The description of a ride into Stamford in Nicholas Nickleby is very graphic. The scene is supposed to be at night, when the snow was

beginning to fall, in January, and right well Dickens has hit off the description of a snow-storm in those regions. “The night and the snow came on together, and dismal enough they were. There was no sound to be heard but the howling of the wind, for the noise of the wheels and the tread of the horses’ feet were rendered inaudible by the thick coating of snow which covered the earth, and was fast increasing every moment. The streets of Stamford were deserted as they passed through the town, and its old churches rose dark and frowning from the whitened ground.” The George Inn, here given, is a good example of an excellent old hostelry, and the signboard across the street is very characteristic of some of the older inns. “Twenty miles farther on” Dickens says, “two of the front outside passengers, wisely availing themselves of their arrival at one of the best inns in England, turned in for the night at the George at Grantham.”

The Angel Hotel, here shown, is a fine piece of Tudor architecture, with bow windows, and an oriel over the doorway. It is situated at the head of the principal street, and overlooks the celebrated market cross.

The Romans, during their tenure of the island, constructed dykes, one of which in part remains at Wainfleet. The car-dyke, also a canal sixty feet wide and twenty miles long, reaching from near Bourn to the Sleaford Canal, and the Foss Dyke, extending from the Witham to the Trent, are the works of Roman hands.

Lincolnshire is celebrated for the number and grandeur of its ecclesiastical remains. Every one is familiar with the celebrated Croyland Bridge, built, it is said, long before the Conquest; this is triangular in form, and the arches meet at the centre, but the style of building points to a somewhat later date than tradition ascribes to it. Croyland is situated in one of the dreariest spots in England, and, excepting the bridge, has nothing of interest.

The Danes have left their mark in Lincolnshire, as the number of places ending in by—like Spilsby, Wragby, Grimsby—testify.

Boston was at one time second only to London itself in commercial importance, and in the reign of Edward III. it was made a staple port for wool, tin, lead, and other commodities. A staple town, from which the word staple is derived, was a town fixed by authority and privilege, to which merchants of foreign countries brought their ventures—cloth or manufactures—and they were either sold or bartered away for English goods or produce. The celebrated church of Boston is dedicated to St. Botolph, and the name Boston is said to be a corruption of St. Botolph, a Saxon saint, who established a monastery here. The tower of Boston church is nearly 300 feet high, and can be seen at a great distance either by land or sea. From its blunt appearance it is familiarly called “Boston stump.”

Oakham is a quiet old country town, in the middle of an agricultural district, and it contains many highly respectable houses, inhabited by local gentry. The market-place is here shown, and the covered market is built of strong oak. There is another old oak market in the town, of very singular construction; it is octagonal, and is supported on strong oak uprights; the roof rises to a point, and is shingled strongly with oak. This second market-place, over which the great church spire rises, is extremely picturesque, and on market days it would form a splendid subject for an artist’s brush. There is a singular custom at Oakham: every peer of the realm, on first passing through the town, has either to pay a fine, or else present the town with a shoe from his horse; the shoe is then nailed up on the castle gate, or in some conspicuous part of the building. Queen Elizabeth has left a memento of this nature behind her, as also have George IV. and her present Majesty. These shoes are often gilt and stamped with the name of the donor and his arms. The scene here given is taken from the windows of the Crown Hotel, and is very characteristic of the place.

Uppingham is a clean neat market town, to which a railroad has not as yet penetrated. It consists principally of one long street, nearly at the middle of which is a large square used for markets. There is a fine old grammar school here, founded by the Rev. Robert Johnson, archdeacon of Leicester, in 1584; he also founded one at Oakham, and became rector of North Luffenham in this county, where he died and was buried in 1616. The property with which he endowed it has increased in value enormously, and the funds are very large. The celebrated Jeremy Taylor was rector of Uppingham.

Image unavailable: SARACEN’S HEAD, SOUTHWELL.
SARACEN’S HEAD, SOUTHWELL.

CHAPTER VII.

NOTTINGHAM is well supplied with all materials necessary for building. The best of stone, lime, and wood are found here, and its early dwelling-places have in consequence been substantial and numerous. Mansfield, at the western extremity of Sherwood Forest, is a fine old country town, and still bears many traces of its ancient importance, though it has been much modernised. Sherwood Forest is the most celebrated feature in Nottinghamshire, and one of the most romantic parts of England. It is estimated to have been some twenty-five miles in length, and nearly eight broad in the times of Robin Hood, who would thus have about two hundred square miles to roam about in and kill deer. This popular outlaw has found a warm advocate across the channel in the person of Mons. Thierry, who recognises in him a sort of embodyment of popular feeling that existed against the singular severity of the Norman forest laws. There were at one time, it is said, over sixty Royal forests in England, all protected by laws of great cruelty. The celebrated Greendale Oak in Welbeck Park was quite a venerable tree in Robin Hood’s time. There is a coach road now through its stem. The “Parliament Oak,” in Clipstone Park, is so called because tradition asserts that King Edward I. called a parliament beneath its boughs. “The ancient date,” says Mr. Major, “may be illustrated by the fact, that when some of these trees were cut down at the latter end of the last century, letters denoting the king’s reign in which they were thus marked, were found stamped on them. One of these, eighteen inches beneath the surface of the tree, when it was felled in 1791, and more than a foot from the centre of the tree, bore the letters showing it had been marked in the reign of John (A.D. 1199); and allowing that it was a hundred years old when it was thus marked, it must have weathered seven centuries. This is probably the age of the oldest yet standing in the numerous parks, which still attest the dimensions of the good old forest of Sherwood.”

Though it would be rather straining the point to allude to them as the homesteads which it is the object of this work to delineate, a passing mention may be made of the caves with which this part of England abounded, and which made such safe retreats for outlaws in those days. Many of these are of natural formation, either owing to the porous yielding limestone being eroded by water, or to the rock commonly called “pudding-stone” being disintegrated. Some are artificial, as the one called “Robin Hood’s Stable,” which is, however, more like a chapel, and probably has served as one. Sherwood Forest has for generations been yielding to the axe and the plough, though a goodly number of the old trees yet remain. The trunks, which are found bedded in the ground, induced a very intelligent writer to say that it had once before been levelled for cultivation, but this is probably not the case, for those who could fell a tree would know its value for domestic uses. Camden gives the clue to these relics. “It was anciently thick set with trees, whose entangled branches were so thickly twisted together that they hardly left room for a single person to pass,” and such a state of vegetation is soon fatal to the growth of large trees. Many American forests are similar to the Sherwood that Camden describes; the writer has not unfrequently heard the crash of some tall forest tree, whose roots were strangled and starved; indeed a traveller is often surprised, on entering some grand-looking wood, either in Canada or the States, to find it paved with huge trunks between which a more recent growth appeared. Such a place, with its caverns and its vast extent, might easily enable a freebooter and his bands to set authority at defiance, especially when his followers were desperate men, often flying from the mutilation or death they had subjected themselves to by breaking the forest laws; nor were the exploits of these bands confined to the limits of Sherwood. We find Robin Hood turning up in Derby and Yorkshire: a bay there yet bears his name. As an instance of the way in which a forest may disappear, might be mentioned the celebrated Wirral Forest in Cheshire, occupying at one time the dreary promontory between the Dee and the Mersey. Now hardly a bush can be induced to grow here, but at one time it was so thickly wooded that there was an old saying

But Sherwood is not the only interesting part of Nottingham historically. The market town of Southwell, about fourteen miles from the county town, was the scene of the final surrender of Charles I. to the Parliamentary forces. This event occurred at the Saracen’s Head, a fine old-fashioned hostelry, built at various times: some parts of it appear to be of Henry IV.’s time, though they have been called more ancient. This is still the principal hotel in the town. Shilton, in his History of Southwell, says, “On the 26th March 1646, Montreville, the French King’s ambassador, arrived at this inn, where he lodged till Charles the First could make his escape from Oxford, which he did as the servant of, and with, Lord Ashburnham, and arrived at the inn on the 4th of May following; and Montreville having occupied the above room, which was then divided into a dining-room and bed-room, gave it up to the King. The next day the King sent for the Scotch Commissioners (who occupied the palace) before dinner, and dined with them at this inn. Here he gave himself up to them, and in the afternoon went under an escort of their army to Kelham; both rooms are now thrown into one; the line of separation is easily discernible on the ceiling, and the whole of the walls are now covered with the identical wainscot extant at the time.”

The palace here alluded to was frequently the residence of the Archbishops of York, and is a splendid ruin. The architecture principally appears to be of the latter part of the fifteenth century, and the proportions and mouldings of the windows are remarkably graceful and rich. The chimney here given is a valuable example for modern imitation.

Though the closing scene of Charles I.’s liberty took place at the Saracen’s Head, he was often a sojourner at the palace. The portion shown here is part of a homestead, which, with other remains of the palace, group exceedingly well in combination with the great minster. The beautiful minster, of which the tower is shown, is so called from the South Well, which was a place of pilgrimage in the middle ages. There were other wells near here, such as the Lady’s Well, which has been filled up in consequence of a clergyman being drowned in it one dark night, and St. Catherine’s Well, still famed for rheumatic cures.

The chimneys in Southwell Palace are very fine. Those shown in the next illustration are all of brick, and somewhat peculiar in construction. They are, in a sense, octagonal, but simply the angles are taken off, courses of bricks project at the top, and there is a slight battlement, which might either be made in moulded bricks or ordinary ones. These chimneys are very striking and happy in their effect, and might, without much expense, be reproduced. There is, indeed, much more scope in brick chimneys than in stone and terra-cotta. The latter always are open to exception, and are tame, while stone ones, which we see in perfection at such places at Helmingham or Hinchinbrooke, are costly; but brick chimneys may be made of a hundred forms, and that with economy. Homestead and all as the palace is now, there is singular dignity in the remains. The windows are peculiarly rich in mouldings, and, though late in style, they are extremely beautiful.

Southwell was the place that monarchs and nobles almost vied with each other in endeavouring to endow. All the land near it would seem to have lapsed to the ecclesiastical commissioners, showing its great possessions, and there were a great number of resident dignitaries who drew great emoluments long after their (at any time) nominal duties had ceased. Two singular discoveries of bodies were made at this palace—one in a cloth of silver tissue, with leather boots on, a wand by its side, and on the breast something like a silver cup, with an acorn or bunch of leaves at the top; and the other skeleton was found in the vault of the palace, here shown, in an upright position, with an axe-blade in a cleft of the skull.

Newark is situated on a branch of the Trent, and is famous in history for its castle, where John died after his army was swamped in the Wash and he had reached Swineshead Abbey with great difficulty. The scene here given is of a lane leading from the great market square to the close round St. Mary Magdalen’s Church, and is very characteristic of an old English town. The roof of the house seems very high to our modern ideas, and the seed-shop on the ground-floor is as singularly low. Between the house with the high roof and the

gabled house on the left hand there is an alley that is hardly like any I remember to have seen in England before. The houses on each side have projecting storeys, and a projecting eaves to the roof, and so narrow is it that at one part it is quite closed overhead, and the rain-water from the higher house discharges itself, if the gutter is full, upon the tiles of its opposite neighbour. The church, which is seen through the opening, is said to be one of the finest parish churches in England. There is a strange piece of street architecture on the road leading from the station to the town: among other detached houses is a fine specimen of Queen Anne’s reign, of fair size and highly enriched, that has been inhabited for generations by the same family; and behind it is a beautiful miniature park with every accessory, including even deer, yet in passing along the street nothing is seen of this.

Newark Castle is an extremely picturesque ruin, almost rising on one side out of the river, and on the other is the cattle-market. It seems to have departed in a measure from the old rule that made such places merely fortresses, for there are many windows of great beauty and justness of proportion, though most of them belong to a later date than the original construction. The castle, of course new work, gave the name to the town, and was built by the celebrated Bishop Alexander, who had a passion for castle-building, and does not seem to have endeavoured to check it in any degree. Perhaps it was one of the 1100 castles that are said to have been built in the reign of King Stephen, though the precise period of his reign cannot exactly be said to have been strictly adhered to in the estimate. Some of the work in this castle is as recent, according to all appearances, as Henry VII., and there is a beautifully corbelled oriel adjoining a window of this period that dates to the early part of the fifteenth century. A stranger in Newark will hardly fail to be struck with the number of signs that still remain; they are used to distinguish shops, and are hung out in the same manner as public-house signs are in other places. In the civil wars Newark Castle held out very steadily against the Parliamentary armies, and twice successfully resisted Cromwell’s forces. Indeed it was only when Charles himself surrendered to the Scotch Commissioners, and told them to surrender to the adversaries, that the gallant defenders gave the castle up to destruction.

The town of Nottingham is about sixteen miles from Newark; between the two are no considerable towns or villages of interest. A Roman road goes nearly the whole distance, only branching off at Bingham, or rather the Roman road proceeds south, and that to Nottingham branches to the west: many armies have passed along it, on all possible causes, the last being Cromwell’s. In the revolution of 1688, the Duke of Devonshire, Lord Howe, and other noblemen, sounded the disposition of the people of Nottingham by mustering along the road with some 500 horse, and suddenly sounding to arms, saying that James II. was within four miles of the town; whereupon “the whole town was in alarm; multitudes who had horses mounted and accoutred themselves with such arms as they had, whilst others appeared in vast numbers on foot, some with firelocks, some with swords, some with other weapons, even pitchforks not excepted, and being told of the necessity of securing the passage of the Trent, they immediately withdrew all the boats that were then at hand to the north side of the river, and with them and some timber and barrels in the wharf, and all the frames of the market stalls, they raised a strong barricade.” Well pleased with this, Lord Howe and the Duke of Devonshire communicated the subject to the prince, and at the old market cross, now pulled down, many people on the following Saturday proclaimed their danger, and enlisted a troop.

Warwickshire is justly noted for the number and richness of its mediæval remains. Warwick Castle and Kenilworth are objects of pilgrimage from all parts of England, and when the former was partially burned down in 1871, a national subscription was raised to restore it. It is one of the few castles still preserved in something of its original condition, and inhabited. The state-rooms were saved, but immense loss was sustained by the fire. Kenilworth must have been even a more magnificent seat in its time, and part of it would seem to date back to Henry I.’s reign. These are buildings, however, that have plenty of chroniclers, and are noticed in passing here to indicate, as it were, what a prospect the county affords of such more humble remains as were sure to accompany these baronial piles. There are many such in Warwick. The building here engraved is Leicester Hospital, founded by the lord of Kenilworth. It came into possession of the Dudleys in 1571, and Robert Dudley obtained an act of incorporation for it, and constituted it collegiate, converting it into an hospital for a master

and twelve brethren. The master was to belong to the Established Church, and the brethren were to be retainers of the Earl of Leicester and his heirs. Especial preference was to be given to those who had been wounded in the wars. The act of incorporation also gives a list of towns and villages, and specifies that Queen’s soldiers from these, in rotation, are to have the next presentations. There is a common kitchen, with cook and porter, etc., and each brother receives some £80 per annum besides the privileges of the house. He is obliged to wear a blue cloth gown, with the bear and ragged staff in silver. Hardly any more favourable specimen of street architecture could be found than this fine old pile. The chapel, which has been restored in nearly the old form, stretches over the pathway, and there is a promenade at the top of the flight of steps round it. The black-and-white gabled building that forms the hospital is peculiarly beautiful, and the carvings on it are very fine. There is a spacious open quadrangle round which the buildings run; and the galleries and covered stair are models of picturesqueness and beauty.

Passing through the arched gateway, we come to the fine old porch attached to the decayed hostelry, the “Malt Shovel.” It is extremely quaint, and the bow window in the projection is a very characteristic feature. Many are the relics in the town of Warwick itself that would suit the present work. One here given is a very curious instance of the way in which an acute-angled street may be made to contain rectangular rooms, on an upper storey. This is remarkably beautiful, and of almost puzzling

simplicity. It can only be explained in some such a manner as this. Draw an acute angle—say something a little less than a right angle—and cut it into compartments; or, if preferred, an obtuse angle, and cut this into compartments also. Now the roadway may be so prescribed as to prevent right angles from being made on the basement, but the complementary angles are ingeniously made out by allowing the joists to be of extra length and cutting the ends off when they come to the square. The effect is extremely picturesque, and I cannot remember seeing this peculiar piece of construction elsewhere. The villages of Warwickshire are generally remarkable for their picturesque beauty. Meriden, near Polesworth, is extremely fine, and from its churchyard are some very beautiful views.

Merivale Hall is the seat of the Dugdale family. Sir William Dugdale inherited the estates in 1624, and published his celebrated Monasticon between 1655 and 1673. Very little has been added to our knowledge of the subject since this marvellous production. These pages are much indebted to it, and some charters that have been recorded by Sir William Dugdale would now be entirely out of reach, if not lost, but for his labours.

Coventry is a very ancient city. A convent was built here by Earl Leofric and his Countess Godiva, a few years before the Norman conquest, and in it they both were buried. To quote a summary of the

city history from a careful writer: “Henry IV. held a parliament here called the unlearned, or Layman’s Parliament, from the forbidding in the writs of the return of lawyers, and from the stringent laws that were passed relative to the privileges of the Church. Henry V., when Prince of Wales, was committed to prison by the Mayor of Coventry for his disorderly conduct here on one occasion. Henry VI. and his Queen, Margaret, were great benefactors to the city; and its inhabitants remained faithful to the cause of Lancaster during the dreadful period of the Wars of the Roses.” Henry VII. also came to this city directly from Bosworth field, and Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned here. The spire of Coventry (St. Michael’s) is one of the most beautiful in England. The church is said by the historian of Coventry to be, next to Yarmouth, the largest in the kingdom; but if churches (not being cathedral) where parochial service is held are intended, neither one or the other is nearly the largest. The quaint irregular buildings in front form a beautiful composition with St. Michael’s spire; they are occupied as dwelling-houses.

“The parish churches, ancient hospitals, monastic buildings, and old timber houses of Coventry, are still numerous, and exhibit in their varied features, historical relations, and distinctive characters, abundant matter for the study of the architect and antiquary,” so says Britton in his excellent work on the Antiquities of English Cities. St. Mary’s Hall is engraved in Britton’s work, and here it is just seen on the left hand; a beautiful gable projects before it. This hall was commenced in 1394, and finished in 1414, on the site of an old hall; the

buildings surround a courtyard, and are entered by an arched gateway from the street; and it is hardly possible in all the city architecture of England to find a more interesting and fine apartment than the great hall. It has been well described elsewhere. Bablake Hospital is another ancient corporation, and affords an admirable example of an old city building. It was founded in the latter part of Henry VII.’s reign by the Mayor of Coventry. In the distance is the tower of St. John’s Church. The whole groups very beautifully, and is in a good state of preservation.

Of Ford’s Hospital, in the same city, John Carter, the painstaking archæologist, made the minutest drawings, and declared that such a splendid specimen of domestic architecture “ought to be kept in a case.”

The ecclesiastical monuments of Derby are few, having rather more than shared the troubles of their brethren in 1536 and 1539; and, indeed, there are not many archæological remains of any kind in the county, always of course excepting Hadden. The title of the Earls of Derby is not derived from any part of this county as has been supposed, but from the hundred of West Derby, near Liverpool. The Iron Gate was a very fine old street till lately, but it is somewhat changed since the drawing from which this engraving is taken was made. The Church of All Saints remains, however, in its entirety.

There is a curious angle-post in Derby, apparently of about Henry IV.’s time; it is very richly panelled, but the building it supports has been much modernised and changed.

Wirksworth is a market-town of considerable antiquity, and, to judge from many architectural decorations in the houses, it must have been of much greater importance at one time than it is at present. Rooms in some of the shops have fine ceilings of Elizabethan character, and there are several curious fire-places. At the Hope and Anchor Inn, quite an unpretending house of accommodation, there is a chimney-piece of great splendour. Two tall Ionic columns support each side, and their caps are inverted. Carved flames seem to issue out and reach the ceiling, which is rather high. These columns are about eight feet apart, and except a square opening for a fire-place all the space between them to the ceiling is covered with rich but barbaric carvings. Wirksworth is about fourteen miles to the north-west of Derby. Wingfield Manor is three or four miles to the south of Matlock, and is a lovely ruin. Here Mary Queen of Scots was confined, and the Babbington conspiracy hatched, for which the head of the house of Tichborne lost his life. Bradshaw, the president of the council who tried and condemned Charles I., was a native of Derbyshire; and of the more peaceful residents it may suffice to say that Arkwright and Florence Nightingale were born in this county.

It is impossible to close our notice of Derbyshire without some little reference to Hadden Hall, the seat of the Duke of Rutland; but though it is of course on princely dimensions, there is much in it, very much, that would suit a humbler dwelling. The bow windows, for example, in the drawing-room and other rooms are large wide projections, and not a slight bulging out of a wall; and how greatly they always add to the pleasantry of a room where the sun can reach them at so many different angles, is a thing that goes without telling. Whatever the extra expense may be, it is slight as compared with the cheerful aspect they give to a room. It is almost impossible, indeed, to exaggerate the size to which bow windows may be reasonably extended with advantage. If they are too large for the winter, if the exposed surface is apt to make them cold, nothing is easier than to shut them off with a baize curtain. A window seat runs round the one in the dining-room, and how much this adds to the pleasure of a room any one who has ever seen such a feature can tell. All these things can be arranged with absolute economy, or they would not be here alluded to. The private chapel at Hadden has been admirably lithographed by Nash in his Ancient Mansions, and however unsuitable it may be for an appendage to a modern house, it is a very fine example for a village church; parts of it are very ancient indeed.

If it would be allowable, under any circumstances, to strain the aims and purposes of the present work, it might almost be permitted to describe something of the ancient “home-keeping” of Hadden in Queen Elizabeth’s days. The last possessor of the line, in whose hands it had been so long, was Sir George Vernon, the last male heir of the Vernon family—“the King of the Peak” as he was familiarly called by his neighbours. The present appearance of the hall differs little from that which it presented when it was finished in Henry VIII.’s reign; of course the ancient parts of the chapel, which to all appearance are four hundred years earlier than Henry VIII., remain as they were seen when Vernon altered it. The hospitality of Hadden was always proverbial, and when it changed hands, and came into the Duke of Rutland’s family, this was not neglected. The first Duke of Rutland is said to have employed nearly 150 servants in doing the rites of hospitality, and in Queen Anne’s time there were twelve days’ feasts at Christmas with accompanying revelry, the almost expiring life of the old days of the “Lord of Misrule.” Hadden, it is said, “like other magnificent abodes, seems to be cut out for appearance rather than comfort.” “The doors,” a chronicler states, “are very rudely contrived, except where picturesque effect is the object; few fit at all close, and their fastenings are nothing better than wooden bolts, clumsy bars, or iron hasps. To conceal these defects, and exclude draughts of air, tapestry was put up, which had to be lifted in order to pass in or out; and when it was necessary to hold back these hangings, there were great iron hooks fixed for the purpose. All the principal rooms, except the gallery, were hung with loose arras, and their doors were concealed behind.” This, however, says nothing for the broken beautiful style of building that prevailed in the Tudor age, and the hundred pleasant nooks and corners that are characteristic of it;—nooks and corners too, that need not cost any extra amount of money, and always make a house cheerful and companionable. If the only objection to these houses is that the carpentry and joiners’ work is not free from exception, this may apply to any bad work; some of it is excellent, but some of it rather tends to remind me of a country carpenter, who came from Formby to Liverpool to a joiner’s establishment at the beginning of the present century, or the end of the last, and when he was asked if his door would fit, by the foreman, and if he could get a hair through the space between the door and the jamb, he declared that it was impossible, he knew how to fit a door better than that, and said it would be as much as any hare could do to put her foot through. Whatever there may be, however, of want of precision in some of the domestic carpentry—always remembering one thing, that we must make due allowance for shrinking, for the summer sun, and the winter cold, and also remembering that the masonry, at any rate, which was free from such exigencies, is perfect, and evidently put up by men to whom we now could teach very little indeed, in the plenitude of our knowledge—nothing in this supposed shortcoming in carpentry can prevent our taking lessons in its general form and style. The chimneys and the doors of Hadden are well able to give us lessons of construction, even for modest dwellings.

Stratford-on-Avon is a remarkably bright-looking cheerful town, and is, of course, more visited than any other of its size in England. The population is not quite 4000. In the sixteenth century Stratford was an exceedingly beautiful town. The houses were mostly of wood, and each situated in its own garden. One of them still stands in High Street, and has a well-carved front, resembling one of the many that remain in Chester. Stratford derives its name from the ford over the Avon that was here, and which seems to have satisfied the primitive manners of the people till a wooden bridge was built; but this again was superseded by an excellent stone one. Of course the exterior of Shakespeare’s house, in Henley Street, is familiar to every one; it is an ordinary specimen of a house of about the early part of the sixteenth century. The one which Shakespeare himself built in New Place was pulled down in 1756, by the Rev. Francis Gastrell, who unhappily came into possession of the property. He first cut down the celebrated mulberry tree that the poet had planted, and when the inhabitants of Stratford were astounded, he showed them that he could even eclipse that by pulling down the house that Shakespeare had himself designed. From Kenilworth to Evesham, in Worcester, the Avon is full of beauty and interest. There is the celebrated Guy’s Cliff, Hatton Rock, where the river is confined in its course and rapid, the splendid Warwick Castle, the Marl Cliffs of Bidford, and Charlcote Park, while the river itself is full of quiet English beauty. It glides through richly cultivated meadows, and past overhanging boughs from wooded banks; there are long lines of alders and willows, and here and there some quaint quiet homestead, that looks the very embodiment of peace. Warton well describes this part of the river:—

Eight villages round Stratford have been characterised, in some well-known lines, by some old resident who had the talent for rhyme. It is remarkable how familiar these are to the country people, and how invariably they ascribe them to Shakespeare.

Watling Street forms the north-eastern boundary of Warwickshire, separating it from Leicestershire for many miles, and perhaps a word may not be quite out of place here regarding this remarkable Roman Street. It is one of the four great roads with which the Romans intersected the country, and according to Mr. Hirsley, whom Camden quotes, most of our military ways were laid by Julius Agricola, who extended them as he pushed his conquests forward. The others are called Hermin Street, the Fosse, and Ikning Street. Watling Street crosses the kingdom thrice. It goes from Richborough through London (where it retains its name) towards Chester, then crossing again it goes to York, and once more it turns in a westerly direction and extends past Carlisle. Watling Street is the name also given to the road which goes through Wales into Anglesea; a causeway is yet visible going out into the sea towards that island. The three other itinera also have Watling Street for their base.

Hermin Street, or Ermine Street, is the great military road that reaches from London to Lincoln, and so to Wintringham, in a nearly straight line. The Fosse proceeds from Bath to Lincoln, and, Dr. Stukeley thinks, to Seaton. “I am most at a loss,” he says, “about Icknild Street. Some think there were two Roman ways of this name, but I cannot say we are certain of either. It must have been some way that led either to or from the country of the Iceni, and that this is the reason of the name, possibly Icen Elde Street, or old street. It is therefore natural to suppose that Venta Icenorum must have stood on this way, and perhaps been the limit of it. The way, then, according to which the 9th iter is directed, should, I think, be best entitled to the name of any in the Itinerary. This I shall show to be the Roman road that came through Caister near Norwich, by Colchester or Malden, to London. The military road from London by Speen and Marlborough to Bath, or rather that by Silchester and Old Sarum to Dorchester, may be looked upon as the continuation of it. The military way which goes from Silchester to Old Sarum, and so to Dorchester and Pentridge (as Mr. Gale informs me), passes by Gussage St. Michael’s under the name of Ickling Dyke.”... Dr. Plot, however, who was a very learned man, and secretary to the Earl Marshall in the year 1687, argues for an Ickning Street, which passes through Derby and enters Stafford at Stretton near Tretbury, leading by Burton-upon-Trent and Lichfield and Warwickshire, near Handsworth, where it appears near Birmingham.

The treasures that a few feet of soil cover in Roman art are untold; wheat has grown and cattle have grazed for centuries on many a Roman city or villa. The town of Wroxeter, near Shrewsbury, is lying under rich farming lands, totally hidden from human eye. A few hundred pounds was spent in trying to open up some part, and the wealth of Roman remains and Roman ingenuity and civilisation is astounding. I had occasion to go there while writing the present chapter, and probably few persons who have not visited our own Herculaneum would credit the wealth of Roman art that lies buried at our doors. A small space only has been opened up, and baths, villas, public buildings, and tessellated pavements met the astonished eyes of the explorers. A space of probably 300 acres is still covered up, and conceals we know not what. The history of this premature civilisation of the Romans is absolutely lost. On their leaving the island the great roads and bridges, which the sagacious policy of the rulers always supplied to the colonies, fell into disuse. No longer government property, they were pillaged or neglected, and the towns and villas, quite unsuited to the natives of the island, were left to bats and moles. “Had travellers or maps existed at that early period,” says a very able writer, “they would have afforded us a picture of numerous isolated communities, whose continuous homesteads were surrounded with broad patches of rich corn and pasture, and whose arable and meadow land was fenced in by dark rings of forest, or heaths pastured in common by the herds and flocks of the small republic. No ‘wandering merchant bending beneath his load,’ no adventurous stranger smitten with the desire of roaming from land to land, brought his wares or his tidings to these remote villages.” But we must admit our total ignorance of the condition of England under Roman rule. It certainly was not military only, let the villas with tessellated pavements testify to that. The inhabitants were held no doubt under an iron hand. In some lead mine I once saw in Cardigan, the excavations came across Roman workings; these seem to have been chipped out little by little, and they reach to vast depths and to long levels. The Britons whom they employed must have spent their weary lives in a sort of tunnel, in which it was quite impossible even to kneel, far less to stand; yet some parts of Wales are quite burrowed with these terrible holes. The writer already quoted says, “The historian is involved in inextricable perplexities. The few civil inscriptions we possess speak of Triumvirs, Quatruumvirs, and other municipal or fiscal magistrates. As the personal strength of the soldier degenerates, more care and labour are bestowed on material fortifications. Yet how or why did the Cyclopean walls of Chester or Leicester, or many other sturdy encampments, crumble away before tribes unprovided with the rudest artillery? Into what bottomless undiscernible gulf were precipitated the Roman municipia and their institutions? The oracles are dumb; and we know really more of the Britons whom Cæsar invaded and Agricola subdued, than of the Britons whom Honorius left exposed to the savages of the Grampians and to the adventurers from the Elbe and Baltic.” This is true indeed, and, though sufficient margin must be left for the way in which Roman remains were often regarded simply as quarries for materials by the monks, and also for the absolute difference in race, religion, and habits, between the Roman colonists and their British subjects, there is much that is wholly inexplicable. No doubt the classes, like the Cardigan miners, whose terrible lot has been alluded to, would be apt to desire to wipe out every trace of their subordination. “Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!” was doubtless the rallying cry of a large number of Britons when the Romans so suddenly and thoroughly left the island. There seems to be a common error in turning up Roman remains, that we hear of from those who perhaps may be well excused for the supposition,—if a Roman hypocaust is found, it is at once dubbed a bath; but the way the Romans heated their rooms was similar to the way in which Turkish baths are now commonly warmed, except when, in milder weather, braziers were sufficient.

It has justly been observed by Mr. E. J. Willson that “no city in England contains so many interesting specimens of architectural antiquities as York. This observation may be especially applied to the remains of its ancient fortifications, a class of architecture of the greater value, since so very few examples are now left standing in England. Clifford’s tower and the four great gates, or bars, are admirable specimens of the castellated style; while the posterns, or lesser gates, with the towers, turrets, and embattled walls that surround the city, exhibit a delightful variety of curious and picturesque forms. The view of these ancient bulwarks forcibly recalls the mind from present scenes to the contemplation of those stirring times when such safeguards were necessary; and whilst we feel grateful for the security and quiet enjoyed in our days, it is painful to see those monuments of the valour and skill of our ancestors sacrificed to petty considerations of economy or to some trifling improvement. Encircled by walls and towers, York could never be viewed without respect, as the very model of an ancient city.” The view of York from Samson Square is characteristic of the city. There are many of those narrow wynds that have been little altered since they were built, and the Cathedral always forms a conspicuous and delightful background. What would Mr. E. J. Willson, who wrote the above in 1827, have thought if he could have known that the fine old buildings on the lower side of Samson Square were to be destroyed to make room for a new covered market? They are safe yet; a majority of the council saved them for the present. There are some very noble wooden framed structures, one of which has been a royal residence, and this, with the others, it was proposed to sweep away for the market. I met a gentleman in the city, at the hotel, who explained the whole circumstances to me, and expressed his regret that