Morning Walk through West Cowes.—Ride to Newport.—Carisbrook Castle.—Children of Charles I.—Donkey Well.—Chapel of St. Nicholas.—Boy Bishop.—Archery Meeting.—History of the Isle of Wight.—Bows and Arrows.

The next morning Agnes and her mamma both rose early; and as Mr. Merton felt inclined to take some repose, they went out by themselves to take a walk before breakfast. They were advised to visit the Parade and the Castle; and, accordingly, they bent their way down the main street of the town, and soon found themselves on the beach. They strolled gently along a terrace, supported by a sea-wall, till they arrived at a part which was semicircular, and which was backed by a small battery, pierced for eleven guns. This wall forms the boundary of the garden of a moderate-sized house, which, they were told, was called the Castle. This building had been formerly a fort, built by Henry VIII., at the same time as Calshot Castle, for the purpose of defending the coast against the attacks of pirates, which were then frequent in this sea; but it has been so completely modernised, that it now retains nothing of a castle but the name. They saw a great many bathing-machines, which are very common here, as the gravelly beach permits the machines to be used at all states of the tide. After satisfying themselves with this walk, Mrs. Merton and her daughter turned up a beautiful lane, which afforded them a most magnificent prospect; commanding the Solent Sea, Calshot Castle, and the tall Tower of Eaglehurst, seated on the neighbouring cliffs. In a small garden that they passed, they saw a tortoise crawling slowly along; and Agnes, who disliked slow movements exceedingly, expressed her pity at its miserable fate.

“Nothing is destined by the all-merciful Creator to a miserable fate, Agnes,” said her mother; “and I am confident that every creature has a particular kind of happiness allotted to it, though our ignorance may prevent us from seeing in what it consists. The tortoise is also curiously and wonderfully made: as it has neither force to resist its enemies, nor swiftness to fly from them, it has been provided with a shield of amazing strength, under which it can draw its head, and thus remain in perfect safety from the attacks of birds of prey; yet it can, when necessary, put forth its head again, so as to see and enjoy all around it.”

Agnes was very much interested in this, and would have willingly staid some time to watch it; but this Mrs. Merton could not permit, as they had no time to spare: and, on their return to the inn, they found breakfast ready, and Mr. Merton waiting for them. He was, indeed, very impatient to set off; as it was now after eight o’clock, and the carriage was to be at the door at nine. “We shall soon be ready,” said Mrs. Merton; “for everything is packed up, and we shall not be long taking our breakfast.”

“That is, if you can get anything to eat,” said Mr. Merton; “for I never saw waiters so slow as these are.”

Not discouraged by these remarks, Mrs. Merton sat down to table; and she and Agnes, whose appetites were sharpened by their morning walk, soon contrived to make an excellent breakfast; though Mr. Merton, who was rendered more fastidious by ill health, could scarcely get anything that he could like. At nine exactly the little carriage was at the door; and Agnes, after running up stairs into the bed-room, to make quite sure that nothing had been left behind, placed herself beside the driver, rejoicing that she had taken the precaution of packing up her portmanteau before she went out. Mr. and Mrs. Merton sat behind; and thus the whole party were enabled to have a distinct view of the country they passed through.

The ride from West Cowes to Newport does not, however, contain anything very striking; and, as the distance is only five miles, they were not long in reaching the town of Newport, which is remarkable for its neatness, though it has little else to recommend it. Our party called at the Post-office; and Mrs. Merton and Agnes visited the church and church-yard, while Mr. Merton was reading his letters.

The Church at Newport was built in the year 1172, in the reign of Henry II., and was dedicated to St. Thomas À Becket. There is nothing remarkable in the Church, excepting the stone which marks the burial-place of Elizabeth, daughter of Charles I., who died at the age of fifteen, while a prisoner in Carisbrook Castle; and the handsome monument erected to the memory of Sir Edward Horsey, who was governor of the island in the time of Queen Elizabeth. In the church-yard there was pointed out to them a grave containing six persons of the name of Shore, who all died on the same day; and this having attracted the attention of Agnes, Mrs. Merton asked an explanation, when the guide told them, that this unfortunate family were coming from the West Indies, on board the ship Clarendon; and, as they intended remaining some time in the Isle of Wight, a house had been taken for them at Newport, looking into the church-yard. The Clarendon was wrecked off Blackgang Chine, on the 11th of October, 1836; and this unfortunate family were among the passengers. It is said all was prepared for them in the house; and even a dinner had been cooked by order of a near relative of theirs, who was anxiously awaiting their arrival when their dead bodies were brought to Newport.

As soon as Mrs. Merton and Agnes re-entered the carriage, they proceeded to the pretty little village of Carisbrook, catching several views of the Castle on their route. Mr. Merton, who did not feel equal to the fatigue of visiting the Castle, remained at a little public-house, opposite the church, called the Bugle Inn, while Mrs. Merton and Agnes walked to the Castle. The wind had been high all the morning, but it had now increased so much, that, when Mrs. Merton and Agnes ascended the Castle hill, it almost blew them back again. At the gate were some old women, sitting at a fruit-stall; and, though neither Agnes nor her mamma had any inclination to buy fruit, one old woman followed them up the hill, and was so importunate that they could hardly send her away. “Do ask the lady to buy this beautiful fruit for you, Miss,” said the old woman, holding up a miserable green peach, that looked as if it had fallen from the tree before it had attained half its proper size.

“I don’t want such a miserable-looking thing as that,” said Agnes, wrapping her cloak around her, though it was with great difficulty that she did so, on account of the wind.

“It’s a peach, and not an apple, Miss,” said the woman. Agnes was quite provoked to have it supposed that she, a botanist’s daughter, did not know a peach from an apple; and, turning round angrily, told the woman to get away, and not to dare to be so troublesome. Unfortunately, however, while Agnes was scolding the old woman for teasing her, a sudden gust of wind, operating upon the broad surface of the cloak, actually blew her a short way down the hill before she could recover herself. The old woman laughed; and Agnes, who was quite indignant, declared that Carisbrook Castle was the most disagreeable place she had ever seen in her life.

“It is rather soon to say that,” said Mrs. Merton; “when you have only yet seen its ancient gate, and a troublesome old woman on the outside of it.”

The man whose office it was to show the castle now opened the gate, and called their attention to its antiquity. “These towers,” said he, “are of the age of Edward IV., and look, ladies, at this ancient wooden door, it is of equal antiquity.” They looked at the wooden door, which was indeed very old and very much dilapidated; but Mrs. Merton could not help suspecting that its workmanship was of more modern date than that which the man assigned to it, particularly as the arms of Elizabeth were emblazoned over the gateway. She pointed these out to the man, who replied, “The Castle was repaired and fortified in the reign of Elizabeth, when the whole country trembled with dread at the apprehension of the invasion of the Spanish Armada. Look at those ruins on the left. There is the window at which the unfortunate Charles I. attempted to escape, but his most Sacred Majesty being, as the historians describe him, of portly presence, the window was too small to admit of his passing through it.” They now ascended the dilapidated steps of the keep, but Agnes was too cross and too much annoyed by the wind, to admire the beautiful prospect that presented itself. They, therefore, descended again, as well as the wind would permit them, the seventy-two stone steps by which they had mounted, and repaired to the well-house, to visit the celebrated donkey. When they first entered Agnes was a little disappointed to see the donkey without any bridle or other harness on, standing close to the wall, behind a great wooden wheel.

“Oh, mamma,” cried she, “I suppose the donkey will not work to-day, as he has no harness on?”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” said the man; “this poor little fellow does not require to be chained like your London donkeys, he does his work voluntarily. Come, sir,” continued he, addressing the donkey; “show the ladies what you can do.” The donkey shook his head in a very sagacious manner, as much as to say, “you may depend upon me,” and sprang directly into the interior of the wheel, which was broad and hollow, and furnished in the inside with steps, formed of projecting pieces of wood nailed on, the hollow part of the wheel being broad enough to admit of the donkey between its two sets of spokes. The donkey then began walking up the steps of the wheel, in the same manner as the prisoners do on the wheel of the treadmill; and Agnes noticed that he kept looking at them frequently, and then at the well, as he went along. The man had no whip, and said nothing to the donkey while he pursued his course; but as it took some time to wind up the water, the man informed Mrs. Merton and her daughter while they were waiting, that the well was above three hundred feet deep, and that the water could only be drawn up by the exertion of the donkeys that had been kept there; he added, that three of these patient labourers had been known to have laboured at Carisbrook, the first for fifty years, the second for forty, and the last for thirty. The present donkey, he said, was only a novice in the business, as he had not been employed much above thirteen years; and he pointed to some writing inside the door, in which the date was marked down. While they were speaking the donkey still continued his labour, and looked so anxiously towards the well, that at last Agnes asked what he was looking at. “He is looking for the bucket,” said the man; and in fact, as soon as the bucket made its appearance, the donkey stopped, and very deliberately walked out of the wheel to the place where he had been standing when they entered.

“Pretty creature,” said Agnes; “how sagacious he is!”

“He is very cunning,” said the man; “and he knows when the bucket has come to the top as well as I do.”

The man now threw some water into the well, and Agnes, who had heard that the water made a great noise in falling, after listening attentively for a second or two was just going to express her disappointment at not hearing it, when she was quite startled by a loud report, which seemed to come up from the very bottom of the well.

“Oh! surely,” cried she, “that never can be the same water that you threw down such a long time ago?”

“It is, indeed, miss,” said the man; “the water is five seconds in falling.”

“Five seconds!” cried Agnes; “why, that is only the twelfth part of a minute; surely it must have been much longer than that!”

“Time,” said Mrs. Merton, “often appears to us much longer or shorter than it really is, according to the circumstances in which we are placed. Thus, as we are accustomed to hear a splash of water thrown into other water, the very moment we see it fall, the time that elapsed between your seeing this water fall and hearing it splash, appeared to you much longer than it really was.” The man then let down a lighted lamp; and Agnes, who watched its descent, was astonished to see how it dwindled away, till at last it appeared like a little star, and she saw its reflection on the water.

They had now seen all that was interesting in the “Well House;” and having left it, they were about to cross to the chapel on the opposite side of the court, when they met the old gentleman who had been their fellow-traveller in the railway carriage and in the steam-boat. He seemed very glad to see them again, and was much amused with Agnes’s account of all the wonders that she had seen in the “Well House.”

“And no doubt,” said he, “you have also seen the window through which Charles attempted to escape; but are you aware that two of his children were confined here after their father was beheaded?”

They replied that they had seen the tomb of the Princess Elizabeth at Newport.

“Ay,” said the old gentleman; “she was said to be poisoned, but I believe the poor thing died of grief. She was called Miss Elizabeth Stuart, and her brother Master Harry; and it is said that the poor things almost broke their hearts when they found nobody knelt to them, or kissed their hands. It was said that the Parliament intended to apprentice Elizabeth to a mantua-maker; but she died, and disappointed them, and two years afterwards Cromwell sent the little Duke of Gloucester to the Continent.”

“We were going to the chapel,” said Mrs. Merton; “will you walk in with us?”

“This chapel,” said he, pointing to that to which they were bending their steps, “is dedicated to St. Nicholas, the patron Saint of children, students, sailors, and parish clerks.”

“What an odd mixture!” said Mrs. Merton, smiling.

“St. Nicholas,” continued Mr. Bevan as they entered the chapel, “was a child of extraordinary sanctity; so much so, indeed, that even when a baby at the mother’s breast, it was said he refused to suck on the fast days appointed by the Romish Church. As he grew older his devotion became so apparent that he was called the boy bishop; and it was in his honour that the curious festival bearing that name was instituted in the Romish Church.”

“I have often heard of the festival of the boy bishop,” said Mrs. Merton; “but I was not aware that it was instituted in honour of St. Nicholas.”

“What was the ceremony of the boy bishop?” asked Agnes.

“It was one of those strange festivals in the Romish Church,” said Mrs. Merton, “in which people were permitted, and even encouraged, to ridicule all the things which, during the rest of the year, they were taught to consider sacred, and to hold in the highest reverence.”

“The festival of the boy bishop,” observed Mr. Bevan, “is of remote antiquity, and it is said to have been practised on the Continent long before it was introduced into Britain; though we find that, in the year 1299, Edward I., on his way to Scotland, heard mass performed by one of the boy bishops, in the little chapel at Heton, near Newcastle-upon-Tyne.”

“And even that is above five hundred years ago,” remarked Mrs. Merton.

“On St. Nicholas’s day,” resumed Mr. Bevan, “the 6th of December, a boy was chosen, at each of our principal cathedrals, from amongst the choristers, to represent a bishop; and to this boy all the respect and homage was paid that would have been offered to a bishop, if he had really been one. His authority lasted until St. Innocent’s day, the 28th of December; and during this time he walked about in all the state of a bishop, attired in a bishop’s robes, with a crosier in his hand, and a mitre on his head. If one of these boy bishops died within the period of his office, he was buried with all the pomp and form of a real bishop; and there is, in fact, a monument in Salisbury Cathedral, representing a boy, about ten or twelve years old, attired in episcopal orders.”

“What a very curious thing!” said Agnes.

“This, I suppose then,” said Mrs. Merton, “is the reason why St. Nicholas is represented as the patron of children?”

“Yes,” said the old gentleman, “and he was considered the patron of students, from the following story:—St. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra, and an Asiatic gentleman, sending his two sons to be educated at Athens, desired them to call upon St. Nicholas at Myra to receive his benediction. They intended to do so, but unfortunately the landlord of the Inn where they put up, perceiving that they had plenty of money, murdered them in their sleep, and cutting their bodies into pieces, salted them, and put them into a pickling tub, used for pickling pork. St. Nicholas had a vision of this in a dream; and going the following morning to the Innkeeper, he desired him to show him the tub where he kept his pickled pork. The Innkeeper at first endeavoured to excuse himself, but, at length, he was compelled to obey; when St. Nicholas, uttering a prayer, the mangled pieces of the poor young men jumped out of the tub, and re-uniting themselves, fell at the feet of the holy bishop, thanking him for having restored them to life. It is on this account that, in ancient pictures, Saint Nicholas is generally represented with two naked children in a tub.”

“I think I have heard, when on the Continent,” said Mrs. Merton, “that St. Nicholas was also the patron of young girls; and that in convents, when the novices had behaved well, it was pretended that he had stuffed their stockings with sugar plums during the night.”

“Yes,” returned the old gentleman, “and nearly the same fiction was resorted to by parents; who, when they wished to make presents to their children, used to tell them that, if they left their windows open at night, and had been quite good, St. Nicholas would come through the open window and leave them something pretty or nice.”

“How very strange!” cried Agnes; “I should have thought the parents would like to give the presents themselves, and see how happy they made their little children. Besides, was it not very wicked to tell falsehoods?”

“I consider it so,” said Mrs. Merton; “as I think we should never do what is bad even when we think it will produce good. We are all naturally so prone to do evil, that it is necessary to keep the boundary line between what is right and what is wrong as distinct as possible. This principle was not, however, so clearly understood formerly, as it is now; and thus children of the present day have great advantages over those of the preceding generation.”

While Mrs. Merton was speaking, Agnes was looking at the chapel so earnestly that her mother asked her what she thought of it.

“I was only thinking,” said Agnes, blushing, “how very odd it was that a saint, who was supposed to be so fond of giving pretty things to children should have such a very ugly chapel. There is not a single ornament in it, from one end to the other.”

Mrs. Merton smiled, and said she supposed that this chapel had been stripped of its ornaments at the time of the Reformation.

“The old chapel of Saint Nicholas was stripped in the time of Elizabeth,” said Mr. Bevan. “When that Queen repaired, and new fortified Carisbrook Castle, to enable it to resist the invasion of the Spanish Armada, she stripped this chapel of its ornaments, to remove all traces of the festival of the boy bishop, which she had previously suppressed in every part of England. But that does not apply to the present chapel, which was built on the site of the old one, in its present unornamented state, in the time of George II.”

They now left the chapel, and proceeded to the outworks, where they found a number of persons assembled in the open space, adjoining the castle, to celebrate an archery meeting. The gay dresses of the ladies, contrasting with the green around, and with the grey walls of the old castle, had a most brilliant and animating effect. Mrs. Merton and Agnes, accompanied by Mr. Bevan, walked to the open space in the outworks of the castle, where the meeting was to be held.

“This space,” said Mr. Bevan, “was formerly the tilt-yard of the castle, where the fÊtes and tournaments were held; and here the beautiful Isabella de Fortibus, the lady of the Island, in the time of Edward I., used to sit, surrounded by her court, to bestow her prizes on the victors.”

Agnes, who had never seen anything of archery before, was more interested in the preparations for the archery meeting than in what Mr. Bevan was saying of the ancient mistress of the Island; and her mother perceiving how attentive she was to all she saw, pointed out to her the target with its painted rings of black and white, and the red spot in the centre.

“And what is this red spot for?” asked Agnes.

“That’s the bull’s eye,” said a man who was employed in setting up the target, “and them’s the cleverest as hits it, or comes nearest it when they shoots.”

Agnes could hardly help laughing at the man’s bad grammar: and she looked at her mother, but, to her great surprise, instead of Mrs. Merton seeming inclined to ridicule the man, she entered into conversation with him, and asked him a great many questions about shooting. The man, thus encouraged, showed them the piece of leather, called the bracer, which is strapped on the left arm to prevent the wrist from being hurt by the rebound of the bow-string when the arrow is let off; and he told them that a young lady, who had attempted to shoot without a bracer, had had her arm so much injured as to be obliged to have it dressed by a surgeon. “But she wouldn’t listen to nobody,” continued the man; “and she would have her own way, and that was the end of it. She was sorry enough, I warrant her, when she saw the blood running down, and felt the smart; but it was too late then.”

Mrs. Merton and Agnes looked at each other again, but this time it was with a perfect community of feeling. The man then showed them a shooting glove, to save the fingers from being hurt when the archer pulls the string; and, reaching down the bow, he taught Agnes how it should be held.

“I believe the best bows are made of yew,” said Mrs. Merton.

“Yes,” said the man; “though there’s nothing that is seldomer seen than a yew bow among the gentry that comes down from London. All the bows that they bring with them are some queer kind of fancy wood or other. I don’t trouble my head with the names of them, for my part; but I know a good yew bow will beat them all hollow at any time.”

He then showed them the shaft, or arrow, which was a slender piece of wood, headed with iron and trimmed with feathers. The best arrows, he told them, were made of ash, as that wood was light, and tough at the same time. Agnes was very anxious to stay and see the archers begin to shoot, but her mother was afraid that Mr. Merton would be quite tired of waiting for them; and they therefore left the castle, without visiting the terraces, which are usually shown to strangers, on account both of their own beauty, and the fine views that they command.

As they walked back to the village Mrs. Merton observed to Agnes how much they should have lost, if they had not entered into conversation with the man who was setting up the target. “He spoke bad grammar,” said she, “because he had not had the same advantages of education that you have had; but you see, in all that he had an opportunity of learning, he was very intelligent, and that he actually knew a great many things that we did not know, and that we were very glad to learn.”

By this time they arrived at the Bugle Inn, where they found the kind hostess had lighted a fire for Mr. Merton as he felt chilly, and had wheeled the sofa round to it, so as to make him as comfortable as possible. Agnes, who had felt some contempt at the humble appearance of the little Inn, when they first entered it, was quite ashamed of having done so; and felt that she had committed another fault of the same kind as that which her mother had just reproved at the castle. Nothing, however, was said on the subject, and as soon as the carriage was ready the whole party entered it, and proceeded on their journey.