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—

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—

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—

And again, farther on—

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:—

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.

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

His companion, who joins them, says—

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

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.