ANCIENT STREETS
AND
HOMESTEADS OF ENGLAND

Ancient Streets
AND
Homesteads of England

By ALFRED RIMMER
AND AN INTRODUCTION
BY THE VERY REV. J. S. HOWSON, D.D.
DEAN OF CHESTER

PREFACE.

IT cannot with truth be said that monumental history is treated in our day with scanty regard. Never, perhaps, were such permanent and forcible memorials of the past as the Arch of Titus in Rome, the Pont du Gard in the south of France, and the Porta Nigra of Trèves, visited and gazed upon with warmer interest or a deeper sense of their value. We all feel the power that is exerted over us by the ruins of great Castles and great Abbeys. And in another way is this strong feeling of our times very widely manifested. I refer to the restoration of Cathedrals and Churches—not only in our own country now for many years—but, more recently, in France. This restorative work may not always have been conducted with faultless taste or perfect judgment, but (to say nothing of religious motives) it testifies to a high appreciation of the importance of history written in stone.

There is, however, what may be termed a minor monumental history, which has not by any means always received its due attention. Our country is full of historic scenes, where the past is visibly recorded, and where, a few years ago, it was more visibly recorded than at present. Old states of society, old modes of living, obsolete habits of the people, are commemorated in many a small building which attracts little notice from the ordinary passer by. The lives of eminent persons, public events of high significance, have left their mark in villages, and market towns, and wayside places, where these recollections ought to be cherished, and where, if possible, the hand of the destroyer ought to be arrested. It should be added that nearly all such scenes and such fragments are pleasing in their aspect and worthy of the artist’s pencil as well as of the historian’s pen.

Under the influence of mixed feelings, made up partly of delight in what remains of this kind, partly of sorrowful regret for what is lost, I cannot hesitate to recommend these drawings by Mr. Rimmer, which he has illustrated by a running commentary. I do not commit myself to all his conclusions, which embrace a great multiplicity of subjects connected with very various parts of our country. The plan of the book is, of necessity, somewhat desultory; but I think there is some advantage, as certainly there is no fatigue, in rambling with him irregularly from county to county, through towns and hamlets, and using his eyes as we travel. We cannot all literally see these places ourselves; and if we were to see them, we might easily, through the want of some guidance, fail to observe their true character and expressive meaning. It should be remembered, too, that large numbers of such historic and picturesque buildings as Mr. Rimmer here delineates have been destroyed, or are in danger now of destruction. It is something if drawings preserve for us in one sense what in another sense (and a very melancholy one) is irreparably lost. Such views, too, and such pages as these, may help us to set a higher value on that which survives. On the whole, it seems to me evident that this book is a very useful contribution to what I have termed minor monumental history.

I will exemplify what I mean, and what I understand Mr. Rimmer to mean, by one or two independent illustrations, that suggest themselves to my memory; and if, in some degree, I appear to differ from him as to the resources of this kind which are afforded by different parts of the country, this only shows that, with all his care and diligence, he has not exhausted his subject.

Two illustrations shall be taken from the northern counties: and the first shall be the town of Kendal, which our author dismisses as containing hardly any architectural reminiscences of the past. To this I somewhat demur. Kendal, indeed, has no ancient houses, but its ground-arrangement is very singular; and this must be very ancient. It consists almost entirely of one broad winding street a mile in length, from which narrow lanes, which are not properly streets, open to the right and left, each being entered by a very small passage. Such narrow passages could very easily have been defended, in case of forays from the Scottish border; and it might be conjectured that they were planned with this danger in view. This question, indeed, must be dismissed as a puzzle nearly as great as that which is connected with the origin of the Chester Rows. The point of historical interest, for the sake of which Kendal is here brought forward, is this,—that through this broad winding street, where the ground rises and falls very boldly, and where even now the houses are so varied in character that on days of light and shade they supply many good subjects for pictures, the troops of Charles Edward marched or straggled in 1745, both on the way to Derby and on their return. Through this circumstance, especially if we combine it with stories current in the neighbourhood concerning that time, this dull Westmorland street acquires a new and lively interest.

A second example is supplied by village after village in that wide-spread country of the dales which lies south-east of Kendal. Through Airedale and Ribblesdale, from Bradford to Lancaster, and northward to some considerable distance, there are a multitude of specimens of a curious kind of doorway, which I do not recollect to have seen elsewhere. These doorways generally consist of two curves, more or less regular, and more or less enriched with ornament, and with the initials of the families of some now forgotten dalesmen: the dates range from about 1630 to 1730: the earlier forms are simpler than those which follow; and after the later period they seem to cease suddenly. However this provincialism of rural architecture is to be explained, it is a social and artistic fact worthy of being observed and permanently recorded.

Turning now to the Midland Counties, I will again illustrate the subject by a couple of instances. Mr. Rimmer most accurately notes that the ancient Roman way of Watling Street passes along the north-eastern frontier of Warwickshire: but beyond this he does not make much use of a county which is by no means poor in historical associations. One place which would have given him excellent materials for description and for drawing, and not far from that part of this county, where, to quote the old rhyme,

From Dover to Chestre goth Watlyn-Street,

is the village of Polesworth. My attention was especially called to its picturesque and suggestive aspect, because I happened to visit the place just when I was within reach of the opportunity of inspecting some of the manuscripts of that prince of archæologists, Sir William Dugdale. The historian of Warwickshire remarks that “for Antiquitie and venerable esteem,” the village of Polesworth “needs not to give Precedence to any in the Countie;” and indeed there is a charming impression of age and quiet dignity in its remains of old walls, its remains of old trees, its church, and its open common. Not far off, on an eminence commanding a delightful view, is Pooley Hall, the Lord of which “by Reason of the Floods at some time, especially in Winter, which hindered his Accesse to the Mother Church,” obtained a license from Pope Urban IV. to build a chapel within the precincts of his lordship. And here, in the garden of this modest hall, is a little chapel of comparatively late architecture, but doubtless built on the site of the old one; and here, full in view, on the level ground below, with the village beyond, is the river, evidently liable to floods. I give this scene merely as a specimen of the wealth that our English counties contain for the historian who is also an artist.

The other county of which I am thinking is Bedfordshire. Of course Mr. Rimmer does not fail to take notice of the town of Bedford, and its neighbouring village of Elstow, and their still visible associations with John Bunyan; but there still remain some things to be added to those which he has so well described. I fear it must be admitted that the prison, in which the author of the Pilgrim’s Progress spent those days and nights that have enriched the world, was not on the bridge over the Ouse, but in another part of Bedford. The jailor’s door, by a most curious accident, survives, built into the wall of a granary, and with quite enough of character to deserve an engraving on descriptive pages. As regards the village of Elstow, there is abundant material of this kind in the isolated church tower, containing the very bells in the ringing of which Bunyan rejoiced and afterwards trembled; in the curious building, undoubtedly contemporary, upon the green where he danced; and, above all, I must mention what appears till recently to have escaped attention. The “wicket-gate” of the Pilgrim’s Progress is commonly represented as a garden-gate or a turnpike-gate; but really the term denotes a small doorway, cut out of a large door; and concealed behind a tree at the west end of Elstow Church, is just such a small doorway in the broad wooden surface of the great door. Through this lowly opening Bunyan must often have passed when a boy; and if it were simply drawn and engraved, I believe we should have a correct picture of that which was before his imagination when he described the early steps of Christian’s pilgrimage.

It is natural to both Mr. Rimmer and myself, with such thoughts in our minds, that we should make much of the ancient and striking city where we happen to dwell. He begins with Chester: and I will end with some words concerning it by a recent American traveller. Those who come for the first time from the United States to Europe frequently hasten to Chester with a feeling of extraordinary interest, partly because it is the nearest cathedral city, partly because it is a walled city. This writer is describing the walls. “Chester has everywhere,” he says, “a rugged outer parapet, and a broad hollow flagging, wide enough for two strollers abreast. Thus equipped, it wanders through its adventurous circuit; now sloping, now bending, now broadening into a terrace, now narrowing into an alley, now swelling into an arch, now dipping into steps, now passing some thorn-screened garden, and now reminding you that it was once a more serious matter than all this, by the occurrence of a rugged ivy-smothered tower. Every few steps as you go you see some little court or alley boring toward it through the close-pressed houses. It is full of that delightful element of the crooked, the accidental, the unforeseen, which to American eyes, accustomed to our eternal straight lines and right angles, is the striking feature of European street scenery. An American strolling in the Chester streets finds a perfect feast of crookedness—of those random corners, projections, and recesses, odd domestic interspaces charmingly saved or lost, those innumerable architectural surprises and caprices and fantasies, which offer such a delicious holiday to a vision nourished upon brown stone fronts.”

The pleasure which I feel in having anything to do with a book like this is very much increased by the reflection that American readers are likely to take the warmest interest in the visible reminiscences of history, in which the country that they recognise as their mother-land still abounds.

J. S. H.

The Deanery, Chester,
October 6, 1876.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

AT THE CROSS, CHESTER.
CHAPTER I.

REMAINS OF STREET ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND—CHESTER: VARIOUS THEORIES OF THE ROWS—REMINISCENCES OF ANCIENT HOUSES IN CHESTER—WIRRAL—CONGLETON—NANTWICH—WHITTINGTON.

THERE are not many Abbeys or Cathedrals which have not been fairly delineated, and it is a pleasure to add that in this respect few Parish Churches have been neglected. Indeed, if these possess any interest, they are almost sure to secure a record of their form, and at least one antiquary to publish their history. Ancient mansions also have been lithographed by Habershon and Richardson, and very excellently by Nash. Happily, also, for this class of buildings, they generally belong to some family who take a pride in them, and may fairly be left to attend to their preservation.

It is not for such remains as any of the above that a plea is needed; they have powerful friends, and perhaps no enemies. But there is another class of architecture that is fast fading away, and that a class which has brightened many a landscape and figured cheerfully in many a tale. Ruskin, in his Oxford Lectures on Art, has said of the architecture of old streets in towns and cities that “it is passing away like a dream, without any serious attempt having been made to preserve it, or indeed even to delineate it.” Old blocks of buildings have yielded to the modern innovator in numberless cases where a little ingenuity and care would have adapted them to their new requirements; and, as Ruskin has eloquently said, “it is difficult to understand the contempt and envy with which future generations will look upon us who had such things and allowed them to perish.”

Since commencing these pages, not less than three street scenes have been destroyed, which would otherwise now figure among our illustrations. One of them contained four houses that dated back to the reign of Richard III., and these houses have been destroyed, though in an admirable state of solidity, and replaced by others that, as far even as convenience is concerned, have little advantage, and for every other consideration are not to be named in comparison.

The wealth of England, however, in ancient remains of all kinds is still very great, and nothing illustrates this more strikingly than the fact that for all the changes and improvements that go on in ancient cities like Chester, Shrewsbury, or Salisbury, we still find the antique character left, even if several years have elapsed since our last visit.

The superior beauty of ancient street architecture has already arrested the attention of many landowners. Gabled cottages with tall chimneys, in a style superior to that which has been often called, not inappropriately, “Cockney Gothic,” are built, and the problem of making small cheap dwellings picturesque is gradually being solved, a problem that was well understood by our forefathers. This will be dwelt on at greater length in the last chapter of the book.

Perhaps no more suitable starting-point than Chester could be found for our researches. It is tolerably well known to most Englishmen either by description or personal inspection. The distinguishing features of Chester are “The Rows” as they are called. These are long covered arcades of unknown origin and antiquity. In familiar language, they resemble such a space as would be formed by removing the storey over the ground floor of a row of buildings through the entire length of the street, and supporting the upper chambers with columns or piers at irregular distances. They differ entirely from those in Berne, or indeed anywhere else, in their form and purpose, and also from the covered passages outside the city, of which an example is here given. These, indeed, resemble similar structures at Berne, Totness, and other places.

Speaking of them, Colonel Egerton Leigh, one of the members of Parliament for Cheshire, has well remarked in a paper read before the Chester Archæological Society: “I really think it would improve the quaint look of the city if the projection of the second floor, supported on pillars (either of wood, brick, or stone) over the pavement, were, under certain necessary regulations and restrictions, encouraged on the Boughton, Hanbridge, and

Northgate approaches to Chester. There are several examples of this style remaining in the suburbs, and they are a curious and characteristic introduction to the Rows inside the city.” The illustration is taken from the Boughton approach to Chester. One peculiarity may be noticed: the nearest pier of the arcade is enlarged into a kind of buttress capacious enough to accommodate a barber with his stock in trade; and this is not the only example in the city, there are similar establishments in Bridge Street, Watergate Street, Northgate Street, and in the piers of the arcades.

According to Webb, the Rows were built as a refuge to the citizens during any sudden attack of the Welsh, though the mode of building in the more northerly part of England would seem to have been better adapted for any such emergency. However, let Webb tell his own story: “And because these conflicts continued a long time, it was needful for them to build a space before the doors of their upper buildings, upon which they might stand in safety from the violence of their enemies’ horses, and withal defend their houses from spoyl, and stand with advantage to encounter their enemies when they made incursions.” Pennant, on the contrary, says: “These Rows appear to me to have been the same with the ancient vestibules, and to have been a form of building preserved from the time the city was possessed by the Romans. They were built before the doors, midway between the streets and houses, and were the places where dependents waited for the coming out of their patrons, and under which they might walk away the tedious minutes of expectation. Plautus, in the third act of his Mostella, describes both their station and use:—

‘Viden vestibulum ante ædes et ambulacrum ejusmodi.’

The shops beneath the Rows were the cryptæ and apothecæ, magazines for the various necessaries of the owners of the houses.”

Other writers, such as Stukely, confirm the Roman origin of the Rows; but Lysons, certainly one of the most accomplished and patient antiquaries of England, dissents from the Roman theory. “Mr. Pennant thinks,” he says, “that he discerns in these Rows the form of the ancient vestibules attached to the houses of the Romans who once possessed the city. Many vestiges of their edifices have certainly been discovered in Chester, but there seems to be little resemblance between the Chester Rows and the vestibules of the Romans, whose houses were constructed only of one storey.” Hemingway, the historian of Chester, seems to differ very much from Lysons, and refers the Rows to the Roman period. “Nor am I aware,” he says, “of any historic data that can disprove an opinion I strongly entertain, that the excavations mentioned, by which our Rows as distinguished from the carriage-road are formed, are the work of Roman hands.”

The end of a Row in Bridge Street here given will easily illustrate the manner in which these singular passages are broken, and resumed after

being intersected by a cross street. Hemingway in another passage says, “It hardly requires a word of argument to show that the pavements in Bridge Street, Watergate Street, and Eastgate Street were originally on a level with the houses standing in the Rows; for it is utterly impossible to conceive that the present sunken state of the streets, as contrasted with the elevated ground on either side, could be the effect of natural causes. It is most obvious, therefore, that at some period or other the principal streets have been made to take their present form by dint of human art and labour; and it is not less evident that from the East, West, and South Gates to the Cross, and from the latter to nearly where the Exchange now stands, which is almost the highest part of the city, excavation has been employed. These conclusions, though they are incapable of proof from any existing testimony, seem necessarily to arise from a close observation of the subject, and I believe they have received the concurrence of all our historians and antiquaries. But some difference of opinion has existed as to the fact whether these excavations were made prior to the erection of the buildings above, or subsequent to them. This question, although involving no important point of history, is worthy of a slight notice, if it were for no other use than a curious speculation. Webb, in Kings Vale Royal, fixes the origin of the Rows at a much later period than the one I am of opinion they were entitled to, and he likewise leans to the hypothesis that they were a kind of afterwork, begun and completed when the buildings in the sunken line of the streets were already inhabited.”

Much has been written on the origin of the Rows, and much learning has been expended on the subject, which is indeed of exceptional interest, but it is generally considered that only a little light has been thrown upon it. Of course, at the present time they are so varied in antiquity and form that it is difficult indeed to approach the subject.

The curious Row in Watergate Street here given is a very good example of the more ancient forms. This particular building is generally called Bishop Lloyd’s Palace, and the front of it to the street, as all visitors to Chester will recollect, is ornamented with grotesque wood carvings; but it must be evident that it only occupies the site of some more ancient building; indeed, the oldest of the Rows is evidently in the same position, and we must look for their origin in more remote forms. All theories that refer them to some particular date at which they were simultaneously constructed seem to have been abandoned, and chance-medley has probably had more to do with them than we at one time fancied. An American gentleman of great intelligence, who visited the city for the first time during the progress of this work, may possibly have conjectured something of the origin of the Rows by giving the original builders credit for sufficient

sagacity in their work. “Chester,” he said, “is far beyond any city we possess in the New World in point of convenience. Country towns are run up there on a uniform plan, and in some of the streets in the cities of the far west are great blocks of pretentious warehouses and stores that look like bankruptcy itself. A tradesman commencing business has but little option—he must either take one of these or else he is out of the world. And if he takes a place that is so much too large for him, he has to purchase more goods than he can pay for when the time for payment comes round. I speak,” he said, “of no imaginary evil, but one that actually exists, as I have found out to my cost; but here, in the Rows, are shops and stores of all sizes, so that a tradesman commencing business may suit himself with premises to his proper requirements, yet not be out of the business world.” He further added that their exceeding picturesqueness, the shelter they afforded from summer heats and winter storms were too obvious to even point out, and that such places in America would have the vast advantage of affording a dry footwalk over the snow, and protection from the rays of an almost tropical sun; so that for economy, beauty, and convenience, the Rows have the advantage over all other modes of building for ordinary city purposes. There is, perhaps, no great strain of imagination required to give the original builders of Chester credit for seeing some of the advantages of Rows for commercial purposes, and letting each building as it grew conform with its neighbour. Rows have been stopped and built up

even in the present century, and in Lower Bridge Street something nearly approaching one has lately been formed. Again, it is very evident that some of the Rows were not existing, at least in their present position, in the thirteenth century, and they must have been constructed since that time. Under all circumstances, the simplest way out of the difficulty would seem to be that the Rows were the result of some prevalent fashion of building, more adventitious than anything else. A Roman portico may have suggested some form that was preserved in rebuilding, or some few spirited proprietors may have commenced the system without any combined action.

Old Lamb Row, here shown, was a perfectly independent Row by itself, and clearly only copied from others. The house is said to have been the residence of Randal Holme, who has left us some valuable records of Chester, though it is clear that the woodwork was of more ancient date, and must have been adapted as the details on the recently uncovered front in the same street which forms the subject of another illustration. The date on this is 1664, but it is very obvious that the carving on the wood is much more ancient, and probably the timbers were taken from some more antique structure. The happy way in which municipal laws were passed and carried, is illustrated by an incident in the career of Lamb Row, for in 1670 the corporation considered it a nuisance, and though no Act of Parliament seems to have been infringed by its erection, they said that the “nuisance erected by Randal Holme in his new building in Bridge Street be taken down, as it annoys his neighbours, and hinders their prospect from their houses.” No particular result would seem to have followed this resolution of the council. Mr. Holme allowed it to stand, though, as events proved, the city were right, for in 1821 it fell down, owing to its bad construction and some slight decay in the timbers. The name Lamb Row was derived from the sign of a lamb over a tavern, for which the building was let after Mr. Holme’s death. It is a curious illustration of the immunity of the times that the Corporation fined Mr. Holme £3: 6: 8 the following year for contempt against the mayor, in disregarding their minute; which fine does not seem to have met with a better fate than the original order.

In the house called Bishop Lloyd’s house are many splendid remains of ceilings and fireplaces. It is let off to subtenants at a few shillings a month: but it is much to be feared that its lease of life is precarious in the face of modern improvement.

The street which cuts through the Row in Bridge Street, and is part of a former illustration, is called Commonhall Street, and it formerly contained a very curious building, of uncertain origin, which afterwards was converted into almshouses. It was very massive and quaint, and it should have formed one of our illustrations, but unhappily, almost without notice to the citizens, it was demolished, to make room for an unsightly row of brick cottages, and, as far as I have been able to learn, no drawing of it is preserved.

In one place only is a Row closed from the light, as in the Dark Row here shown, and it forms a kind of tunnel, which emerges at either end into the open Row.

The fine old residence called Stanley House is situated in the same street as Bishop Lloyd’s house, and is now let off into small cottages. It is historically interesting as being the place where the

unfortunate Earl of Derby spent his last day before he was taken to be executed at Bolton, in 1657. “Mr. Bagaley, one of his gentlemen, attended him at his dying hour, and thus speaks of one Lieutenant Smith, a rude fellow, with his hat on:—He told my lord he came from Colonel Duckenfield, the governor, to tell his lordship he must be ready for his journey to Bolton. My lord replied, ‘When would have me to go.’ ‘To-morrow, about six in the morning,’ said Smith. ‘Well,’ said my lord, ‘commend me to the governor, and tell him I shall be ready by that time.’ Then said Smith, ‘Doth your lordship know any friend or servant that would do the thing your lordship knows of? It would do well if you had a friend.’ My lord replied, ‘What do you mean—to cut off my head?’ Smith said, ‘Yes, my lord, if you could have a friend.’ My lord said, ‘Nay, sir, if those men that would have my head will not find one to cut it off, let it stand where it is!’” The carvings in the front of this house are extremely beautiful.

The next engraving shows the tower in Chester Castle called “Julius Cæsar’s Tower.” This castle has been much modernised, but was a grand specimen of a Norman residence even in Pennant’s time, writing at the close of the last century. “On the sides of the lower court stands the noble room called Hugh Lupus’ Hall. The length is nearly 99 feet, the breadth 45, the height very awful, and worthy the state apartment of a great baron. The roof supported by wood-work, in a bold style, carved, and placed on the sides, resting on stout brackets.” This building, now destroyed, probably retained its original dimensions. The character of the first

Norman earl required a hall suited to the greatness of his hospitality, which was confined to no bounds. “He was,” says Ordericus, “not only liberal but profuse; he did not carry a family with him, but an army. He kept no account of receipts or disbursements. He was perpetually wasting his estates, and was much fonder of falconers and huntsmen than of cultivators of land and holy men; and by his gluttony he grew so excessively fat that he could hardly crawl about.” Adjoining the end of this great hall is the court of exchequer, or the chancery of the county palatinate of Chester. The account here given is, we will hope, an exceptional one of the barons of the period.

The walls of Chester are entire, and a complete circuit of the city may be made on them without once leaving the footwalk on their summit. These are the only complete walls in England, though at one time all considerable towns were similarly surrounded. The semicircular building shown here is the lower part of a tower that was taken down, and similar towers yet remain on the walls in a state of great preservation.

Close by the tower here shown was an old hostelry called the “Blue Posts,” kept by Mrs. Mottershed in the year 1558. This was the year when Queen Mary reigned; and one Dr. Henry Cole, Dean of St. Paul’s, was charged by his royal mistress with a commission to the council in Ireland, which had for its object the persecution of Irish Protestants.

“In this house,” says Hemingway, “he was visited by the mayor, to whom, in the course of conversation, he related his errand, in confirmation of which he took from his cloak a leather box, exclaiming, in a tone of exultation, ‘Here is that which will lash the heretics of Ireland.’ This annunciation was caught by the landlady, who had a brother in Dublin, and while the commissioner was escorting his worship (who that year was Sir Lawrence Smith) down stairs, the good woman, prompted by an affectionate regard for the safety of her brother, opened the box, took out the commission, and placed in lieu of it a pack of cards with the knave of clubs uppermost. This the doctor carefully packed up, without suspecting the transformation, nor was the deception discovered till his arrival in the presence of the lord deputy and privy council at the castle of Dublin. The surprise of the whole assembly on opening the box containing the supposed commission may be more easily imagined than described. The doctor was sent back immediately for a more satisfactory authority, but before he could return to Ireland, Queen Mary had breathed her last. The ingenuity and affectionate zeal of the landlady were rewarded by Elizabeth with a pension of forty pounds a year.”

The old front previously shown is in the same street where the “Blue Posts” stood, and is a fine example of a black-and-white gable. The carving on the woodwork is more ancient than the date that appears on the building, and has been cut and adapted from some older house—not by any means an uncommon case, though the cause of considerable confusion to the antiquary if the adaptation has been a good one. This is the house that has been alluded to as being covered with plaster, and only brought to light during the progress of the present work. Indeed plans were prepared for a new building, but the firm of architects who were employed, as soon as they found that there was ancient work under the plaster, properly cancelled their plans, and adapted the old front to the requirements of the proprietor. The curious house in the same street, here shown, is probably among the most ancient wooden structures in Chester: there is nothing to indicate its exact age, but its general appearance would point to considerable antiquity; houses of this shape, however, were common from the beginning of the fifteenth to the seventeenth century.

Hemingway, speaking of Bridge Street, says, “Every gradation of architecture, from the rude clumsy wood hut to the open airy commodious hotel, is here displayed, and it is not perhaps the least worthy of observation to see the awkward confinement of low close rooms gradually yielding to the more healthful taste of modern building. The

original plan of the houses (if there was any plan at all) seems to have been in the cottage style, with the gable end of each to face the street. This mode of building certainly gives great extent of premises behind, but renders the inner rooms and staircase rather dark.” He adds what is true of other streets in the city beside Bridge Street, “The curious observer will discover in the street that the square brick fronts of some of the houses are nothing more than a wall carried up as high as the ridge of the roof, thus having the appearance of a handsome modern house, while the interior retains most of its original formation.”

The next illustration is of a fine gabled house in Whitefriars: this is remarkably well proportioned, and has some very excellent work inside.

The outside of the Row in Eastgate Street, behind which the “Dark Row,” previously alluded to, runs, has unfortunately been pulled down since this work was commenced, but the drawing at the head of the chapter gives an accurate idea of the premises, and was made just before the building was demolished. It consisted of the three gables shown, and some back premises, and its strength was so great that some time was spent in its destruction.

The most westerly part of Cheshire is called Wirral, and it formerly was covered with forests, though now it is nearly destitute of any considerable woods. The land of which it is formed is rocky, and contains some good veins of building stone. In consequence of this there are a number of very substantial stone houses in most of the villages. Many of them are of good design, and well adapted to modern requirements; simple, indeed, as this style may seem, it is quite possible for the designer to find himself in confusion in carrying it out. The roofs and chimneys should be so contrived as to stand out clearly, and to show that the house has a roof and a chimney. The great danger of this style is that, if employed by inartistic hands, it is apt to become tame, or else to develope itself into some kind of Swiss cottage that hardly suits an English landscape.

The ancient house at Bidston village, here given, was at one time the residence of one of the Derby family. The Earl, who was executed at Bolton, and whose tragic end has been alluded to, lived at Bidston Hall, now a picturesque and substantial farm-house.

At Tranmere village, on the Cheshire side of the river Mersey, is an exterior well known to all Liverpool pedestrians. There are some curious panes of glass in it, with emblematic devices and legends on them, and the stonework is excellently true.

The greater part, however, of the Wirral houses have been sadly mutilated, owing to the proximity of that part of Cheshire to Liverpool.

Congleton, in the eastern part of Cheshire, is a fine example of an old English country town that has been built at various times, but has always retained its antique character. It is situated in a lovely country, through which the river Dane quietly flows to the Weaver, and it is hemmed in on all sides with venerable family seats. The buildings tell their own tale in very permanent materials. There are red brick houses of a century and a half old, and joining these are gabled ones of greater age. The roofs are of different levels, and covered, according to the period of their erection, with slates or tiles or flags. Here and there a black and white house is left, and there are in some streets a few cottages built into the motley row; some of these are of great antiquity.

The old Inn at Congleton is a fine specimen of a black-and-white gabled hostelry. The great porch, with a room over, rests on two stone pillars, and the interior of the Inn quite corresponds in character with the exterior. This is just the kind of Inn so dear to novelists, and so seldom well described. Perhaps the country Inn in Barnaby Rudge is as well-drawn a picture of one of the old houses of accommodation as any; and if Dickens’ works are ever to be picturesquely illustrated, the Lion Inn at Congleton might serve the artist for a model. All it wants to complete its ancient character is the signboard across the road.

Cheshire abounds with material for such a work as this; and many old towns—Sandbach, Malpas, Nantwich, or Knutsford, for example—are well worthy of a visit. A curious old house at Nantwich is here given; the bow window consists of a heavy octagonal bow overhanging another of similar shape and smaller dimensions in a kind of telescope fashion. The noble octagonal church tower is rising above. Nantwich church is seen to great advantage from many parts of the town, and is of Cathedral dimensions. It is remarkably beautiful in details, and is in a fine state of preservation.

There are many houses in Nantwich with dates of the sixteenth century carved on them, and there is a curious history belonging to them. In 1583 a great fire swept away nearly the whole of Nantwich, and immediately after a collection was instituted to reimburse the inhabitants for their heavy losses. The parish register says, “A most terrible and vehement fire, beginning at the water-lode, about six of the clocke by night, in a kitchen, by brewinge. The winde being very boisterouse increased the said fire, which more vehementlie burned, and consumed in the space of 15 hours, 600 bayes of buildings, and could not be stayed neither by labour nor pollice, which I thought good to commend unto posteritie, as a favourable interposition of the Almightie, in destroying the buildings and goods only, but sparing the lives of many people, which, considering the time, space, and perill, were in great jopardie.”

The term “600 bayes” is a suggestive expression, and it probably has a similar meaning to bay of modern times. This is generally understood to denote the space between the principals of a roof, the sections as it were into which the front to the street was cut. The building here illustrated would thus have five bays; but the expression seems to have been customary in Queen Elizabeth’s time to define the size of a house. The clown says in “Measure for Measure,” “If this law hold in Vienna ten years, I’ll rent the fairest house in it after threepence a bay.”

The collection was ordered by the Queen in 1585, and perhaps partook rather of the character of a rate. The estimated damage was £30,000, an enormous sum in those days.

Ellesmere is situated in the northern extremity of Shropshire, nearly at its contact with Cheshire. It is on a fine sheet of water, from which it takes its name. The streets are remarkably picturesque. There are many substantial residences in it, which are finely shaded with forest trees and evergreens, and at one end of the town is a large ancient cruciform church overlooking the lake. The woods and lawns of Oakley Park stretch along the opposite shore, and it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful scene. Long low comfortable hotels with bow windows prevail in Ellesmere, and they have ample accommodation for coaches and post-horses, though now grass grows in many of the roomy quadrangles round which their stables are built, as most of their occupation is gone.

I noticed a pleasing device on the front of one of the houses which faced the south: a large grape vine grew at one end of the house, and it was bent horizontally after reaching a certain height across the whole front of the building; over it was an open verandah roofed with thick glass, which enabled the grapes to ripen, and formed a charming summer shade; indeed, on the bleakest winter day, Ellesmere has a sunny cheerful look. The road from Ellesmere to Oswestry lies through a beautiful country, and is about eight miles long. The Green Man, so called from the sign of a forester in hunting green, is another example of an old-fashioned roadside Inn. The walls are panelled in oak, and the ancient benches and tables with carved legs still remain. The fireplace in the hall is 12 feet wide, and ornamented with a great store of antique pewter platters. Halston Park, a little farther along the Oswestry road, was the seat of the celebrated Captain Mytton, whose random exploits are the subject of a rather uncommon biography.

Whittington village lies on the same road, and is about two miles from Oswestry. It is introduced here to illustrate the excellent effect of breadth in a landscape. A well-defined broad white gable stands out against the rest of the village and sets it off. Of course there is the advantage of fine trees behind it, but it stands back from the road, which is broader here, and affords them every chance of being seen. It is actually a fact, which few persons unacquainted with perspective would at first credit, that if the road continued at the same width, and if ordinary three-storied village houses were substituted, this beautiful scene would be completely closed out. We pass in English roads hundreds of pleasant prospects that we do not know of, as they are shut out by the dreary brick buildings that characterise the present century.

A comparatively small object may do an immense amount of mischief. We may, for example, be admirably placed in a theatre for seeing and hearing everything. The building may be crowded, but we see over a low-sized individual in front the whole of the scenery and the performers, when a hat, only six inches high, and about as broad, appears, and then “our revels all are ended,” and the actors have “melted into air—into thin air.”

This kind of teaching is especially wanted now among architects. It is not too much to say of the majority of them, that if they were required to build a church in some distant county, they would consider it quite sufficient to have a plan of the churchyard and adjoining lanes sent to them, without their having the least idea of the surrounding buildings or trees, or the outline of the neighbouring hills. Infinite pains are taken with details, but though books which treat of these are excellent and numerous, one turns in vain for any architectural work to guide him to a knowledge of what is more important—picturesqueness. Ruskin’s works are not as yet studied by architects as they should be; indeed they require a previous knowledge of, at any rate, the preliminary elements of art, which, to some extent, would limit their general acceptance in the profession. Still the number of his readers is increasing yearly among architects, much to the advantage of the country. Detail, however beautiful, and however necessary excellence in it may be, can no more improve a building that jars with its surroundings, than an elaborate label can cure a bottle of indifferent Rhenish wine.

There is a curious old book written by Sir Edward Moore to his son and heir, which shows how a landlord of the seventeenth century regarded the appearance of his street property. He was the principal lord of the manor of Liverpool, and at great length gives directions for the guidance of his heir. Speaking of one of the tenants, he says:—“This man should have built two dormer-windows, as the others did, but when he had got me fast, and he was loose, he would build none, but made the house like a barn, much to the disparagement of the street. If he have occasion to use you, deal not with him till he hath made two dormer windows.” Instances are unhappily the exception where such fastidious care is taken of the appearance of a street by the proprietor.

It may be mentioned incidentally that the gateway of Peveril’s castle is in Whittington village, which was also the birthplace of Sir Richard Whittington, three times Mayor of London.

OSWESTRY.
CHAPTER II.

OSWESTRY—SHREWSBURY—BATTLE OF SHREWSBURY—WENLOCK—COUNTY TOWNS AS CENTRES OF EXCLUSIVE SOCIETY—ITALIAN ARCHITECTURE—BRIDGENORTH—HEREFORD—ROSS—MONMOUTH—WORCESTER—GLOUCESTER: NEW INN—CONDITION OF ROADS—TEWKESBURY—CORNWALL.

OSWESTRY is an exceedingly interesting old town, and was at one time walled; portions of the wall still remain, and there are also a number of half-timbered and stone houses of very considerable antiquity.

One example only is given here; it is an old stone house which has been used for many generations as an Inn, and is said to have been originally built for that purpose. It is situated near the ancient parish church, adjoining the churchyard.

The road from Oswestry to Shrewsbury is through an interesting country, abounding with many pleasing relics of antiquity. It was along this road that the mighty, and as would now seem the prudent Glendower, marched with his levies to assist Hotspur at the battle of Shrewsbury, and an oak at Shelton is still preserved where his march terminated, and which he ascended to witness the engagement. Shrewsbury, the county town of Shropshire, is generally visited by tourists to Wales, either at the commencement or the end of the journey. In some respects it is more striking than Chester, and at first sight it gives a more vivid picture of a fine old English town. Chester, it is true, has more hidden treasures concealed often under modern exteriors; indeed the oldest inhabitant is probably ignorant of all the ancient relics this city contains.

Shrewsbury is delightfully situated on a peninsula formed by a bend of the Severn, and occupies two gently rising hills. It was always an important stronghold in the civil wars, and its name continually occurs in the pages of English history. The old timbered house here shown dates back to the fifteenth century, and was probably the town residence of the Abbot of Lilleshall, who appears to have figured in the unhappily futile negotiations between Henry IV. and Hotspur, which preceded the battle of Shrewsbury.

Shakespeare vividly brings us back to the hot July day when, by forced marches, Henry reached Shrewsbury only a few hours before Hotspur. The king burned down the houses on the Hodnel road to prevent their being a refuge for the forces of

Hotspur, and all that now stand are built at a more recent date than the battle of Shrewsbury. The street here shown is among the most perfect examples of ancient English streets yet remaining; perhaps it is the most perfect. It takes a sudden turn at right angles in the middle, and joins a street running in a different direction, the High Street as it is called. The houses in this remarkable street are high, and in excellent preservation, though most of the carved work of the interiors has been removed. The curious projecting gable here shown is an example of many other similar ones in the vicinity. For a considerable distance a person walking down the middle of the street can touch the houses on either side. We only notice such singular economy of room in walled cities and towns, for, as has before been remarked, the liberality of space in villages contributes greatly to their beauty. Each end of this street, which is called Double Butcher Row, is here given.

The spire on the left of the picture is St. Mary’s, and that on the right is St. Alkmond’s. The latter church was originally built by a daughter of King Alfred’s. The carving on the exterior of the houses in this street is as perfect as it was when originally placed in its present position. The entrance from Pride Hill is surrounded by many quaint gabled tenements with carved beams and projecting wood-work.

Henry IV. reached Shrewsbury a few hours before Hotspur on the 19th of July 1403, and burned down the houses on the road as before said. This road was rebuilt shortly after, and many of the houses are still standing which date back to that period: a block of them is here shown. The Haughmond hills rise clearly and sharply above them, and are wooded up to the summits. When the sun rises red over them, and especially if this is accompanied with a noise of wind, it is a certain sign of a stormy day. It is impossible not to remark the exceeding accuracy of Shakespeare in his intensely picturesque description of the battle of Shrewsbury.

Henry IV., speaking to his son Harry in the camp, says—

How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon bosky[1] hill, the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
Prince Henry. The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes;
And by the hollow whistling in the leaves
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day.

Another circumstance may be noticed here, though it hardly belongs to the present work, but it illustrates the ready way in which Shakespeare took advantage of any incidents that met his eye. In the fruitless interview between Earl Worcester and the King, the former says—

Worcester. Hear me, my liege;
For mine own part I could be well content,
To entertain the lag end of my life
With quiet hours: for I do protest
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
King Henry. You have not sought it out, how comes it then?
Falstaff. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
Prince Henry. Peace, chewet, peace.

It has been supposed by Pope and others, that this should read “peace, chevet, peace.” Chevet being the French for a pillow, and this they supposed alluded to Falstaff’s corpulence. But in an edition published by Longman and others in 1757 good reasons are given for adopting the reading chewet—the common green plover or lapwing. This bird, it is hardly necessary to say, has a habit, when its young are hatched, of suddenly appearing before any one, and uttering a sharp cry. The prince has only bantered Falstaff good-naturedly the moment he is summoned to join the king, and reproves his interruption in this way. It is not noticed in the edition referred to, but it is worthy of remark that the meadow lands leading from Shrewsbury to Battlefield literally swarm with these birds. It is not improbable that the humour of Falstaff’s statement to Henry, “We rose both at an instant and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock,” may lie in the fact that the clock of St. Mary’s Church, the one alluded to, has only a single face, and that is turned to the town, having its back to the battlefield. This clock was erected shortly before Shakespeare wrote the play. The noble church of St. Mary contains a tomb of the Leybourne family, to whom the unfortunate Worcester was related. “Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too,” and they were both executed at the high cross immediately after the battle. Now the tomb (published in Architectural Drawing Studies by Dean Howson and myself) is about fifty years older, from its style than the battle, and in opening it some years ago a headless body was found over the original stone coffin, wrapped in leather, and apparently hastily interred, which in all probability was the unfortunate Earl’s.

The last house to be illustrated in Shrewsbury is the one at Wyle Cop, of which a sketch is given. There is nothing to indicate its exact date, but it must be of considerable antiquity, as the Earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry VII., slept here on his road to Bosworth field.

Shrewsbury is full of exceedingly interesting remains, and in no town in England are they more scrupulously taken care of. It is almost a matter of regret that the scope of the present work forbids a more detailed account of the Shakespearean recollections of Shrewsbury battlefield, and the church which was erected in memory of the day. There is a fine old window with a representation of Henry IV. in armour, and his face has a singularly sad, majestic look. It was about 150 years old when Shakespeare saw it, and it is not impossible that it might have suggested the lines—

“Doff our easy robes of peace,
And crush our old limbs in ungentle steel.
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.”

And again, farther on—

“But if he will not yield,
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office.”

Indeed to many persons an excursion to the battlefield of Shrewsbury, with a copy of “Henry IV.” in hand, possesses attractions that equal a visit to Waterloo. Prince Henry’s figure in the same window as the king’s is rather disappointing. He seems to be a tall youth, very fair, and somewhat juvenile in his countenance.

Much Wenlock is a charming country town in Shropshire, about twelve miles to the south-east of Shrewsbury; the road to it lies through smiling lanes, and past comfortable homesteads. It was with sincere pleasure that I saw in this part of the country old-fashioned farm-houses that had not kept pace with the requirements of the age, but which, instead of being pulled down and replaced by raw new ones, were tastefully enlarged, and all the creepers and ivy left standing. With a very little taste and ingenuity this may be done, indeed economically, and the exterior weather-stained walls may be preserved to the landscape and the country. Some of the great landowners in the northern and midland counties are seeing the advantage of this,

and not a few farm-houses have been altered so as to be pleasant objects to behold. Bitterley in Shropshire is a notable instance of this, as also is Aldford in Cheshire, and Eccleston in the same county. Eccleston and Aldford belong to the Duke of Westminster, and there is no doubt that their present owner is keenly alive to the charms of an English landscape. One instance of this transformation is here given—the school-house at Eccleston, which, to a passer-by, would be taken for an ancient house: the window with its evergreen is old, but the gable over it and the chimneys are modern. Excellently well they harmonise with the surroundings, and fill a corner of the beautiful village. And here a word may be introduced about “shams,” as they are called in architecture, regarding which there is much misapprehension. The “sham,” pure and simple, is contemptible; such is a manufactured ruin of an abbey or castle, or woodwork painted to represent another material, and intended to convey a wrong impression to a spectator; but where black-and-white gables and walls fit in upon old work, and dark coloured stone chimneys of antique shape look like parts of the original structure, it is a happy circumstance. Indeed I should go much further in this direction, and say that if, as often happens, new stones have to be inserted in old carved façades, richly coloured by age, the effect is not pleasant when the contrast is great. In such cases it would be better to give the new stone a tint to tone it into harmony. The generation who put it into the building will have passed away before its patchy appearance will have gone; and why should they be condemned to look upon a harlequin front, when, by overcoming a little prejudice, it might be prevented? This prejudice, it is true, rose from a proper principle, and was a proper protest against the age of shams and affectation. Hardly more than two generations ago art was at the lowest ebb, and the chances seemed strongly against its ever reviving. Everything was fantastic and false; a gentleman had his portrait taken as Apollo, and a lady as Ceres or Diana; while the veriest country yokels who could not read, no, nor their children after them, were alluded to with the utmost effrontery by the Georgian poets as Phyllises and Corydons playing on lutes to sheep, or occupying their working-hours in some other useful occupation, and spending their leisure moments in composing iambics to their damsels.

It is with positive shame we turn back to such recollections, and half our indignation against the churchwardens of the period, who destroyed so much beauty, vanishes when we consider they only did as their betters; indeed, rich as our island yet is in architectural remains, I believe that since the accession of George III. an almost equal amount to that which remains has been destroyed.

But to return to Wenlock from this somewhat lengthy digression, there are remains of a magnificent abbey there founded by the Black monks, and exhibiting several styles of architecture, especially the Early English; and there are mouldings and details of great beauty, but in comparatively recent days, much of this building has been carted away and used up for repairs and outbuildings to farm-houses.

The charming remain here represented appears to have been an entrance to some part of the abbey buildings, which, according to Dugdale, enclosed a liberty of thirty acres; but the remains are numerous in all directions, and unfortunately we find too many of the carved stones built up in stables and styes, having been removed by the Corydons that formed the subjects of so many pastoral poems of the Georgian age.

The market-hall of Wenlock is the black-and-white covered space shown, and over it are the rooms connected with the business of the town and surrounding district. This market is in an excellent state of preservation, and is resorted to by the country people in great numbers weekly. Shropshire formerly abounded with these country market halls; but now their numbers are diminished considerably. An opportunity was afforded me when in Wenlock of seeing the demolition of a pair of very ancient houses near the market. Some of the great chimney stacks were so exceedingly strong that they seemed almost to defy the picks of the workmen; the mortar, which was wanting neither in lime nor in quantity, had set so hard that the last chimney stack stood up alone, perfectly upright, after at least half of its base had been destroyed. The inhabitants told me that it was always considered to be one of the oldest buildings in Wenlock, but the exterior was entirely destroyed when I visited the town. The old house which is introduced as probably forming part of the abbey, seems to have been a kind of gatehouse to some part of the premises; it is apparently about 450 years old, and is in a perfect state of preservation. Some of the inhabitants appear to be very proud of it, and so we may fain hope that its days may be long in the land. The last sketch of Wenlock represents an old half-timbered house with a bold bow window; some of the lights have been plastered up, as is apparent from the sketch, but they could readily be opened. This house has recently been purchased, and is to come down. Perhaps it is as much to this circumstance as any other that it has found a place in these pages.

Shiffnal is another fine old town in Shropshire, situated on the London road. It fairly brings back the old coaching days to our memory. The inns have an unusually hospitable look, and the unoccupied stabling is enormous. The comfortable window seats, the bow windows, and great bar parlours have refreshed many a Tony Weller and his “insides.” It is a little singular that a veritable mail-coach carrying her Majesty’s mails does yet ply in these parts; a stranger at Bridgenorth is perhaps astonished at seeing a coach and four galloping over the Severn bridge, and wakening the old gabled houses with its horn; and this is no amateur affair, but it has plied from time immemorial from that town to Wolverhampton. The railroad connection which lies through Shiffnal is very circuitous, and they say that time is saved in going by the mail-coach.

There are more town residences in a complete state in Shropshire than in Cheshire, though in Chester a number are covered up with new fronts. At one time indeed nearly all the great county families of Cheshire had residences in Chester. The Stanley Palace is still standing where the Earl of Derby was arrested and sent to execution at Bolton by the orders of Cromwell, and on each side of Watergate Street, where this palace is situated, are the remains of ancient city mansions. The tendency of families to migrate to the county town instead of London in the “season,” was partly owing to the difficulty of the roads (for nothing now in England can give an idea of the undertaking of a journey of 200 miles to London), and partly also to a singular law which forbade as far as possible any country gentleman who was not in parliament from residing in London. D’Israeli, in the Curiosities of Literature, mentions some remarkable features of the dread people entertained of an overgrown metropolis. “Proclamations warned and exhorted; but the very interference of a royal prohibition seemed to render the metropolis more charming;” though for all this, from Elizabeth to Charles II., proclamations continually issued against new erections.

James I. notices “those swarms of gentry, who, through the instigation of their wives, did neglect their country hospitality, and cumber the city, a general nuisance to the kingdom.” He once said, “Gentlemen resident on their estates are like ships in port—their value and magnitude are felt and acknowledged; but when at a distance, as their size seemed insignificant, so their worth and importance were not duly estimated.” The England even of the present century is changed out of all possible knowledge; indeed those are yet living who can look back with a smile at the solemn county balls, which were almost as difficult of access, and as jealously guarded, as a court presentation of these days. The Grosvenors and Derbys even of a century ago fought keenly for the mayoralty of a country town.

Nor were good reasons wanting for eschewing London. Only two centuries ago a Sussex squire, Mr. Palmer, was fined in the sum of £1000 for residing in London rather than on his own estate in the country, and that even in face of the fact that his country mansion had been burned within the two years when his trial took place! We are told that this sentence struck terror into the London sojourners; and it was followed by a proclamation for them to leave the city with their “wives and families, and also widows.” And now we have no difficulty in understanding why there are so many large mansions in small country towns. The habit of making the best of a hard lot influenced the gentry even long after it would have been safe to have followed Mr. Palmer’s example; and so we find up to the Hanoverian period large old-fashioned houses in some small country towns, that look, as Dickens says, as if they had lost their way in infancy, and grown to their present proportions.

Sir Richard Fanshaw wrote a curious poem on the subject of the proclamation for gentlemen to reside on their own estates, of which four verses may suffice as a sample:—

“Nor let the gentry grudge to go
Into those places whence they grew,
But think them blest they may do so.
Who would pursue

The smoky glories of the town
That may go till his native earth,
And by the shining fire sit down
On his own hearth.
. . . . . . . . . .
Believe me, ladies, you will find
In that sweet life more solid joys,
More true contentment to the mind
Than all town toys.

Nor Cupid there less blood doth spill,
But heads his shafts with chaster love;
Not feathered with a sparrow’s quill,
But with a dove.”

There are even of Queen Anne’s reign many excellent specimens of town architecture in remote villages of Cheshire and Shropshire. Mr. Norman Shaw has brought this late classic architecture again into deserved repute, and quite a new work might be published of the details of them,—the well-considered mouldings, the wreaths, and chimney-pieces. Many of these houses were inhabited even in the present century by courtly—perhaps somewhat formal—gentlemen, and now they are turned into boarding-schools or village tenements. Railways, of course, have rapidly and completely changed the scene. The old moralist in Thackeray laments the change of times, when a man of quality used to enter London, or return to his country house, in a coach and pair, with outriders, and now his son “slinks” from the station in a brougham. In speaking of the change that came over the architecture of England in the Elizabethan age, when Italian forms superseded the indigenous ones, it is not for a moment meant that the change was for the better. There was an incessant craving for foreign importation, which was a subject of satire among the writers of those days.

Portia says, in the Merchant of Venice, when speaking of her English suitor, “I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour everywhere.”

No, the change to Italian architecture was not for the better. It is true that picturesqueness was not stamped out of the genius of England, and so a number of the buildings that were put up until the reign of George the Second were shapely and often noble; indeed the classic style has a breadth about it, no doubt, that makes it safe for modern architects to deal with, especially in country houses. Of course the formal rows of windows, if the house is a very large one, are a serious matter to deal with, as far as the plan is concerned. A satirist of the French school complained that in the new Palace at Versailles a large window, under pompous architraves on the outside, had to light a footman’s closet and a back staircase, a partition inside making an awkward division between the two. Still a broad classic front surrounded by elms has a stately appearance; and perhaps in certain situations, like the margin of a Westmoreland lake, might seem peculiarly well adapted to the wants of the landscape. Too often a Gothic house among trees, if of recent erection, is a mass of confusion; the chimneys and gables do not stand out clearly from each other, and breadth is entirely lost; while the architect who designed it might have safely trusted himself to an Italian façade. A thoroughly fine front, like Compton Wynyates, Hadden, or even Trevallyan Hall in the charming vale of Gresford—where every part tells, and stands out, and where, notwithstanding its many angles, breadth is preserved—is perfection in a British landscape. There are, of course, architects of the present day who can design such a building, but their name is not legion. Tudor architecture is admirably adapted for cities and towns, and much more easily handled in a street than among trees. By Tudor is here meant the English domestic style that prevailed in the sixteenth century, and this term is now commonly applied to the architecture of England after the fifteenth century. It is not a correct term in any sense of the word, but I have sought for another in vain that would be even remotely intelligible to a general reader.

Could old English architecture be revived in its purity and beauty, Italian importations could well be spared. But even before the destruction of monasteries it was on the wane, the careless indulgent life of the monks of later date is shown in all their works. The flat arched windows were devoid of any great design, and the workmanship was very bad. These were the days when grotesque groups (giving them a mild adjective) flourished and were admired, thrusting out the angels and grave apostles of the preceding centuries, and slovenly work followed careless design. Often in a building of various dates the tall light shafts of the thirteenth century rise to vast heights, and are as straight and truly worked as they were when first cut, looking indeed like one tall stone of matchless workmanship, while the masonry of the sixteenth century, especially if late, has begun to show its joints and to gape. Such conclusions continually force themselves upon the architectural student who looks below the surface for a cause.

Bridgenorth is situated on the Severn, and is extraordinarily picturesque. The town is planted on a steep hill, and nearly every house in it is ancient. There is an old covered market where the country people congregate on Saturdays; it is in fact an enlargement of the “Market Cross” of bygone days. The lower part of this building is of brick, and the upper part is black and white; a new market has recently been built, but the country people always flock to the old one so long as there is standing room in it. Bishop Percy’s house, here shown, was formerly filled with excellent carved work, but now it is used as a smithy and blacksmith’s shop; the front to the steep street is a fine specimen of black-and-white work, and it is pleasing to be able to add, it is highly prized by the inhabitants.

There are in Shropshire many other towns of interest and beauty. Ludlow, with its “Feathers” Inn, is well known. The “Feathers,” of course, is in allusion to the Prince of Wales, and the name is common in all of the Welsh border towns.

There are also Cleobury Mortimer, Church Stretton, and Bishop’s Castle; but all these have been tolerably well represented, as far as their architecture is concerned, by examples already given. The domestic architecture of Hereford, Gloucester, and Worcester, differs considerably from that we have been considering, but it also contains many examples of beauty and value.

The city of Hereford is delightfully situated on the Wye, and though modern improvements have destroyed many old features, of which the recollections remain, there are a few specimens of antique architecture. The Wye Bridge and its ancient gatehouses were formerly among the most picturesque objects in the kingdom. Of the history of Hereford there is no necessity to speak at any length. It is generally now admitted that it has few claims to Roman origin; and, as Britton briefly says, “When civil dissensions unhappily divided the land, being a place of some importance, it was anxiously contended for by the opposing factions, and was often the scene of warfare. Gates, walls, bastion towers, etc., were therefore erected for its defence; and hostelries, chapels, and other edifices, were constructed for the accommodation of those who followed in the train of the successive occupants of the castle, or who visited the shrines of St. Ethelbert and St. Thomas Cantelupe. Some of these still remain, but variously mutilated and defaced.”

The house here shown was part of the old Butcher’s Row—in Britton’s time “a large and irregular cluster of wooden buildings,” placed nearly in the middle of the High Town. Formerly there were a number of connected houses in this Row, but they have been taken down, and the one represented is the only one now left. “The window-frames, doors, stairs, and floors, are all made of thick, solid masses of timber, and seem destined to last for ages: over one of the doors is a shield charged with a boar’s head and three bulls’ heads, having two winged bulls for supporters, and another bull for a crest: thus caricaturing the imaginary dignity of heraldry. On other parts are emblems of the slaughter-house, such as axes, rings, and ropes.” The outline of this building is exceedingly picturesque, and it is evidently of the age of James I. Close to this stood the old Town Hall, chiefly built of timber, and resting on three rows of arches, nine in each. But about twenty years ago this interesting structure was pulled down. There were apartments in it for the fourteen city guilds. John Abel built this curious old relic in the reign of James I., and the same man, who was originally of humble parentage, built some powder and corn mills when the city was besieged by the Scotch army in 1645.

In “Pipe Lane” the small cottage used to stand where Nell Gwynn was born. It was only recently pulled down, and is described as a small four-roomed tenement, hardly beyond the requirements

of the humblest farm labourer. Opposite this cottage the Blue Bell Inn stands, a hostelry now going to ruin; but an extremely picturesque outhouse opening on the Wye remains, and was standing in Nell Gwynn’s time; an illustration of this is given, and some parts of it are suggestive for modern designers. The cottage where Nell Gwynn was born might easily have been allowed to remain, as it really stood in no thoroughfare, and so the birthplace of the founder of Chelsea Hospital might have been saved to the nation.

The pleasant town of Ross is situated on the left bank of the river Wye. The streets are narrow and very steep, and there are many remains of old half-timbered houses that give it very much the appearance of some Rhenish town. But Ross owes most of its celebrity to being the birthplace of John Kyrle, the celebrated “Man of Ross,” who benefited his native town and county out of a modest estate of £500 per annum, and has been immortalised by Pope and Coleridge.

The house he lived in is on the left of the market-place, and is divided into a chemist’s shop and a dwelling. “The floors and panellings of several chambers are of oak; a quaint opening leads to a narrow corridor, and into a small room, traditionally said to be the bedroom, where he endured his first and last (his only) illness, and where he died. It looks upon his garden. That garden is now divided like the house; one half of it has been strangely metamorphosed, the other half has been converted into a bowling-green; the surrounding walls of both, however, contain flourishing vine and pear trees.” The market-hall of Ross stands at the head of the principal street on a steep eminence, and though it is much crumbled it is still in daily use. From Ross to Monmouth the distance, through a road of great beauty, is about sixteen miles, but it is twice this measurement by water. The celebrated Goodrich Court stands in this road, where Sir Samuel Meyrick collected his armoury, and in the area of the courtyard at Goodrich Castle Wordsworth met with the little girl who figures in his ballad of “We are Seven.”

Monmouth is situated at the junction of the Monnow and Wye, and derives its name from the former river, as being at the mouth of the Monnow, and the bridge over the Monnow is remarkably picturesque. It belongs to the style that prevailed during the thirteenth century, and is extremely valuable as an example of the architecture of that period: it somewhat resembles some of the York bars in detail, but probably was never a military work. It was only built for the collection of tolls on the traffic into the city, and corresponded with the gatehouses at Hereford bridge, now unfortunately destroyed.

Monmouth was the birthplace of Henry V., and his statue adorns the front of the market-place, of which a sketch is given here, though of course this structure is of a more recent date than the reign of Henry. All round the market-place the celebrated Monmouth caps were made that occasionally figure in old writings. Fluellen, in “Henry V.,” says: “If your Majesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps.”

Usk and Abergavenny are other ancient towns in Monmouth that have declined in importance during modern times, but they are very pleasant, and there are still remains of their former splendours in the streets.

Worcester is generally supposed to have been a link in the chain of military defences of the eastern bank of the Severn that extended from Uriconium to Gloucester, and as early as the year 680 it was surrounded by lofty walls, and was strongly fortified. The bishops were great territorial lords, and their authority extended from Warwickshire to Bristol. Henry II. and his queen were crowned in the cathedral, and King John was buried there. Indeed, few cities in England have been more connected with events in history.

The courtyard of a house in Friar Street is a good example of the street architecture of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Friar Street is called from the house of Grey Friars that was formerly situated at the north end of the street, and

is now completely destroyed. The houses in Friar Street afford an interesting series of the class of building that prevailed during the reigns of the Henrys and Elizabeth. The timber beams of which the houses are constructed are piled up with mortar or bricks, and whitewashed; while the overhanging storeys, the high-pitched gables, the lead lattices in the windows, and the rude grotesque ornaments, present an almost unique picture of an English street.

At the end of Friar Street is the Corn Market, where Charles II. was concealed after the battle of Worcester.

The gates of the city were open to him on his march from Scotland with the army he had raised there, and he made Worcester his head-quarters, in the house where Judge Berkeley was born. Of the

memorable battle of Worcester, which ended the prospects of the Stuart line for a time, a local historian says, on the 3d September, after a skirmish at Powick, the order was given by the king to attack Cromwell, then lying at Perry Wood, about a mile from the town. The contest commenced rather late in the day, and it was in favour of the Cavaliers, who compelled the Parliamentary troops to abandon some of their guns; but reinforcements arrived in great numbers from the other side of the Severn to support the Republicans, and after maintaining a very unequal combat for a long time the king’s troops were obliged to retreat; a handful of troops defended Sidbury gate, whilst the king escaped from his pursuers. His Majesty, on entering Sidbury, was obliged to dismount, and creep under a waggon of hay which had been purposely upset across the street at that part to impede the ingress of his pursuers, and he entered the city on foot. A horse was immediately brought ready saddled, by a Mr. Badnall, who lived near Sidbury gate, and the king was thus enabled to hasten to his quarters, at a house in the corn market, from the back door of which he escaped with Lord Wilmot, just as Col. Cobbett reached the front in pursuit of him. Over this house, which, as before said, is still standing in the corn market, is the inscription, “Love God. (W.B. 1557. R.D.) Honour the King.”

The illustration of the entrance into the Cathedral Close represents the front of Edgar Tower looking towards the east. It is said to be uncertain if this building was designed by the castellans or ecclesiastics, as there is some doubt concerning the ownership of the site on which it stands; but appearances, which, in the architecture of the period, are a fair indication of such things, seem

rather to point out the former as having been the original proprietors. Nor is there any record as to the actual date of the building, which has often been a subject of antiquarian doubt and speculation. It seems that in the year 1730 two old English letters, M and W, implying, as was supposed, the date of 1005, were discovered by some workman who was employed to repair the outside of the building, but this cannot be relied on. All the architecture that now is left would point to the age of King John. “The general thickness of the walls,” says Britton, “and the double gateway it presents, show that it was intended to repel assailants, and to protect the interior area and its inhabitants from enemies.”

Other monarchs since Charles have visited Worcester; especially to be noted are James II. and George III. The latter presented his portrait to the Corporation, and the former attended the Cathedral on October 23, 1687, where it is recorded that he touched several persons for king’s evil, almost the last instance on record. His successor William III. did certainly yield to sundry entreaties to touch some sufferers, but he added, “God give you better health and more sense.”

When King James visited the city he attended mass at the old Catholic chapel, and was waited on by the mayor and Corporation; but these dignitaries objected to enter a Catholic place of worship, and left him to enter alone. A minute in the Corporate accounts seems to explain how the time was spent, for they adjourned to the “Green Dragon,” and spent the time in smoking and drinking till the service was over, loyally charging their bill to the city.

The next illustration is extremely interesting. It represents the “New Inn” at Gloucester, and its history is curious. Edward II. was murdered under circumstances of great cruelty at Berkeley Castle, and was interred in the Abbey Church of Gloucester, a shrine being raised by the monks over his remains. Lord Berkeley would, it is said, have willingly protected the weak king, but he fell sick; and Edward was given over one dark September night to the tender mercies of “two hell-hounds, that were capable of more villainous despite than becomes either knights or the lewdest varlets in the world,” Thomas Gurney and William Ogle. The chronicler says that “screams and shrieks of anguish were heard even so far as the town, so that many being awakened therewith from their sleep, as they themselves confessed, prayed heartily to God to receive his soul, for they understood by those cries what the matter meant.”

The New Inn was originally designed to accommodate the pilgrims that the monks had been able to collect to the shrine. The view of the courtyard here given differs but little from its present appearance. It has been slightly modernised, but all the details remain to complete the present drawing, which differs indeed but little from John Britton’s, published in the early part of the present century. Most of the pilgrims brought some offering with them, and hence the pains that were taken for their accommodation. The hotel built at Glastonbury for a similar purpose still remains, and is the principal one there at the present day. The buildings of New Inn surrounded two square courts, and were ascended by rows of steps—as appears in the engraving—communicating with two rows of galleries, and these led to various apartments and dormitories. The present inn was built about the year 1450 in Northgate Street by John Twining; and the usual tale about a subterraneous passage to the Cathedral is handed down, which indeed corresponds with the stories that are current of all religious houses. There is a commonly received tradition among country people in the neighbourhood of Chester that a tunnel, closed up at each end, exists between Chester Cathedral and Saighton Hall, a country-seat of the abbots of Chester; and if such a passage ever was constructed, it would compare rather favourably with Cenis tunnel.

This inn is enormously strong and massive, and covers a large area. It is said that half of it is built of timber, principally chestnut.

The luxury of these roomy hotels, after a journey that no market-cart in the most rural district in England would now tolerate, must have been great indeed. In the Grand Concern of England explained by a Lover of his Country, 1673, we read, “What advantage can it be to a man’s health to be called out of bed into these coaches an hour or two before day in the morning; to be hurried in them from place to place till one, two, or three hours within night, insomuch that, after sitting all day in the summer time stifling with heat and choked with dust, or in the winter time starving or freezing with

the cold, or choking with filthy fogs, they are often brought into their inns by torchlight, when it is too late to sit up and get a supper, and next morning they are forced into the coach so early that they cannot get breakfast? What addition is it to a man’s health or business to ride all day with strangers—oftentimes sick, ancient, diseased persons, or young children crying,—all whose humors he is obliged to put up with, and is often poisoned with their nasty scents, and crippled with the crowd of boxes and bundles? Is it for a man’s health to be laid fast in the foul ways and forced to wade up to the knees in mire, afterwards sitting in the cold till teams of horses can be sent to pull the coach out? Is it for their health to travel in rotten coaches, and to have their tackle, or perch, or axle-tree, broken, and then to wait three or four hours (sometimes half a day), and afterwards to travel all night to make good their stage?”

The well-known scene from the Inn Yard, Rochester, in Henry IV. illustrates all this, as also the scarcity of clocks, and the necessity the inhabitants were under to use any means at hand for ascertaining the time of day or night. The discomfort the picture presents will remind any one of travelling in America where the train has to be met at night, or early in the morning, and is detained probably by snow or an accident. The disjointed conversation and weariness are wonderfully portrayed.

1st Carrier (with a lantern). Heigh ho! An’t be not four by the day, I’ll be hanged; Charles’s wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, Ostler, etc.

The discontent and querulousness are well shown; the carrier says—

“I prythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.”

His companion, who joins them, says—

“This house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.”

and the first carrier, who seems all through to be of a more lively turn, adds,

“Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.”

The condition of the roads may be gathered from the fact, that though these men had not more than some thirty miles to travel, they did not expect to finish the journey till night. One of them had a “gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross,” and the other was carrying live turkeys to London, yet the carrier says, in answer to Gadshill, that he hopes to be in London “time enough to go to bed with a candle;” but there seems to have been little improvement even up to the end of last century, when a gentleman of landed property, journeying from Glastonbury to Sarum in his carriage, requested his footman to provide himself with a good axe to lop off any branches of trees that might obstruct the progress of his vehicle. Indeed nobody knows what benefactors to their race such men as Telford and Macadam have been.

In 1703 the road from Petworth to London was so bad that the Duke of Somerset was obliged to rest a night on his way to London, though this distance was hardly fifty miles. And in March 1739 or 1740 Pennant, the author of the Journey through Wales, travelled by stage, and in the first day got with “much labour” from Chester to Whitchurch, twenty miles; and, after a “wondrous effort,” reached London before the commencement of the sixth night.

The Inn at Tewkesbury, here shown, differs from the last, as there is no quadrangle, and probably it was not originally designed for a hostelry, but it is drawn exactly as it now stands. The New Inn at Gloucester has, however, been very slightly modernised, very slightly indeed, and a guest in this well-kept establishment might readily condone any recent work. The view of Tewkesbury, here given, is from the riverside, and shows the monastic buildings converted into a mill.

There are not many streets or homesteads in Cornwall of the character this work is intended to illustrate.

Launceston is the old county town, and is delightfully situated on the banks of the Attery; but Bodmin is the place where assizes are now held, and here Perkin Warbeck marshalled his Cornish men prior to his march on Exeter. A curious story, that dates back to the sixteenth century, is told of the Mayor of Bodmin. He was directed by a king’s officer to have a gallows erected for a person who had been supposed to have some connection with a recent rebellion. As soon as it was ready the mayor was asked if it was strong enough to carry him, and replied, “Without doubt it is.” “Then up with you, Master Mayor,” he replied, “for it is meant for thee.”

There are many traditions and ballads connected with this charming county; but few persons will forget the recent surprise they felt on learning that the celebrated Cornish ballad, “And shall Trelawney die?”—a ballad that Macaulay quotes as genuine—is the composition of a clergyman who died recently, and left a somewhat eccentric character behind him.

The old market-place and cross, Penzance, are now being considerably modernised, but the engraving here given faithfully represents it as it stood. The market-place resembles the Rows at Totness, or the half-developed Rows outside Chester, and the crooked chimney-stack is supposed (perhaps rightly too) to be a preventive to smoke.

Penzance is the most westerly town in England, and has given birth to Sir Humphrey Davy and Captain Pellew (Lord Exmouth). Liskeard, which returns a member to Parliament, is described correctly enough as a rather sleepy market-town; and, with the exception of St. Germans, which was once the cathedral city of Cornwall, there is little connected with our present subject in this county. This cannot, however, be said of Devonshire, which abounds with quaint old towns and pleasant homesteads. Here the artist goes for latticed cottage windows, gables, and trellissed porches covered with evergreens. The meadows are dotted with fine timber trees, and narrow shady lanes lie through rows of elms and beech trees, while nearly every variety of wild flower and fern adorn the hedges.

It is commonly said that Thackeray laid the scene of Pendennis’ early years in Devonshire. Clavering is supposed to be Ottery St. Mary’s, Exeter figures as Chatteris, and Baymouth of course is Exmouth. Certainly the description of the place where Costigan resided would seem to suit the Close of the ancient city. “The captain conducted his young friend to that quiet little street in Chatteris, which is called Prior’s Lane, which lies in the ecclesiastical quarter of the town, close by Dean’s Green and the canons’ houses, and is overlooked by the enormous towers of the cathedral; there the captain dwelt modestly in the first floor of a low gabled house, on the door of which was the brass-plate of “Creed, tailor and robemaker.”

His description of Clavering St. Mary is very beautiful; the river Brawl might be of course the “Otter,” if the generally received opinion that Devonshire is the scene of this delightful work is correct. “Looking at the little old town of Clavering St. Mary from the London Road, as it runs by the lodge at Fairoaks, and seeing the rapid and shiny Brawl winding down from the town, and skirting the woods of Clavering Park, and the ancient church tower and peaked roofs of the houses rising up among trees and old walls, behind which swells a fair background of sunshiny hills that stretch from Clavering westward towards the sea, the place looks so cheery and comfortable that many a traveller’s heart must have yearned toward it from the coach top, and he must have thought that it was in such a calm friendly nook he would like to shelter at the end of life’s struggle.”

His description later on in the work, of the inside of Clavering town, is marvellously graphic. “Clavering is rather prettier at a distance than it is on a closer acquaintance. The town, so cheerful of aspect a few furlongs off, looks very blank and dreary. Except on market-days there is nobody in the streets. The clack of a pair of pattens rings through half the place, and you may hear the creaking of the rusty old ensign at the Clavering Arms without being disturbed by any other noise. There has not been a ball at the assembly rooms since the Clavering volunteers gave one to their colonel, old Sir Francis Clavering; the stables which once held a great part of that brilliant, but defunct regiment, are now cheerless and empty, except on Thursdays when the farmers put up there, and their tilted carts and gigs make a feeble show of liveliness in the place, or on petty sessions when the magistrates attend in what used to be the old cardroom. On the south side of the market rises up the church with its great gray towers, of which the sun illuminates the delicate carving, deepening the shadows of the huge buttresses, and gilding the glittering windows and flaming vanes.... The rectory is a stout broad-shouldered brick house of the reign of Anne. It communicates with the church and market by different gates, and stands at the opening of Yew Tree Lane,” etc. etc. These exquisite descriptions of old-fashioned English country town scenes are introduced as being among the most vivid in our language, and also as referring, it is supposed, to the places under consideration.

GOLDSMITH STREET, EXETER.
CHAPTER III.

EXETER—WELLS—GLASTONBURY, LEGEND OF KING ARTHUR INTERRED HERE—DORSET—SHERBORNE—WEYMOUTH.

THE houses at the corner of Goldsmith Street, in Exeter, are about to be pulled down, and are introduced here more for their curiosity than their beauty; a chapel is quaintly mixed up with them, and there is a sort of promenade on the top of the chemist’s shop.

Exeter has declined from its ancient trade of woollen manufacture, and glovemaking and agricultural implements form the chief industry of the inhabitants. Crediton, at a few miles farther up the county, used at one time to be the seat of the Episcopate, but Exeter has enjoyed that dignity since the reign of Edward the Confessor. It has played a conspicuous part at times in English history, having at one time been besieged by William the Conqueror; and when the magistrates stole out of the city to surrender it, the citizens closed their gates against their return, and took the defence into their own hands. The fortifications were destroyed by Fairfax in 1646; but part of the castle still remains, and it has been converted into a gentleman’s residence. Of this celebrated building we read in Richard III. when his quarrel with Buckingham is beginning—

“As I remember, Henry the Sixth
Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
. . . . . . . . . .
How chance the prophet could not at that time
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

Richmond! when last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy show’d me the castle,
And call’d it Rougemont: at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.”

Another old house opposite the cathedral in Exeter is given which stands in a very irregular row. This house is singular in form, and perhaps not a specimen which will be imitated to any great extent in the present day; still the bow windows over the shop which do not obstruct the walk, and the balcony over these, are very curious and convenient.

Formerly an old building stood in Waterbeare Street, which was said to be the Guildhall of Exeter, and it would be the mayor’s place of business when King Richard went to Exeter, but this was pulled down in 1803. The present Guildhall in High Street was built in 1593, though it is said that the internal parts date back to the fourteenth century.

The South gate of Exeter was taken down in 1819, and one of the most picturesque entrances to any city lost for ever. Lysons has preserved a drawing of it in his Magna Britannia, page 198, that gives an excellent idea of its former grandeur; a low deep archway, flanked by vast circular towers, is encroached on upon all sides by picturesque gabled houses, each built without any regard to the style of its neighbour.

The Water gate also was taken down at nearly the same time, and this has also been preserved in a sketch in Lysons’ book. This gate was of astonishing beauty and lightness.

A sketch of Plymouth harbour has been preserved in a chart drawn by some engineer of the reign of Henry VIII., and still extant in the British Museum. The bird’s-eye view represents some four churches, with plenty of gabled houses, and the necessary number of lookers-on from men-of-war.

There are many other towns in Devonshire that contain subject matter for our work, such as Tiverton on the Exe, and Tavistock, so beautifully situated on the banks of the Tavy. Tavistock once gloried in a fine old Abbey, and much of the present town is built out of the spoils of this venerable pile, of which some remains yet stand, and it was also the birthplace of Sir Francis Drake.

Clovelly is one of the most picturesque villages in England. The street resembles a winding staircase, each house representing a step.

“Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm,
And in this chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a mouldered church; and higher
A long street climbs to one tall-towered mill.
And high in heaven behind it a gray down
With Danish barrows; and a hazel wood,
By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes
Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.”

This description of the village in Enoch Arden has commonly been said to refer to Clovelly.

Often the towns and villages here receive their names from rivers, for Devonshire has the honour of a watershed of its own, of which Cranmere pool, high up in Dartmoor, is the centre; thus Axminster is named from having a minster on the Axe, and Axmouth from being the town situated at the mouth of that river. The Dart, of course, gives the name of Dartmouth, and the Exe, Exeter and Exmouth; and perhaps it is not commonly known that Mr. Speaker Addington derived his title from the river Sid, which runs past his property, and suggested the name of Sydmouth to the original founder of the family.

It is perhaps hardly too much to say that Wells is the most picturesque city in England. The series of houses called Vicar’s Close is connected with the cathedral by a gallery, over an arched gateway across the street. “This gallery is approached on each side by a flight of steps, from which there is a very fine and unique entrance into the chapter-room. Unlike any other chapter-room in England, the floor of this is raised several feet above the level of the cathedral on a vaulted room. The design and construction of this chapter-house, with its connecting staircase and gallery, are entitled to the especial admiration of the architect;” so writes Britton, and he further adds, in admiration of the structure, “We see that the architects of the Middle Ages were unrestrained by precedent, and exercised their imagination and judgment in producing novelties.”

The “Vicar’s Close” is a long court of ancient houses built in the fourteenth century, and retaining many of their original features; at one end is a noble entrance gateway, and at the other the chapel and chaplain’s dwelling. All these have been engraved in Britton’s Cathedral Antiquities and Picturesque Antiquities of English Cities. Each house has a tall graceful chimney rising through the eaves of the roof, and is provided with a small garden in front. These shafts have armorial bearings of the see—and of the executors of Bishop Beckington, who finished the “Close.” Their names were Swan and Sugar, and in the spirit of the age, a swan and a loaf of sugar have been sculptured. This singular scene has no rival in England, and nowhere can mediæval domestic architecture be so well studied. The combinations of chimneys and gables, buttresses and traceried windows, is really astonishing to any one who sees it for the first time.

Wells, according to Camden, was so called from its numerous springs, and now bright clear water runs through the various streets of the city, which take their rise from wells in the Bishop’s garden, these wells form a moat or lake of incomparable beauty. The engraving gives only a partial idea of the scene, as each step unfolds some new delight. There is an embattled wall with bastion towers, enclosing perhaps fifteen acres, which is surrounded by a broad moat, and on the north side the palace is approached by a bridge and baronial gatehouse. Ralph de Salopia was the builder of this wall, and a great benefactor to the see and palace. He it was who drew up statutes for the government of Vicar’s

Close in 1347. Whatever this prelate undertook he would seem to have done with vigour, for, as he was partial to the chase in his leisure hours, he pursued it with such success, that during his prelacy he is said to have destroyed the game of the vast Mendip forest; but one of his predecessors, who bore an excellent name, Reginald Fitz Joceline, seems to have smoothed the way for the pursuit of hunting, as he obtained a charter from Richard I. entitling all bishops of Wells to keep dogs for hunting throughout the entire county of Somerset. He was much esteemed in his day, and relieved the citizens of Wells from some servile duties. This excellent man, when offered the dignity of archbishop, replied with emotion, that “so far was he from having any ambitious desire for that place, that it was a great grief unto him to be chosen, and he would be very glad if they would take some other in his room: howbeit,” says he, “if they must needs stand to their election, though with grief and sorrow I must and will accept the same.” His “nolo episcopari” was not put to any very severe test, however, for though he reluctantly permitted his nomination, he never enjoyed the dignity, for he was very soon after taken ill, put on a monk’s cowl, and died.

The beneficence of this prelate in procuring the right to keep hunting dogs for all clergy is celebrated apparently in the monument of Ralph de Salopia, who has two dogs collared at his feet on the effigy in Wells Cathedral.

Little would all this advantage another bishop of later date whose name is intimately connected with the scene here given,—Bishop Ken. He was one of the “seven bishops” who was tried in James II.’s time, and in a summer-house from which this beautiful scene is taken, he wrote the Morning and Evening Hymns.

It is impossible to travel far in Glastonbury without being reminded of its once famous monastery. The buildings are either constructed from its spoils, or else are themselves parts of the original structure, and many walls and farm buildings in the neighbourhood owe their existence to materials quarried as it were from its vast stores. The durability of the stone is something marvellous: most of the enrichments on the chapel of St. Joseph, though they date back to the thirteenth century, are as perfect as when first chiselled, and retain all their original sharpness. The Tribunal here shown was intended for very different purposes than a suite of lawyer’s offices, to which use it is now adapted. It is fortunate that

it remains at all, as its destruction was decreed, but a gentleman in the neighbourhood, a son of the late Dean of Windsor, came forward and purchased it; he now represents the county in Parliament. The oriel window and deeply-recessed lights of the lower storey have a very venerable appearance. The tower is characteristic of the Somerset towers of the fifteenth century. A little lower down on the same side of the street is the celebrated “George Inn,” built for the convenience of the Pilgrims, and this yet remains as an inn, and is the best in Glastonbury. A gatehouse with some fine work inside, forms another inn, not very far distant. The tradition of “Weary-all-Hill” is so familiar as hardly to need repeating here. It says that Joseph of Arimathea, toiling up the steep ascent, drove his thorn staff into the ground, and said to his followers, “Here let us rest.” This was regarded as an omen, and to it the monastery owed its origin. The thorn budded, and now flowers, it is commonly said, at winter. The grand Abbot’s kitchen is familiar to every one, and it is said to be owing to a boast of the last Abbot, when Henry VIII. threatened to burn down his buildings, that he would have a kitchen all the wood of Mendip Forest would not suffice to burn down. Here St. Patrick spent the latter part of his life, and here also, it is said, King Arthur was buried.

Giraldus Cambrensis says he was an eyewitness of his disinterment in the twelfth century, on the return of Henry II. from the Irish wars; and seven feet below the surface a large stone was discovered with the inscription “HIC JACET SEPULTUS INCLYTUS REX ARTHURIUS IN INSULA AVALONIA.” Nine feet below this they found the remains of the King, and by his side those of his wife. The shin-bone of the King, says Giraldus, when placed side by side with that of a tall man, reached three fingers above his knee, and his skull was fearfully wounded. The remains of his wife were singularly perfect, but fell into dust on exposure to the atmosphere,—a statement that seems rather to confirm than otherwise the curious discovery, for some similar phenomena have occurred among much more ancient remains, as ancient indeed as the mysterious people of Etruria.

Edward I., it is said, had these remains subsequently exhumed. The skulls were deposited in the Treasury, to remain there, and the rest of the bones were returned to their resting-place, Edward placing an inscription over them, which recorded the circumstances.

Though Dorsetshire is rich in relics of the Roman and Celtic period, the towns generally have a somewhat modern appearance. Sherborne is finely situated in the northern part of the county, on the slope of a hill rising from the vale of Blackmoor, and was a place of importance even in the early Saxon times; indeed it was for three centuries the seat of a bishopric, which included the southwestern counties. The see was afterwards removed to Old Sarum. Sherborne Castle was the seat of Sir Walter Raleigh, who received the estate from Queen Elizabeth.

The scene here given is a beautiful example of a quiet English market-place. There is a water conduit to supply the townspeople, and behind it is a covered area much resembling a market cross, and apparently built about the year 1500. On market-days, when there are groups of farmers and country people round the space in front of the “Sun Inn” the effect is very picturesque; the huge abbey rises over all, and forms a fine gray background, and, as will be seen, the rest of the picture is finely broken.

Weymouth is the largest town in Dorsetshire, and it has many interesting traditions connected with it. It was one of the principal harbours of the south when the Spanish Armada appeared on our shores, and Queen Elizabeth united it with Melcombe Regis, in order to end the constant lawsuits that were carried on between these two places to secure the rights of harbour. Lyme Regis, in Dorsetshire, has played no inconsiderable a part in English history. It contributed four ships to the Calais expedition of Edward III. In 1544 the French landed here, but were repulsed with great slaughter. A century later it held out for two months against a

Royalist army; and here the Duke of Monmouth landed in 1685 on his ill-starred expedition against James II. Many other towns in this county are full of historic interest.

CARDINAL BEAUFORT’S GATE AND ANCIENT BREWERY, WINCHESTER.
CHAPTER IV.

CARDINAL BEAUFORT’S TOWER—ST. CROSS—WINCHESTER—SURREY—SALISBURY—CANTERBURY—ROCHESTER—RYE—EAST GRINSTEAD—MIDDLESEX.

CARDINAL BEAUFORT’S Tower was built in the early part of the fifteenth century, when he revived the foundation of St. Cross. To the left of the illustration is the brewery, formerly called the Hundred Men’s Hall, because a hundred of the poorest inhabitants of Winchester were daily entertained to dinner here, and, as that repast was provided on a very bountiful scale, the guests were always permitted to carry provisions to their families. This tower and the buildings around it are noble examples of the domestic architecture of the fifteenth century. The dwellings of the brethren consist of a parlour, bedroom, scullery, and closet; they are beautiful examples of old cottage architecture, and are compactly planned. In this hospital the custom yet prevails of giving any wayfarer who may ask it a horn of ale and a dole of bread. The ale is brewed on the premises, and is said to be the same kind as that which was brewed here hundreds of years ago. The revenues of this building were till lately enormous, and much dissatisfaction is openly expressed at the way in which one high in office, recently appropriated the greater part of them. Nothing can exceed the beauty of St. Cross as it is approached from the Southampton road. This noble gateway is seen through great elms and walnut trees, and the long lines of quaint high chimneys, combining with the church and foliage, are astonishingly picturesque. The river Itchen sometimes is well in view along the road, and sometimes it is lost in the trees. The hospital itself, with the brethren in their black gowns and silver crosses, gives, perhaps, a more vivid picture of ancient England, and that in its best features, than any other scene that is left us.

Just a mile from this charming spot is the West Gate of Winchester. Formerly there were four gates, but three have been demolished. The one here shown is said (probably with accuracy) to have been built by King John. It is unnecessary, however, to remark that later architecture has been introduced. There is a strong room on the ground-floor, called a cage, that was for the temporary confinement of disorderly persons, and till lately it was used for a similar purpose.

The beautiful “Cross” at Winchester is supposed by Britton to have been erected by Cardinal Beaufort. The cardinal is said to have spent much of his ill-gotten wealth in splendid architectural works. His wealth was prodigious, even for a high prelate of those days. In the fine scene which closes his career in “Henry VI.,” he says in his last moments—

“If thou be’st death, I’ll give thee England’s treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain.”

The probability is that the great dramatist more nearly hit off the truth of the last hours and crimes of the great churchman than ordinary history has done.

The Cathedral Close at Winchester is extremely picturesque, and the little houses round it are of considerable antiquity. If the visitor enters the church from the west end, the scene is of almost unequalled grandeur. He looks through one continuous vista of pillars, arches, and roof, extending

to the eastern extremity, where the eye finally rests on the great eastern window, that seems to dimly light up the choir. The size of this magnificent vista may best be understood if we consider that a journey from the west door to the east window and back is only some eighty yards short of a quarter of a mile. It is curious that Winchester is really cased in and hidden by a more recent style, in order to adapt it to the more modern styles of thought and practice; and I am indebted to Mr. Barry for bringing forward the following problem:—How is it that in the Georgian era the great rage was for pulling down dwelling-houses, and, indeed, unhappily, other buildings of a secular character, cathedrals and parish churches were spared, especially as they were all generally classified under the term of Gothic, or barbarous? Gothic, it must always be remembered, is the term of reproach that Wren applied to all mediæval architecture, though it has now been converted into a word of praise. Vandalism was the parallel term in those days, and Goths and Vandals were always brought forward when any signal piece of art-spoliation had to be described:—

“The Goths and Vandals of our Isle,
Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile
Than Roman ever saw.”

These are the crowd that Cowper alludes to when describing the burning of Lord Mansfield’s library. The second term only now is ever used in reproach, the first being almost, as before remarked, a complimentary epithet. Happily it is so, or else the cathedrals would have fallen in the fashion of the period that made each new era in design paramount for the time. Nothing can have been less conservative than the way in which the monks of old regarded the works of their predecessors. In any English cathedral we see the masonry of different eras, each with its own peculiarity, and there was not the slightest hesitation in pulling down the works of the previous century in order to replace them with those in fashion; indeed we often find exquisite carved work broken in pieces and used for rubble, when its very condition shows that the builders who so used it could have easily restored it—not “restored” in the modern sense of the word, but repaired it. To be so conservative as we are now of the works of our ancestors in an age that is pre-eminently one of progress, seems an anachronism, but it must be remembered that we should not now have possessed much in the way of cathedrals if it were not for the fact that after the Reformation, clergy fell almost into contempt for a long time. Macaulay’s History of England tells us how lightly they were esteemed; a chaplain to a family of rank and wealth was hardly held in greater honour than the head gamekeeper or huntsman; and the wealth of the bishops and dignitaries seems almost to have isolated rather than enabled them to mingle with their equals. Ecclesiastical buildings were therefore neglected, happily for the present generation, or else we should have had a dozen grand old Gothic piles replaced by the architecture of Queen Anne or the Georges. The tide of improvement that swept away so many old English mansions passed by them.

Surrey is a very beautiful county, undulating and diversified. A great part of it is not more than 300 feet above the level of the sea, and Leith Hill, near Dorking, which is the highest part of it, is only about 900 feet in elevation. There are many old towns and villages in Surrey, and not a few are of great historical interest. Esher is the place where Cardinal Wolsey was ordered to retire to after his downfall. The gateway still remains of Esher Palace. It is a fine old tower, with turrets at the angles. Norfolk gives the—to him—congenial orders:—

“Hear the King’s pleasure, Cardinal; who commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Esher-house—my lord of Winchester’s.”

The Town-hall of Guildford is a very characteristic building of the earliest period of classic revival. I saw a painting of it that dated back to the earlier part of last century, and the street seems hardly to have been altered since this picture was executed. The balcony is of course for addressing an audience at election times, and the clock stands quaintly out into the street, supported by thin ribbons of wrought

iron. Much of the character of this and other classic buildings of the period when the revival took place, came from Holland, and the stiff gardening was introduced from the Netherlands, though of course the Dutch element is more observable in places like Hull, that had more direct communication with the Low Countries. The revivals of Wren and Inigo Jones proceed from an entirely different quarter, though of course they often combined with them.

The city of Salisbury, it has been well said by one of our best antiquarians, has its origin well defined, and in this respect differs from English cities generally. It has nothing Roman, Saxon, or

even Norman in its origin, but is purely an English city, and it may be considered as unique. It has abundant provision for cleanliness, and is even without the remains of a baronial fortress. True it is that it was surrounded by walls, and a very fine gateway is shown here, but these walls were the boundaries of the precincts of the ecclesiastics. The

See of Salisbury was removed from Old Sarum in 1215 to its present site, in consequence of the “brawles and sadde blows,” as Holinshed states, between the clergy and the castellans, and then the splendid cathedral was commenced. King Henry III. granted the church a weekly market, and a fair of eight days’ continuance; and, according to Dodsworth’s Salisbury, “the city was divided into spaces of seven perches each in length, and three in breadth,” and this accounts for the present symmetrical arrangement of the streets.

The view in the High Street, looking into the close, shows one of the entrance gatehouses. It is, of course, of later date than the Cathedral, but extremely fine, and characteristic of ancient English architecture. The view of Salisbury from the bridge includes the present workhouse—the building on the right. There is a fine old chapel here, and a curiously ornamented chimney-piece, and also an apartment Britton calls a “monks’ parlor.”

Of Salisbury market little need be said. The engraver has reproduced the scene excellently well, and it will at all times be numbered among the most graceful stone structures, either ancient or modern, that adorn the kingdom.

Surrey, from its position, has often occupied a conspicuous place in English history, and it is hardly necessary to add that Runnymede, near Egham, where the great and peaceful revolution took place that is felt to the present day, is in Surrey.

Canterbury is one of the most delightful cities in England for an antiquary. Not much remains of its military antiquities, but the ecclesiastical and domestic relics are numerous and imposing. St. Augustine’s monastery is worth a pilgrimage from any part of England, and notwithstanding all it has suffered from having been used as a brewery, it bears many grand traces of its ancient splendour.