[Illustration: Wilton Castle.]
Here is one of the ivy-mantled relics that lend even a charm to romantic
nature on the banks of the Wye. Its shattered tower and crumbling wall,
combine with her wild luxuriance, to form a scene of great picturesque
beauty, though, as Gilpin observes, "the scene wants accompaniments to
give it grandeur."
These ruins stand opposite to Ross, on the western bank of the Wye. The
Castle was for several centuries the baronial residence of the Greys of
the south, who derived from it their first title, and who became owners
in the time of Edward the First. It may therefore be presumed to have
been one of the strongholds, in the great struggles for feudal
superiority with Wales, which were commenced by Edward, whose "active
and splendid reign may be considered as an attempt to subject the whole
island of Great Britain to his sway."[1] Or, in earlier times, being
situated on the ancient barrier between England and Wales, it may have
been a station of some importance, from its contiguity to Hereford,
which city was destroyed by the Welsh, but rebuilt and fortified by
Harold, who also strengthened the castle. The whole district is of
antiquarian interest, since, at the period of the Roman invasion,
Herefordshire was inhabited by the Silures, who also occupied the
adjacent counties of Radnor, Monmouth, and Glamorgan, together with that
part of Gloucestershire which lies westward of the Severn. The Silures,
in conjunction with the Ordovices, or inhabitants of North Wales,
retarded, for a considerable period, the progress of the Roman victors,
whose grand object seems to have been the conquest of these nations, who
had chosen the gallant Caractacus as their chieftain, and resolutely
exhausted every effort in defence of the independence of their country.
[1] Mackintosh's Hist. England, vol. i, p. 247.
The present demolished state of the Castle is referred to the Royalist
Governors of Hereford, by whose orders it was burnt to the bare walls
during the reign of Charles I. in the absence of its then possessor, Sir
J. Brydges.
The scenery of the WYE, at this point is thus described by tourists:
"From Hereford to Ross, its features occasionally assume greater
boldness; though more frequently their aspect is placid; but at the
latter town wholly emerging from its state of repose," it resumes the
brightness and rapidity of its primitive character, as it forms the
admired curve which the churchyard of Ross commands. The celebrated
spire of Ross church, peeping over a noble row of elms, here fronts the
ruined Castle of Wilton, beneath the arches of whose bridge, the Wye
flows through a charming succession of meadows, encircling at last the
lofty and well-wooded hill, crowned with the majestic fragments of
Gooderich Castle, and opposed by the waving eminences of the forest of
Dean. The mighty pile, or peninsula, of Symonds' Rock succeeds, round
which the river flows in a circuit of seven miles, though the opposite
points of the isthmus are only one mile asunder. Shortly afterwards, the
Wye quits the county, and enters Monmouthshire at the New Wear.
The Rev. Mr. Gilpin, in his charming little volume on Picturesque
Beauty,[2] has a few appropriate observations: after passing Wilton--
[2] Observations on the River Wye, &c. By William Gilpin,
M.A.--Fifth Edition.
"We met with nothing for some time during our voyage but grand, woody
banks, one rising behind another; appearing and vanishing by turns, as
we doubled the several capes. But though no particular objects
characterized these different scenes, yet they afforded great variety of
pleasing views, both as we wound round the several promontories, which
discovered new beauties as each scene opened, and when we kept the same
scene a longer time in view, stretching along some lengthened reach,
where the river is formed into an irregular vista by hills shooting out
beyond each other and going off in perspective."
We ought not to forget to mention Ross, and its association with one of
the noblest works of GOD--honest John Kyrle, celebrated as the Man of
Ross. Pope, during his visits at Holm-Lacey, in the vicinity, obtained
sufficient knowledge of his beneficence, to render due homage to his
worth in one of the brightest pages of the records of human character.
* * * * *
"MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS"--EGGS.
(_For the Mirror._)
In a paper on the _Superstitions of the Sea_, a few years ago,[3] I
slightly alluded to the nautical belief that the appearance of the
Stormy Petrel, and other marine birds at sea, was often considered to be
the forerunner of peril and disaster; and as your excellent
correspondent, _M.L.B._, in a recent number, expresses a wish to know
the origin of the _soubriquet_ of _Mother Carey's Chickens_, which the
former birds have obtained, I now give it with all the brevity which is
consistent with so important a narration. It appears that a certain
outward-bound Indiaman, called the _Tiger_, (but in what year I am
unable to state,) had encountered one continued series of storms, during
her whole passage; till on nearing the Cape of Good Hope, she was almost
reduced to a wreck. Here, however, the winds and waves seemed bent on
her destruction; in the midst of the storm, flocks of strange looking
birds were seen hovering and wheeling in the air around the devoted
ship, and one of the passengers, a woman called "Mother Carey," was
observed by the glare of the lightning to laugh and smile when she
looked at these foul-weather visitants; on which she was not only set
down as a witch, but it was also thought that they were her familiars,
whom she had invoked from the _Red Sea_; and "all hands" were seriously
considering on the propriety of getting rid of the old beldam, (as is
usual in such cases,) by setting her afloat, when she saved them the
trouble, and at that moment jumped overboard, surrounded by flames; on
which the birds vanished, the storm cleared away, and the tempest-tossed
_Tiger_ went peacefully on her course! Ever since the occurrence of this
"astounding yarn," the birds have been called "Mother Carey's Chickens,"
and are considered by our sailors to be the most unlucky of all the
feathered visitants at sea.
[3] See Mirror, No. 205, vol. xi.
To turn by a not unnatural transition from _birds_ to _eggs_, permit me
to inform your Scottish correspondent, _S.S._ (see No. 536,) where he
asserts that the plan of rubbing eggs with grease in order to preserve
them, "is not so much as known in our own boasted land of stale eggs and
bundlewood;" that the said _discovery_ has long been known and practised
in many parts of old England; and that the repeated experience of
several friends warrants me in giving a decided negative to his
assertion that eggs so prepared "_will keep any length of time perfectly
fresh_." If kept for a considerable period, though they do not become
absolutely bad, yet they turn _very stale_. I happen to know something
of Scotland, and was never before aware that the raw clime of our
northern neighbours was so celebrated for its poultry. _M.L.B._ is
certainly misinformed in speaking of the trade in _Scotch_ eggs to
_America_. The importation of eggs from the continent into England is
very extensive: the duty in 1827 amounted at the rate of 10_d_. per 120,
to 23,062_l_. 19_s_. 1_d_.; since which period there has, we believe,
been an increase. The importation of eggs from Ireland is also very
large. If _S.S._ resides in London, he may have occasion to sneer at
"our boasted land of stale eggs;" but he should rather sneer at the
preserved French eggs, with which the London dealers are principally
supplied.