ROSS,

to the inn, so celebrated as the original habitation of Mr. Kyrle; but

more generally known by the name of “The Man of Ross.” The landlord

seems rather to depend upon the custom of strangers, from this

circumstance, than the accommodations the inn offers. On the bridge we

paused a short time, to take a view of the meandering Vaga, which here

considerably widens; several pleasure-boats, of various construction,

were riding at anchor, and united to enliven the watry scene, whilst its

smooth tranquil surface, reflected and reverted every object situated on

the bank.

The life and character of Mr. Kyrle has too often been insisted on, and

too frequently celebrated in verse, to be again repeated, unless to

“point its moral to the heart;” teaching us, that self-approbation can

confer an inward happiness, superior to all worldly applause; for,

“What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy;

The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,

Is virtue’s prize.”—

Such a bustle pervaded the whole town, of parties assembling here, for an

aquatic expedition to Monmouth, the following day, that with difficulty

we obtained a small room: from this circumstance, it would be advisable

for parties to secure themselves accommodations during the summer-months,

a considerable time beforehand, such is the continued assemblage of

parties forming for the Wye: a boat likewise should be hired, and by

mentioning the number of your party, the landlord will be a proper judge,

respecting the size. Strangers may pass, with pleasure, the greatest

part of a day, in surveying the views in the vicinity of Ross; views,

which must gratify the most superficial observer; but more particularly

from the church-yard. A walk through the latter place to “The Prospect,”

so called from the profuse variety of objects, in the beautiful, and the

sublime, which are presented from this spot. The sudden burst of such a

collection of beauties, the eye, indeed, cannot contain without

gratification. The river below bends itself, in the whimsical and

fantastical shape of a horse-shoe: this singular wind of the river—the

ruins of Wilton Castle—the luxuriant counties of Hereford and Monmouth,

and the beautiful Chase Woods, all combine to promote one peculiarly

grand and beautiful effect. To enter into a minute description of

objects, so various and extensive, is impossible: in fine, to delineate

the beauties of the Vaga, with all its accompaniments, would be

enumerating every object that is interesting in Nature. Having

sufficiently pored over the view from the Prospect, a ramble through the

meadows will next prove highly pleasing.

The situation of Ross, though exceedingly beautiful, has nothing in

itself to detain attention: the streets narrow, dirty, and inconvenient.

The castle of Wilton, situated on the banks of the Wye, was founded in

the reign of Henry I.; it was formerly a nunnery, from whence the Greys

de Wilton derive their title.

Early in the morning, we congratulated each other on the favourableness

of the weather, and with good spirits provided all the necessaries

requisite for our water expedition; the enjoyment of which depends much

on the season. The hire of the boat to Monmouth, by water, is one pound

eleven shillings and six-pence, not including ten shillings for

provisions for the men, who likewise expect an additional small sum,

after the fatigues of the day. The boat, navigated by three men, will

contain ten or twelve people, without any inconvenience, and is properly

protected by an awning, from the heat of the sun. The distance from Ross

to Chepstow, by water, is more than forty miles, which strangers

occasionally accomplish in one day; but this hurrying method will not

allow them an opportunity of inspecting, with proper attention, the

various objects which deserve to be noticed; and they cannot possibly

find time to leave their boat, and climb the rugged, steep banks of the

Wye, in search of views, which, though visited by the discerning few, yet

merit the regard of every amateur of nature’s landscapes: and here it may

not be improper to mention, the boatmen, from laziness, too frequently

suffer these most interesting spots to be passed unnoticed by strangers,

merely to avoid the delay of a few minutes. Gilpin, in his excellent

treatise, “The Observations on the River Wye,” thus analyzes, in the

second section, the beauties of the “echoing Vaga,” and divides its

constituent parts into—the _steepness_ of its banks—its _mazy_ course—the

_ground_, _woods_, and _rocks_, which are its native ornaments—and,

lastly, the _buildings_. To this he might with propriety have added, its

_echoes_—the _variety of views_ from its banks—the fishing _coracles_,

which are continually on the river; for all these contribute to form one

pleasing and interesting effect.

We embarked on board our boat, a little below the town; and the first

object which drew our attention, was the ivy-mantled walls of Wilton: the

annual growth of the few trees which encircle it, will, in time, render

it a more picturesque object; it is at present so sufficiently seen from

the water, as not to require the stranger to disembark for farther

inspection. A few yards below, we passed under Wilton Bridge,

communicating the roads from Hereford to Ross: it is an elegant

structure, of several arches. From hence, for four or five miles, the

banks are tame and uninteresting, and so high above the river, as to

prevent a prospect of the adjacent country; but a group of cattle, some

ruminating on the brink, some browzing on the ashlings, which overhung

the stream, and others

—“from their sides,

The troublous insects lashing with their tails;

Returning still,”—

formed a “rural confusion.” The velocity of the stream shortly brought

us to that noble scenery, about four miles from Ross, which so eminently

distinguishes and constitutes the beauty of the Wye; before us, the noble

remains of Goodrich Castle, cresting a steep eminence, enveloped with

trees, presented themselves; behind, the thick foliage of Chase Woods

closed the picture. The happiest gradation of tints, and the liveliest

blending of colours, was here conspicuous. On the right hand we landed

on the shore, in order to make a minute investigation of the castle: it

is certainly a grand ruin, and stands on an eminence, naturally so steep,

as to render it, in former times, capable of some resistance against a

formidable enemy. On our first entrance into the ruin, we naturally

indulged reflections on past scenes, contemplated the traces of ancient

splendour; and connecting what remains, with what is destroyed; we

pondered on the vanity of human art, and the ravages of time, which

exhibit, in this ruin, their compleatest triumph. The warrior, who

strove to preserve its original grandeur against the attacks of Cromwell,

is buried in Walford church, situated on the opposite side of the river,

and seen from the castle. The different parts of the building, bear

evident marks of its having been erected at various times; from a seat in

the castle-yard is the most advantageous spot for surveying, in one view,

the whole of this ruin: an octagon pillar, of light and elegant

workmanship, is seen to great advantage through the gate-way, and adds

considerably to the magnificence of this ancient pile: it now belongs to

Dr. Griffin, of Hadnuck, the lord of the manor. To return to our boat:

we took a different and more circuitous route, for the purpose of

inspecting the remains of Goodrich Priory, now converted into a farm.

The chapel has experienced the same vicissitude; and those walls, which

formerly re-echoed with the chaunting of voices, and the solemn peal, now

repeat the continued strokes of the flail; in many parts of the walls,

the initials of names of persons, who have long since paid the debt of

nature, and left behind no other memorial, are carved with characteristic

rudeness, shewing, to every passing stranger, the prevalency of that

universal passion—the love of fame. The Gothic windows, and the cross,

erected on each end of the building, shew evident marks of its former

purpose. The boat usually meets the passengers at another reach of the

river; but it is a plan by no means to be pursued; since, by missing a

circuit round the castle, its different tints, and variety of attitudes,

occasioned by one of the boldest sweeps of the Wye, are entirely lost. A

short time after we had taken our last retrospect of Goodrich Castle, the

spire of Ruredean church appeared in front, just peeping from among the

woody skirts of the Forest of Dean: a little below, Courtfield House,

belonging to Mr. Vaughn, was seen, in a very picturesque point of view,

with the ruins of the chapel, forming the back ground. In Courtfield

House, tradition reports, the warlike Henry V. was nursed; and in the

church of Welch Buckner, situated to the right, in a noble amphitheatre,

enclosed with rocks, first embraced the Christian religion. A busy

scene, of craft loading and unloading, and coals shipping for various

parts from the quay at Lidbroke, presents a picture of cheerful activity,

and forms a pleasing contrast to the quiet, rich, and retired spots, we

had left behind us; such spots, as were well adapted to form the mind of

Britain’s glory—the virtuous Henry. The banks now became richly clothed

with wood, from the summits of the highest rocks to the water’s edge; and

a hill in front, called Rosemary Topping, from the mellow luxuriance of

its sides, closed the prospect. Almost every sweep presents a new

object, to strike the admiration of the spectator: the transitions are

sudden, but never so harsh as to disgust; even the contrast between the

embellishments of art we had just left, and the wild rocks, which here

exhibit nature in her most striking attitudes, give an additional

impression to each other.

We now reached those fine mass of rocks, called Coldwell, one of which,

Symond’s Yatch, to the left, it is customary for company to ascend, in

order to view the mazy and circuitous course of the river, and the

extensive prospect around. The Forest of Dean, the counties of Monmouth,

Hereford, and Gloucester, were extended before us, studded with villages,

diversified with clusters of half-visible farm houses; with many a grey

steeple, “embosomed high in tufted trees.” In painting the several views

from this summit, the happiest description would fail; the impression can

only be conveyed by the eye. The river here makes a most extraordinary

winding round the promontory, and having completed a circuit of more than

five miles, flows a second time immediately under Symond’s Yatch. The

whole of this mazy course may be traced from this eminence. From hence

we discovered a very remarkable polysyllabical articulate echo, and we

reckoned twelve distinct reverberations from the explosion of a gun,

fired on this spot. It is here again customary for the boatmen to impose

on strangers, and if they can prevail on them, during their walk to

Symond’s Yatch, will take the boat round the circuit of five miles, and

meet them at New Wier, in order that no time should be lost; but this

laziness we by no means encouraged, and the whole course of this

extraordinary and romantic sweep proved highly gratifying. Goodrich

spire, which we again wound round, presented itself; huge fragments of

massy rocks which have rolled down from the precipices, opposite Manuck

Farm, here almost choaked up the course of the stream. The changing

attitudes and various hues of Symond’s Yatch, lifting its almost spiral

head high above the other rocks, as we receded and drew near it, supplied

a combination of tints surprisingly gay and beautiful; and having

accomplished a sweep of five miles, we reached, within a quarter of a

mile, the spot where we began our ascent to this steep eminence.

The view, at New Wier, next unfolded itself; but a disagreeable scene

here generally occurs, and interrupts the pleasure of contemplation: a

large assemblage of beggars, men, women, and children, on the banks,

bare-footed, and scarcely a rag to cover them, followed our boat,

imploring charity; and several almost throwing themselves into the water,

to catch your money, which, every now and then, the bigger seize from the

less. This idle crew subsist on the trifles they obtain from strangers;

and as beggary is their professed trade, if their wants are not

satisfied, they generally add insolence, with an oath, to their demands.

But I have omitted to mention, that before we reached the New Wier, the

spire of Haunton on Wye, cresting a hill at the extremity of a long

reach, and a fantastic barren rock, jutting out from the green foliage

which encircles it, presenting itself bold and conspicuous, formed

prominent and interesting features in the landscape: this is called

“Bearcroft,” receiving its appellation from the very respectable and

learned counsellor of that name. Several rocks indeed, particularly in

this part of the river, are named by the Council, who have long made it a

practice of exploring the rich and bold scenery of the Wye, on their

assize circuit. Gilpin, considering New Wier as the second grand scene

on the Wye, thus describes it: “The river is wider than usual in this

part, and takes a sweep round a towering promontory of rock, which forms

the side screen on the left, and is the grand feature of the view.—On the

right side of the river, the bank forms a woody amphitheatre, following

the course of the stream round the promontory: its lower skirts are

adorned with a hamlet, in the midst of which, volumes of thick smoke,

thrown up at intervals, from an iron forge, as its fires receive fresh

fuel, add double grandeur to the scene. But what peculiarly marks this

view, is a circumstance on the water: the whole river, at this place,

makes a precipitate fall; of no great height, indeed, but enough to merit

the name of a cascade, though to the eye, above the stream, it is an

object of no consequence. In all the scenes we had yet passed, the water

moving with a slow and solemn pace, the objects around kept time, as it

were, with it; and every steep, and every rock, which hung over the

river, was solemn, tranquil, and majestic. But here, the violence of the

stream, and the roaring of the waters, impressed a new character on the

scene: all was agitation and uproar; and every steep, and every rock,

stared with wildness and terror.” The accuracy and elegancy of this

description, drawn by so masterly a pen, I hope, will amply compensate

for the length of this quotation. The extensive iron-works, mentioned in

this passage, belong to Mr. Partridge. Below the New Wier, a

continuation of the same rich scenery still arrested our attention, and

rocks and wood seemed to contend, which should be most conspicuous; till

the winding of the river, round Doward’s Rock, on which was formerly a

Roman station, brought us under the house of Mr. Hatley, which commands a

view of the river as far as Monmouth, when it is terminated by the town,

and bridge of six arches. As we drew near