention was too much engrossed, to exchange the mutual communication of thought; but the care which has been officiously taken to remove every fragment, lying scattered through the immense area of the fabric, and the smoothness of the shorn grass, which no scythe should have dared to clip, in a great measure perverts the character of the ruin: these circumstances but ill accord with the mutilated walls of an ancient ruin, which has braved the pitiless storms of so many centuries. In this respect, we by no means agreed with Gilpin, who thus describes it: “We excuse—perhaps we approve—the neatness that is introduced within. It may add to the beauty of the scene—to its novelty it undoubtedly does.” But when this disgust was a little abated, we indulged those reflections, which scenes of ancient grandeur naturally recall.

This beautiful ruin is cruciform, measuring two hundred and thirty feet in length, and thirty-three in breadth; the transept stretches north and south, one hundred and sixty feet. [194] This cistertian abbey was founded by Walter de Clare, in the year 1131, and dedicated to St. Mary, in the reign of Henry VIII. It experienced the same fate with many other monasteries, and was granted, at its dissolution, to the Earl of Worcester, in the year 1537.

As we receded from the banks, Tintern Abbey, with the Gothic fret-work of the eastern window, seemingly bound together by the treillage of ivy, appeared in the most pleasing point of view; sloping hills and rich woods forming a fine back-ground. As we drew nearer

CHEPSTOW,

some most noble rocks, “nature’s proud bastions,” opened upon us, to the left, grander than any we had hitherto admired, and which, we had previously determined, were inconceivably fine, and surpassed any idea we had formed of the channel of this romantic river: to add to the magnificence of the whole, the setting sun tinged the rocks with the most resplendent colours, and the dewy freshness of the evening improved the charm of the scene; the one enchanting the sense, the other refreshing it. The lofty Wine Cliff, to the right, and Piercefield, with the curious projecting rocks, called the Twelve Apostles, and Peter’s Thumb, heighten, to the very extent of beauty, this noble scene, gratifying, beyond measure, to the admirer of nature. Another reach brought us in sight of Chepstow Castle, on a prominent rock, of which it seemed to form a part; noble in situation, and grand in appearance. The singular constructed bridge, the rocks, and the scarce visible town, here made a most charming picture: this we enjoyed exceedingly, but regretted a few more minutes would set us on shore, and conclude our excursion on the Wye; an excursion which, the farther we proceeded, the more we were interested; and so much so, as to determine a renewal of this pleasing tour, another summer. The wooden bridge thrown over the Wye, at this place, is of very singular construction; the boards forming the flooring are all designedly loose, but prevented, by pegs fattened at the extremity of them, from being carried away by the tide, and by that ingenious contrivance gradually rise and fall with it, which is here frequently known to rise to the extraordinary height of seventy feet.

Not having visited the church, in consequence of the bad weather, at the commencement of our tour, we determined now to inspect it. The entrance, through the western door, is an elegant specimen of Saxon architecture, richly wrought, with three arches; in the inside is the monument of Sir Henry Martin, one of the twelve judges, who presided at the condemnation of Charles I. and was confined in the castle seven and twenty years.

A curious carved one to the Marquis of Worcester and Lady, though not buried here; and another, of the date 1620, to the memory of Mrs. Clayton and her two husbands, both kneeling.

This church originally belonged to the alien Benedictine priory of Strigule, but converted, at the reformation, into the parish church of Chepstow.

Admittance to the celebrated walks of Piercefield can only be obtained on Tuesdays and Fridays. To survey these with that attention which they deserve, occupy several hours; the liveliest description cannot do justice to the rich and bold scenery, with all its accompaniments; the eye can alone receive the impression, for,

“How long so e’er the wanderer roves, each step Shall wake fresh beauties, each short point presents A different picture; new, and yet the same.”

“The winding of the precipice, (says Gilpin) is the magical secret, by which all these enchanting scenes are produced.” At one point, both above and below, as far as the eye can reach, rolls in majestic windings, the river Wye; at another, the Severn, hastening to meet “its sister river,” is discovered, till at last they are both lost in the Bristol Channel; at another, these scenes are concealed, and thick woods, apparently coeval with time itself, and a long range of rock, burst upon “the wanderer,” with irresistible beauty and attraction. The occasional recurrence also of the rude bench, overshadowed by some umbrageous tree, and concealed from the steep precipice below, by thick underwood, allow only glimpses of the surrounding scenery.

The house has received great repairs, and elegantly furnished by the present possessor, Colonel Wood. Every apartment, indeed, has its appropriate embellishments.

I have thus brought my Tour to a conclusion; a Tour, which has been productive of much amusement, and, I hope, not entirely devoid of advantage: it only remains, therefore, for me to add, that the Two Friends, having completed a pedestrian circuit of near eight hundred miles, parted with mutual regret, jointly exclaiming,

“Cambria, as thy romantic vales we leave, And bid farewell to each retiring hill, Where fond attention seems to linger still, Tracing the broad bright landscape; much we grieve, That, mingled with the toiling croud, no more We may return thy varied views to mark,”