And then turning to Wordsworth:--

For I have learnt

To look on Nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes

The still, sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power

To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy

Of elevated thoughts: a sense sublime

Of something far more deeply interfused,

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

And the roused ocean, and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;

A motion and a spirit that impels

All thinking things, all objects of all thought,

And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still

A lover of the meadows, and the woods,

And mountains, and of all that we behold

From this green earth; of all the mighty world

Of eye and ear, both what they half create,

And what perceive.

<g>Striguil.</g>--The whole frontier of this interesting country--the land of

Gwent--is sprinkled over with picturesque ruins,--the crumbling remains

of those warlike strongholds raised by the Norman barons, as a defence

to their newly-acquired possessions, which were brought into frequent

jeopardy by the martial and reluctant subjects of the new dynasty. To

these we can only advert in passing--for the plan on which this work is

conducted, does not admit of their being noticed in detail. In the

second century after the Conquest, six of these strongholds were erected

near the British forest of Wentwood[100]--a still venerable chase of

between two and three thousand acres in extent, and associated with many

events in the history and traditions of the Welsh frontiers. The grand

object of these castles was to form a chain of garrisoned forts for the

protection of Norman interests against the incursions of a people who,

although compelled to pass under a foreign yoke, still gloried in their

independence, and embraced every occasion to prove that their martial

spirit, though bowed, was not broken.

One of the strongest of these embattled fastnesses was

<g>Castell-glyn-y-Striguil</g>,[101] erected, according to Doomsday-book, by

the Norman warrior so often named in this work, William Fitzosborne. In

Hammer’s Irish Chronicle,[102] however, its erection is ascribed to

Gilbert Strongbow, whose life and family we have already noticed in the

account of Tinterne Abbey. The remains of this castle, though inadequate

to convey any just notion of its original strength, are still

sufficiently marked with regard to its size and proportions. Its

outworks have mouldered down into shapeless masses, over which nature

has thrown so dense a matting of underwood, that the traces of art have

been almost obliterated. The form “was that of an oblong square, the

angles of which, as usual in such cases, were defended by octagonal

towers;”[103] at one extremity was the donjon, or keep, the situation of

which is indicated by the shapeless mound of vegetation, which draws

nutriment from its débris. The walls were encircled by a deep moat,

supplied by two mountain rivulets, which unite at this point to form the

<g>Troggy</g>, one of the silver tributaries of the river Usk.

The other castles Avhich deserve a cursory notice, are, Llanvair,

Llanvaches, Pencoed, Dinham, and Penhow.[104] The latter, an ancient

seat of the <g>Seymours</g>, occupies a bold and romantic situation. The

acclivity which forms the direct approach to it, is nearly

perpendicular. The view which it commands consists of a valley, or

rather wooded ravines, in the foreground; and in the distance, a range

of barren hills that bound the horizon--

Hills that, giving birth

To circling fountains, glad the parent earth;

And from their bosom, framed for martial toil,

Sent forth the guardian heroes of the soil.

By the marriage of the Lady Jane, daughter of Sir John Seymour, with

Henry the Eighth, and the birth of their son, afterwards Edward the

Sixth, the house of Penhow was placed in a situation to compete with

that of Raglan; and by the fortuitous influence thus acquired, the

Seymours took a leading authority in the management and direction of

county affairs.

This castle, or rather fortalice, appears to have derived its strength,

more from its isolated and once inaccessible position, than from the

extent of its walls or outworks. A portion of the interior has been

repaired and rendered habitable, or rather a house has been erected on

the site of the old _berçeau_, and thus future patriots and statesmen

may yet “come forth of Penhow.”

<g>Llanvair</g>, about six miles west from Chepstow, was the ancient residence

of the Kemeys family, from whom sprang Sir Nicholas Kemeys, the last

governor of Chepstow Castle, whose heroic but tragical fate has been

already noticed in these pages. The ruins of this ancient homestead are

too inconsiderable to challenge more than a passing glance from the

tourist. The same may be said of Dinham, a hamlet in the parish of

Llanvair-Discoed.

<g>Goldcliffe</g>, “so called,” says Camden, “because the stones there, of a

golden colour, by reverberation of the sunne shining full upon them,

glitter with a wonderful brightnesse. Neither can I be easilie perswaded

that nature hath given this brightnesse in vaine unto the stones, and

that there should be a flowre here without fruit; were there any man

that would serch into the veines there, and using the direction of Art,

enter into the inmost and secretest bowels of the earth.”[105] But what

was a mystery in the days of Giraldus, and even of Camden, admits of a

very simple solution. The Gold Cliff, so called, consists of a rock

nearly perpendicular, which rises abruptly to the height of a hundred

feet in an extensive moor.[106] It consists of limestone strata, nearly

horizontal and parallel, supported by a base of brown sandstone,

abounding with yellow mica. The brilliant effect of the sun upon this

micaceous surface, was a reason for the old belief in the neighbourhood,

that the rock contained gold, and was therefore considered as a

situation of peculiar value and sanctity.[107] The <g>church</g> of Goldcliffe

belonged to a priory founded and endowed in 1113, by Robert de <g>Chandos</g>,

eighteen years earlier than that of Tinterne Abbey, who, by the

persuasion of Henry the First, annexed it to the Abbey of <g>Bec</g>, in

Normandy, whence a prior and twelve Black, or Benedictine, friars were

conveyed to it. On the suppression of alien priories, Henry Beauchamp,

Earl of Warwick, obtained of King Henry the Sixth the patronage of the

priory, with permission to annex it to the Abbey of St. Mary, at

Tewkesbury, to which it was made a cell in 1442. The Cambro-Britons,

however, being offended at this measure, obliged the prior and monks of

Tewkesbury to quit Goldcliffe in 1445; but in the following year they

were permitted to return. In the twenty-ninth of the reign of Henry the

Sixth, Goldcliffe Priory was granted to the college at Eton, and to

Tewkesbury again. At the accession of Edward the Fourth, but seven years

later, it was restored to Eton college, in whose possession it has since

remained.[108]

<g>Caldicot.</g>--The castle of this name is said to have been erected by one

of the ancient Bohuns, earls of Hereford, hereditary

lords-high-constables of England,[109] for nearly two hundred years.

From them the castle descended to Henry, Duke of Lancaster, and upon

his accession to the throne as Henry the Fourth, it was invested in the

crown. The ivy-mantled walls enclose a large court, with three

entrances. The principal gateway is flanked by lofty square towers; and

on the east side are the remains of the hall, comprising a range of

windows, of large size and elegant workmanship. The style of masonry, as

shown in the construction of the walls, is excellent; the courses of

large and equal sized stones, are accurately squared and jointed; but

the whole construction has more the appearance of an ancient domestic

residence, than of a British stronghold--well suited for the

accommodation of a feudal baron and his retinue in times of peace, but

ill prepared to resist an enemy, or sustain a siege.

Yet there Tradition tells her tale

Of warrior-knights in glittering mail--

Of martial feat, and festive hall,

And banners waving from the wall;

When Cambria’s rival spears were bent

For martial joust and tournament;

While Beauty, from her lattice high,

Surveyed the scene with radiant eye--

And Cambria’s Chivalry in arms

Did faithful homage to her charms.

But <g>Caldicot</g>, how lonely now!

The wreath has withered from thy brow;

The scene of song and martial deeds

Is now a wilderness of weeds!

Ah, such at last the homes shall be

Of England’s proudest Chivalry!

<g>Mathern</g> is remarkable as the burial-place of Theodoric or Teudrick, the

hermit king of Glamorgan, already mentioned.[110] His hermitage “among

the rocks of Tinterne,” to which he had retired for repose and

meditation in the evening of life, is supposed to have stood on the site

of the present abbey, which had thus, in the traditional records of the

people, a spot already consecrated by royal example, as a foundation for

those gorgeous altars by which it was subsequently distinguished.

When dragged from his retreat by the supplications of his family and

subjects, and armed once more against the Saxons, he solemnly enjoined

his son that, in the event of his falling in battle, they should erect a

Christian church over his remains, as a monument of his faith and

patriotism. The battle that speedily ensued, as tradition reports, was a

great victory, but a victory purchased with the blood of Teudrick; for

during the fierce conflict that had covered the Vale of Tinterne with

the slain, he received a blow from a Saxon battle-axe which proved

fatal. From the field he was conveyed homeward as far as Mathern, where

he died; and there his son, who succeeded him in the chieftainship,

erected a church to his memory, the name of which has perpetuated his

martyrdom.[111]

The foundation of this church in its primitive state, consisted, like

other British structures, of a nave only--a side aisle and chancel

appear to have been added at a very early date; and, subsequently to

these, a tower was erected which completed the sacred edifice, and

rendered it more conspicuous as a historical landmark, and place of

pilgrimage. It is distinguished by handsome Gothic windows, portions of

which are adorned with stained glass; and the roof is supported by Saxon

arches, resting on massive octagon piers.

On a plain mural tablet in the <g>Chancel</g> of this ancient church, is the

following inscription, supposed to have been written by Bishop Godwin.

The fact of its being the sepulchre of the British Prince Teudrick, was

finally ascertained by the discovery of his stone coffin, in which the

skeleton was found almost entire. On the skull, also, in accordance with

local tradition, a fracture was observed, which clearly indicated the

manner of his death, and confirmed the testimony of local history.

The following is the inscription:--“Here lyeth entombed the body of

THEODORIC, King of Morganuch, or Glamorgan, commonly called <g>St.

Theodoric</g>, and accounted a martyr, because he was slain in battle

against the Saxons, being then pagans, and in defence of the Christian

Religion. The battle was fought at <g>Tynterne</g>, where he obtained a great

victory. He died here, being on his way homeward, three days after the

battle, having taken order with Maurice, his son, who succeeded him in

the kingdom, that in the same place where he should happen to decease, a

church should be built, and his body buried in the same, which was

accordingly performed in the year 600.”

“On ascending the tower of this church,” says Mr. Thomas, “a scene of

great extent and surpassing beauty is spread before the eye; on one side

you have a long reach of water, strewn with vessels and rocks; on the

other a wide undulating tract of land, overspread with villas and

smiling meadows, crowded with many a gentle herd; while beneath, and not

the least interesting objects of this scene, are those melancholy wrecks

of bygone splendour--Mathern Palace and Moinscourt.” The first of these

two objects, the old episcopal residence, is now “the ruinous retreat of

some humble followers of the plough.” The north and north-east portions,

comprising the porch and tower, were erected by Bishop De la Zouch, who

was consecrated in the year 1408, and the chapel hall, and some other

compartments, were added by Miles Sulley, who came to the see in 1504.

Moinscourt, now reduced to the humble uses of a farmhouse, was another

of the palaces, belonging to the see of Llandaff, and supposed to have

been erected by Bishop Godwin, who made it his favourite residence.

Passing beneath a Gothic porch, crowned with two lofty turrets, we enter

a spacious quadrangular court, at the extremity of which stands the

palace. Over the entrance is an escutcheon, on which are sculptured the

arms of Godwin, impaled with those of the see, and bearing the date of

1603. The court was formerly adorned with two monuments of Roman

antiquity found in the vicinity--one a votive altar, the other an

inscription, recording the rebuilding of the Temple of Diana, by T. F.

Posthumius Varus. It was from the ancient Roman slabs, built into the

garden walls of this residence, that Bishop Godwin supplied the drawings

and inscriptions for Camden’s Britannia.[112]

Before adverting to the final suppression of Tinterne <g>Abbey</g>, and the

confiscation of its revenues to the king’s treasury, we shall now take a

brief view of the circumstances which led to this grand revolution in

our ecclesiastical government--quoting for our authority those writers

of unquestionable veracity, who have treated of that momentous epoch.

First, with regard to the

<g>Dissolution.</g>--“Never,” says an historian of this epoch,[113] “never was

there any exploit, seemingly so full of hazard and danger, more easily

achieved than the subversion of our English monasteries.” The church

commissioners presented a startling report of the vices[114] and

deceptions of the monks and nuns; and, what was of equal weight in the

condemnation, they sent in the title-deeds of their estates, with the

inventory of their plate, jewels, and ready money. Upon this a bill was

introduced, giving unto the king and his heirs all monastic

establishments, the revenues of which did not exceed two hundred pounds

sterling a year, with every kind of property attached to them, whether

real or personal. Three hundred and eighty of the lesser houses fell

within this category, and were suppressed; whereby the king was enriched

by thirty-two thousand pounds per annum--an enormous sum in that day--in

addition to a hundred thousand pounds in ready money, plate, and jewels.

The bill, according to one writer, was not passed through the House of

Commons without some difficulty; but <g>Henry</g>, sending for the ministers,

and telling them that he would have either the bill or their heads, they

passed it immediately.

The parliament, which, by successive prorogations, had sat for the

unprecedented term of six years, was now dissolved; and Henry, after all

their passive obedience, appears to have been disgusted at this their

last and feeble effort at opposition. He now named other commissioners

to take possession of the suppressed monasteries, and to prepare

measures for the seizure of others. If these men, mostly the friends of

Cromwell or of Cranmer, had a better religion before their eyes, they

certainly were not blind to the charms of lucre, and the temptations of

fair houses and fat glebes; as many of them made a harvest for

themselves, out of the spoils of the monks and nuns.[115]

The superiors of the suppressed houses were promised small pensions for

life, which were very irregularly paid. All the monks not twenty-four

years of age were absolved from their vows, and turned loose upon the

world without any kind of provision; the rest, if they wished to

continue in the profession, were divided among the greater houses that

were still left standing. The poor nuns were turned adrift to beg or

starve; having nothing given to them, save one common gown for

each.[116] “These things,” says Godwin, “were of themselves distasteful

to the vulgar sort, of whom each one did, as it were, claim a share in

the goods of the church; for many being neither monks, nor allied to

monks, did, notwithstanding, conceive that it might hereafter come to

pass that either their children, friends, or kindred, might obtain their

share; whereas, when all their property was once confiscated, they could

never hope for any such advantages. But the popular commiseration for

the thousands of monks and nuns who were, almost without warning given,

thrust out of doors, and committed to the mercy of the world, became a

more forcible cause of discontent. There were not wanting desperate men

to take advantage of this state of public feeling; and it was diligently

rumoured in all parts, that this was but the beginning of greater evils

and more general spoliations--only a trial of their patience; that, as

yet, the shrubs and underwood were but touched; but unless a speedy

remedy were applied, the end would be with the fall of the lofty oaks.”

At the same time, the crowds of poor, who, by an ancient but defective

system, had derived their support from the monastic establishments,

became furious at finding their resources cut off, and at seeing the

monks who had fed them now begging like themselves by the roadsides.

In the midst of these general discontents, Cranmer and Cromwell issued

certain doctrinal injunctions to the clergy, which were too novel to

find immediate favour with the multitude; and certain Protestant

reformers, who had more courage than they, ventured to print books about

Iconolatria, image-worship, auricular confession, transubstantiation,

and other fundamental tenets and practices of the Roman Catholic Church.

The king, who assumed all the authority in matters of dogmas that had

ever been claimed by the popes, and much more than they had ever put in

practice in England, pronounced rewards and sentences which irritated

both parties alike, and all these questions were referred to him--thus

occupying a good deal of his time, and keeping in dangerous activity his

old political bile.[117] We find the Lord Chancellor Audley writing in

great perturbation to Cromwell, telling him that “there is a book come

forth in print, touching the taking away of images, and begging to know

whether he was privy to the publishing thereof,” which Cranmer probably

was,[118] though, had such a fact been known to his master at that

moment, his neck would have been in jeopardy. The chancellor says, “I

assure you, in the parts where I have been, some discord there is, and

diversity of opinion among the people, touching the worshipping of

saints and images; and for creeping, kneeling at cross, and such like

ceremonies heretofore used in the church, which discord it were good

should be put to silence; and this book will make much business in the

same, if it should go forth. Wherefore,” he continues, “I pray you, I

may be advised whether you know it or no, for I intend to send for the

printers and stop them; but there may be many abroad. It were good that

the preachers and people abstained from opinions of such things, till

such time as by the report of such as the king’s highness hath appointed

for the searching and ordering of laws of the church, his grace may put

a final order on such things, how his people and subjects shall use

themselves without contention. And if the people were thus commanded by

proclamation to abstain till that time, such proclamation, drawn in

honest terms, would do much good to avoid contention.”[119]

The king was by no means backward in issuing his final orders and

decrees spiritual; and the reformers herein concealing their ulterior

views, he was led to reduce the number of sacraments from seven to

three--Baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and Penance; to forbid the direct

adoration of images; to abrogate a number of saints’ days or holidays,

especially such as fell in harvest time; to declare the Scriptures, with

the Apostolic, Nicene, and Athanasian creeds, the sole standards of

faith; to order every parish priest to expound these to his parishioners

in plain English; and to direct the printing and distribution of an

English translation of the Bible, one copy of which was to be kept in

every parish church. The king, in his wisdom, insisted on the necessity

of auricular confession, and denounced any questioning of the ‘real

presence’ in the eucharist as a damnable heresy, to be punished with

fire and faggot. Purgatory, he confessed, puzzled him; steering a middle

course, he declared himself to be uncertain on this head; and kindly

permitted his subjects to pray for the souls of their departed friends,

provided only that they fell into none of the old abuses of enriching

religious houses and shrines for this object.[120]

“Meanwhile,” says the historian, “the king continued much prone to

reformation, especially if anything might be gotten by it.” Nothing was

more easy than to prove that all the monastic orders had been engaged in

the late insurrection;[121] and as many of the richest abbeys and

priories remained as yet untouched, there was no want of wise

counsellors, all anxious to share in the spoil, who recommended their

total suppression. In some cases, out of a dread of martial law, or,

what was equally bad, a prosecution for high treason, the <g>Abbots</g>

surrendered, gave, and granted their abbeys unto the king, his heirs and

assigns for ever; but still many replied, like the prior of Henton,

“that they would not be light and hasty in giving up those things which

were not theirs to give, being dedicated to the <g>Almighty</g> for service to

be done to his honour continually, with other many good deeds of charity

which be daily done in their houses to their Christian neighbours.”[122]

“These recusants were treated with great severity; the prisons were

crowded with priors and monks, who died so rapidly in their places of

confinement, as to excite a dreadful suspicion.”

Without waiting for a “needless act of parliament, the king suppressed

many other houses; and soon after, with the full consent of Lords and

Commons, finished the business, by seizing all the <g>abbeys</g> without

exception, with all the other religious houses, except a very few,

which, at the earnest petition of the people, were spared or given up to

the representatives of their original founders.” Before proceeding to

the “final suppression, under the pretence of checking the superstitious

worshipping of images, he had laid bare their altars, and stripped their

shrines of everything that was valuable; nor did he spare the rich

coffins and the crumbling bones of the dead.” At the distance of four

hundred years--exasperated at that extraordinary man’s opposition to

the royal prerogative--he determined to execute vengeance on the bones

and relics of

<g>Thomas a Becket.</g>--The Martyr’s tomb was broken open; and by an insane

process, worthy of a Nero or a Caligula, a criminal information was

filed against him as “Thomas Becket, some time Archbishop of

Canterbury;” and he was formally cited to appear in court, and answer to

the charges. Thirty days were allowed the saint; but we need hardly

inform our readers that his dishonoured relics rested quietly at

Canterbury, and did not appear to plead in Westminster Hall. With due

solemnity the court opened its proceedings.[123] The attorney-general

eloquently exposed the case for the prosecution, and the advocates of

the saint--who no doubt spoke less boldly--were heard in defence; and

that being over, sentence was pronounced, that “Becket” had been guilty

of rebellion, treason, and contumacy; that his bones should be burnt as

a lesson to the living not to oppose the royal will; and that the rich

offerings with which many generations of men, native and foreign, had

enriched his shrine, should be forfeited to the crown as the personal

property of the traitor. “In the month of August,” continues the

historian, “Cromwell, who must have smiled at the course pursued, sent

down some of his commissioners to Canterbury, who executed their task so

well, that they filled two immense coffers with gold and jewels, each of

them so heavy that it required eight strong men to lift it.” “Among the

rest,” says Godwin, “was a stone of especial lustre, called the _Royal_

of France, offered by King Louis VII., in the year 1179; together with a

great massive cup of gold, at what time he also bestowed an annuity on

the monks of that church of an hundred tuns of wine. This stone was

afterwards highly prized by the king, who did continually wear it on his

thumb.” A few months after, the king, by proclamation, stated to his

people, that forasmuch as it now clearly appears Thomas Becket had been

killed in a riot provoked by his own obstinacy and insolence, and had

been canonized by the Bishop of Rome merely because he was champion of

that usurped authority, he now deemed it proper to declare that he was

no saint whatever, but a rebel and traitor to his prince: and that,

therefore, he, the king, strictly commanded that he should not be any

longer esteemed or called a saint; that all images and pictures of him

should be destroyed; and that his name and remembrance should be erased

out of all books, under pain of his majesty’s indignation, and

imprisonment at his grace’s pleasure.[124]

<g>The revenues</g> of Tinterne Abbey, though far inferior to others of the

same order, particularly those in Yorkshire, were still sufficient for

the maintenance of the brotherhood, the repairs and decoration of the

buildings, and the exercise of hospitality, which formed so important a

feature in the monastic code. The estimate recorded by Dugdale is

probably under the mark; while that of Speed may possibly exceed, by a

few pounds, the actual rental of the abbey lands. The former has

computed it at £192. 1s. 3d., the latter at £252. 11s. 6d., sums which,

taking into account the value of money in those times, give no mean idea

of its annual resources. This sum, however, is exclusive of the daily

tribute received from the pious hands of pilgrims, and the donations of

many distinguished guests, who, from time to time, sat at the <g>Abbot’s</g>

table, or found refuge in its sanctuary.

The details of the first endowments[125] of Tinterne Abbey, as well as

various later benefactions, down to the seventh year of Henry the

Third, are contained in a charter of confirmation from William Marshall,

grandson of Walter de Clare, the founder.

“Herein,” says Tanner, “were thirteen religious about the time of the

dissolution, when the estates belonging to this monastery were rated at

£256. 11s. 6d. in the gross, and £192. 1s. 4-1/2d. per annum, clear

income.”

The site of Tinterne Abbey, with all the monastic buildings, was granted

28th Henry VIII. to Henry, Earl of Worcester. It is still the property

of his descendant, the Duke of Beaufort. Leland, mentioning Tinterne

Abbey in his Collectanea, says, “There was a sanctuary granted to

Tinterne, but it hath not been used many a day.”

The common seal of this monastery is appended to an instrument dated in

the 6th of Henry VIII., whereby the abbot and convent appoint Charles,

Earl of Worcester, and Henry Somerset, Lord Herbert, his son and heir

apparent, chief stewards of their manor of Arle in Norfolk. The subject

of this seal, of which only a mutilated impression in red wax remains,

was the Virgin Mary and the infant Saviour, seated under an ornamented

arch--in a niche underneath, was an abbot, with his crosier, on his

knees praying. Nearly the whole of the legend is gone, the only part

remaining being.... RII. BEATE.

<g>William Marshall</g>, the “vetus Marescallus,” as he is called in

black-letter chronicles--who married the daughter and heiress of Richard

Strongbow--became the founder of a new Cistercian Abbey, near Wexford,

in Ireland. Finding himself, once upon a time, in great peril during a

voyage thither, he made a vow to the Virgin Mary, that if by her help he

escaped shipwreck, and once more set foot on dry land, he would testify

his gratitude by founding an <g>abbey</g> to her honour. The ship having got

safe into port, he lost no time in commencing the pious work, to which,

in compliment to her elder sister on the Wye, he gave the name of

<g>Tynterna</g> _de Voto_.

<g>Daughters of Tinterne.</g>--In addition to what has been already mentioned

of the two daughters,[126] or offshoots, of Tinterne on the Wye, we

collect the following particulars:--

<g>Tinterne Abbey</g>, in the County of Wexford.--“This abbey was situated on

the shore of Bannow Bay, in the barony of Shelburne, three miles

north-east of Duncannon Fort. William, Earl of Pembroke, as already

mentioned, being in great danger and peril at sea, made a vow to found

an abbey in that place where he should first arrive in safety; and the

place was the bay in question. He accordingly performed his vow,

dedicated his abbey to the Virgin Mary, endowed it, and settled a

convent of Cistercian monks in it, whom he brought from <g>Tinterne</g> in

Monmouthshire. Archdale gives the particulars of the Earl of Pembroke’s

endowment of this house, from King. The whole, however, was not

completed in the earl’s lifetime, for Dugdale has given King John’s

charter confirming the bequest of thirty carucates of land to this abbey

in the earl’s will.”[127]

<g>Kingswood Abbey.</g>--“ROGER DE BERKELEY received by gift of William Rufus

certain lands, upon condition that he should confer them upon some monks

or canons; but being prevented by death, he bequeathed them to William

de Berkeley[128] his nephew, upon the same terms. And of which William,

I find that he bestowed upon the monks of <g>Tynterne</g>, in Wales, a certain

<g>Desart</g> near Berkeley, called <g>Kingswood</g>, there to found an abbey of the

<g>Cistercian Order</g>; and that Maud the Empress, daughter to King Henry the

First, confirmed that grant. The convent was built, but during the

troublous reign of Stephen they removed to Haselden; but thence, on the

return of peace, they were expelled by the proprietor, and again took up

their abode at <g>Kingswood</g>. Reginal D. S. <g>Walerick</g> repenting, invited them

back to Haselden; but, after a time, the place being found very

inconvenient for lack of water, they were removed by him to <g>Tetbury</g>,

Kingswood all this time being left as a mere _grange_ of the monastery.

Of this the heir of the founder complained, and required that the

convent should return thither, according to the conditions upon which it

was given by his ancestor. A general chapter of the whole <g>Order</g>,

however, decided against him, and determined that Kingswood should

remain as a mere farm belonging to the convent of Tetbury; but that mass

should always be sung at <g>Kingswood</g>, privately, by one monk, who was to

have for his labour twenty-seven _marks_ and a half. But after this, by

another general chapter of that Order, it was agreed that the Abbot of

Waverley, in Surrey, should rebuild _Kingswood_ with the consent of the

founder, and confirmation of the King; which being done without the

privity of the convent at Tetbury, and Abbot of <g>Tynterne</g>, who opposed

the same. Upon a meeting of divers other abbots at _Kingswood_, it was

concluded, that the monks placed at Kingswood should be recalled, and

that place reduced unto the state of a _grange_ to Tettebiry, as it was

before.” These transmutations, however, were not yet concluded: “for

Tettebiry being found a narrow place, too little for an abbey, and

having no fuel but what was brought from Kingswood, which was far

distant, Bernard de S. Walerick came to accord with Roger de <g>Berkley</g>,

the founder of Kingswood, and therefore, obtaining a grant from him of

forty acres of land adjoining to Kingswood, translated those monks from

Tettebiry thither, and called it <g>Kingswood</g>, as a name of most

note.”[129] Such were the vicissitudes of this abbey.

According to Pope Nicholas’ taxation, the spiritualities of this

monastery amounted in 1291 to the annual sum of £6. 4s. 4d.; the

temporalities to £47. 17s. 2d.; making a total of £54. 1s. 6d. There is

no valuation of Kingswood in the general ecclesiastical survey of the

26th Henry VIII., though Tanner says it was valued at that time,

according to Dugdale, at £244. 11s. 2d. per annum; according to Speed,

at £254. 11s. 2d.; clear, £239. 19s. 7-3/4d. In a MS. record in the

whole at £254. 5s. 10d. A survey of this house, taken in the 29th Henry

VIII., is preserved in the appendix to the Monasticon Anglicanum. There

is also a minister’s ‘accompt’ of it in the Augmentation office, 32nd

Henry VIII.; but its possessions are there answered for, in gross, at

the sum of £245. 8s. 8d., the whole of its estates being then on lease

to Sir Nicholas Peyntz, Knt., under the seal of the Court of

Augmentations, dated 10th March, 29th Henry VIII., for a term of

twenty-one years at the above rent. In the second year of Queen

Elizabeth, the site of this house was granted to Sir John Thynne, Knt.

The _register_ of Kingswood Abbey was in the possession of John Smith,

Esq. of Nibley, in the county of Gloucester. The common seal represented

the Blessed Virgin crowned, holding in her arms the infant Jesus, and

standing between two elegant pilasters, surmounted by a canopy; the

field diapered; in base, under an arch, the half figure of a monk

praying; the legend much flattened, so that no more of it can be read

than S.COF ... CONVENTUS ... DE KINGEWOD. An impression of this seal on

red wax is appendant to a conventual lease, temp. Henry VIII., in the

Augmentation office.[130]

[Illustration: F]<g>ROM</g> the above cursory notice of the spiritual daughters

of “Holy Tinterne,” we return to the Mother-Abbey.

In England, says an eminent Catholic writer, the scheme of plundering

the ecclesiastical property by men of a certain class, had never been

wholly abandoned. In Henry the Fourth’s time there was “the laymen’s

parliament of those who countenanced Wickliffe, and loved the lands far

better than they did the religion of the Church; but their designs at

that time were defeated by the stout and religious opposition of Thomas

Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, and other Prelates.”[131] Against

these evils the ancient canons of the church in Germany provided, by

prohibiting the faithful from holding any communication with men who

disturb priests, and the state of the church.[132] “Now,” he continues,

“if <g>St. Thomas</g> and the clergy of the middle ages are to be condemned for

resisting such injustice by prayers, and law, and canonical censures,

what will be thought of <g>St. Ambrose</g>, and other pastors of the early

church, who, by still more uncompromising firmness, believed that they

were imitating the apostles?” St. Ambrose declares that he will never

relinquish the churches to the Arians, as the Emperor Valentinian

commands, unless by force. “If any force remove me from the church, my

flesh,” he says, “may be disturbed, but not my mind; for I am prepared

to suffer whatever a priest may suffer, if the emperor should exert his

regal power. I will never abandon the church voluntarily; but I cannot

oppose force. I can grieve, I can weep, I can groan; against arms,

soldiers, and Goths, tears are my arms; for these are the weapons of a

priest. Otherwise I neither ought to resist, nor can I resist. When it

was proposed to me to deliver up the vessels of the church, I sent word

that I would willingly give up what was mine own, whether lands or

houses, gold or silver; but that I could take nothing from the temple of

God, nor lightly abandon what I had received to guard--not to deliver

up. Fear not, therefore, for me, dearly beloved, since I know that

whatever I am about to suffer, I shall suffer for <g>Christ</g>; and the will

of Christ must be fulfilled, and that will be for the best. Let them

decree the penalty of death, I fear it not; nor will I on that account

desert the martyrs; for whither could I go where all things would not be

full of groans and tears, when Catholic priests are ordered to be driven

from the churches, or to be struck with the sword if they resisted; and

this decree to be written by a bishop, who should quote ancient examples

to prove himself most learned? <g>Auxentius</g>, thirsting for blood, demanded

my church; but I say with the prophet--‘Absit ut ego patrum meorum

tradam hæreditatem!’ Naboth was prepared to defend his vineyard at the

expense of his blood. If he could not give up his vineyard, neither will

we give up the church of <g>Christ</g>. Do I then return a contumacious answer?

I have answered as a priest; let the emperor act as an emperor. Last

year,” he adds, “when I was invited to the palace, and introduced before

the council, when the emperor wished to take from us the church, I

should have been subdued by the contemplation of the royal hall, and I

should not have kept the constancy of a priest, or should have departed

with loss of right. Do they not remember, then, how the people rushed to

the palace, and overwhelmed every force, declaring that they would die

for the faith of <g>Christ</g>? Then I was desired to appease the people, which

I did by engaging that the church should not be given up; but now the

Arians wish to give law to the church, and accuse us of sedition in

resisting the emperor. Let him take our tribute or our lands, if they

ask treasure: _our treasure is the poor of_ <g>Christ</g>; our defence is in

the prayers of the poor. These blind, and lame, and weak, and aged

persons, are stronger than robust warriors. I am to give to Cæsar what

belongs to Cæsar; to God what belongs to God: the tribute is Cæsar’s,

but the church is God’s. As for the fire, or sword, or banishment, which

are threatened, we fear them not.”[133]

Again, writing to his sister Marcella, he says: “Not only the <g>basilica</g>

without the walls is now demanded, but also the new and greater one

within the city. When the prince summoned me to resign them, I replied,

what was of course, that ‘the temple of God could not be given up by a

priest.’ The emperor cannot invade the house of a private man, and will

he dare to take possession of the house of God! The palace belongs to

the emperor, the church to the priest. If he be a tyrant, I desire to be

aware of it, that I may know how to prepare against him, for I have the

power to offer my body. If he thinks himself a tyrant, why does he delay

to strike? By ancient laws empires were given by priests, not taken from

them; and it is a common saying, that emperors have rather desired

priesthood, than priests empire. The tyranny of a priest is his

infirmity; for ‘when I am weak, then am I strong.’”

With examples like this before them--and numerous others might here be

cited--it is not surprising that many of the monastic priesthood

preferred to endure fines, imprisonment, and even death, to the

enjoyment of that life and freedom which could only be purchased by acts

of apostacy. And on this portion of our subject we avail ourselves of an

eloquent passage from one of the most popular works of the day:--

The conversion of the Anglo-Saxons to Christianity was the first of a

long series of salutary revolutions. It is true that the church had been

deeply corrupted both by that superstition, and by that philosophy,

against which she had long contended, and over which she had at last

triumphed. She had given a too easy admission to doctrines borrowed from

the ancient schools, and to rites borrowed from the ancient temples.

Roman policy and Gothic ignorance, Grecian ingenuity and Syrian

asceticism, had contributed to deprave her; yet she retained enough of

the sublime theology, and benevolent morality of her earlier days, to

elevate many intellects, and to purify many hearts. Some things also

which, at a later period, were justly regarded as among her chief

blemishes, were in the seventh century, and long afterwards, among her

chief merits. That the sacerdotal order should encroach on the functions

of the civil magistrate, would, in our time, be a great evil. But that

which in an age of good government is an evil, may, in an age of grossly

bad government, be a blessing. It is better that mankind should be

governed by wise laws well administered, and by an enlightened public

opinion, than by priestcraft; but it is better that men should be

governed by priestcraft than by brute violence,--by such a prelate as

Dunstan, than by such a warrior as Penda. A society sunk in ignorance,

and ruled by mere physical force, has great reason to rejoice when a

class, of which the influence is intellectual, rises to ascendancy. Such

a class will doubtless abuse its power; but mental power, even when

abused, is still a nobler and better power than that which consists

merely in corporeal strength. We read in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles of

tyrants who, when at the height of greatness, were smitten with remorse;

who abhorred the pleasures and dignities which they had purchased by

guilt; who abdicated their crowns, and who sought to atone for their

offences by cruel penances and incessant prayers. These stories have

drawn forth bitter expressions of contempt from some writers who, while

they boasted of liberality, were in truth as narrow-minded as any monk

of the dark ages, and whose habit was to apply to all events in the

history of the world the standard received in the Parisian society of

the eighteenth century. Yet surely a system which, however deformed by

superstition, introduced strong moral restraints into communities

previously governed only by vigour of muscle, and by audacity of spirit;

a system which taught even the fiercest and mightiest ruler that he was,

like his meanest bondsman, a responsible being, might have seemed to

deserve a more respectful mention from philosophers and

philanthropists.[134]

The same observations will apply to the contempt with which, in the last

century, it was fashionable to speak of the pilgrimages, the

sanctuaries, the crusades, and the monastic institutions of the middle

ages. In times when men were scarcely ever induced to travel by liberal

curiosity, or by the pursuit of gain, it was better that the rude

inhabitant of the north should visit Italy and the East as a pilgrim,

than that he should never see anything but the squalid cabins, and

uncleared woods, amidst which he was born.[135]

In times when life and female honour were exposed to daily risk from

tyrants and marauders, it was better that the precinct of a shrine

should be regarded with an irrational awe, than that there should be no

refuge inaccessible to cruelty and licentiousness. In times when

statesmen were incapable of forming extensive political combinations, it

was better that the Christian nations should be roused and united for

the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre, than that they should, one by one,

be overwhelmed by the Mahometan power. Whatever reproach may, at a later

period, have been justly thrown on the indolence and luxury of religious

orders, it was surely good that, in an age of ignorance and violence,

there should be quiet cloisters and gardens, in which the arts of peace

could be safely cultivated; in which gentle and contemplative natures

could find an asylum; in which one brother could employ himself in

transcribing the Æneid of Virgil, and another in meditating the

Analytics of Aristotle; in which he who had a genius for art, might

illuminate a martyrology, or carve a crucifix; and in which he who had a

turn for natural philosophy, might make experiments on the properties of

plants and minerals. Had not such retreats been scattered here and

there, among the huts of a miserable peasantry, and the castles of a

ferocious aristocracy, European society would have consisted merely of

beasts of burden, and beasts of prey. The <g>church</g> has many times been

compared to the ark of which we read in the Book of Genesis; but never

was the resemblance more perfect than during the evil time, when she

rode alone, amidst darkness and tempest, on the deluge beneath which all

the great works of ancient power and wisdom lay entombed; bearing within

her that feeble germ, from which a second and more glorious civilization

was to spring.[136]

[Illustration: U]<g>NDER</g> the blasting influence of an arbitrary power, that

found its zealous instruments in the Commissioners appointed for that

service, the suppression and confiscation of the English monasteries

were quickly followed by a long train of national misery and

degradation, of which lamentable evidence is found in the chronicles of

that period. From these popular and authentic sources we extract the

following picture:--

In the final seizure of the abbeys and monasteries of England, the

richest fell first. In the spring of 1540, all the monastic

establishments of the kingdom were suppressed, and the mass of their

landed property was divided among courtiers and parasites. The gold and

silver, and costly jewels of shrines, had partly gone in that direction,

and had partly been kept for the king’s use. The troubled fountain of

the Reformation, it has been said, sent forth two streams--the one of

sweet, the other of bitter waters.[137] “It is the duty of an impartial

historian to dwell for a time by the bitter stream. Between the ignorant

zealots of the new doctrines, and the rudeness of the men employed in

the suppression, who were all most anxious for spoil, and who probably

cared little for any form of religion, or any decency of worship,

innumerable works of art were destroyed; magnificent specimens of

architecture were defaced and left roofless. Statues and pictures, many

of them the productions of Italian masters,--and which had, in the eye

of taste, a sort of holiness independent of Saints and Madonnas,--were

broken to pieces or burnt. The mosaic pavements of the chapels were torn

up; and the same brutal hands smashed the painted windows, which, almost

more than anything else, gave beauty and glory to our old abbeys and

cathedrals. The church-bells were gambled for, and sold into Russia and

other countries. Horses were tethered to the high altar; cattle were

kept in stall in the very recesses of the shrines and the chapels; and

these, according to good authority, were at times the least bestial of

the occupants.” “The libraries, of which all the great houses contained

one, numerously if not judiciously stocked,--but wherein existed, no

doubt, many a book in manuscript, which we would now willingly

possess,--were treated with the greatest contempt. And here we should

wonder why the enlightened men who promoted the <g>Reformation</g> did not

interfere, were we not convinced of the danger of opposing the king’s

will, and the ruffianly character of the persons to whom the task of

suppression and destruction was committed.” “Some books,” says Spelman,

“were reserved to scour their candlesticks, some to rub their boots,

some sold to the grocers and soapboilers, and some sent over the sea to

bookbinders--not in small numbers, but at times whole shipfuls, to the

wondering of foreign nations. A single merchant purchased, at forty

shillings a-piece, two noble libraries, to be used as grey paper; and

such as having already sufficed for ten years, were abundant enough for

many years more.” Such is the testimony of an eye-witness.[138]

All the abbeys were totally dismantled, except in those cases where they

happened to be the parish churches also, or where they were rescued in

part by the petitions and pecuniary contributions of the pious

inhabitants, who were averse to the worshipping of God in a stable.

Cranmer and Latimer in some cases petitioned the king; but, as it is

proved by their letters, they were too dependent on the court, and too

fearful of its wrath to do very much. Latimer was the bolder of the two;

and even before the final dissolution, he ventured to condemn in public

the practice, which <g>Henry</g> had already adopted, of converting some of the

monasteries into stables, conceiving it a monstrous thing that abbeys,

which were ordained for the comfort of the poor, should be kept for the

king’s horses! “What hast thou to do with the king’s horses?” retorted a

noble courtier of the right stamp--“Horses be the maintenance and part

of a king’s honour, and also of his realm; wherefore, in speaking

against them, ye are speaking against the king’s honour!”[139] The

following were the

<g>Results.</g>--The men who had recommended the wholesale spoliation of the

church, had represented it as a never-failing <g>fund</g>, which would enable

the king to carry on the government with none--or but the slightest

taxes; and which would furnish him with the means of creating and

supporting earls, barons, and knights, and of forming excellent

institutions for the promotion of industry, education, and religion.

But, in the event, the property was squandered in a manner which is

scarcely accountable; for the king had the conscience to demand from

parliament “a compensation for the expenses he had incurred in reforming

the religion of the state:” and within a year after the completion of

his measures, “the obsequious parliament voted him a subsidy of

two-tenths and two-fifteenths for this express purpose. It is a striking

fact, that none of the objects contemplated and spoken of were promoted

by the money of the religious houses--always excepting the making and

supporting of certain noblemen.”[140] Pauperism increased; as the whole

body of the poor, which had been supported by the monks, who had funds

for that purpose, were thrown, clamorous and desperate--unprepared for,

and unprovided with, employment--upon the wondering nation, which had

not before been aware of the extent of the evil. Education declined most

rapidly; the schools kept in the monasteries were at an end; while

other schools, and even the universities, were deserted. Religion was

not promoted; for nothing but miserable stipends were given to the

preachers, and none but poor and unlettered men would accept the office.

To preach at <g>St. Paul’s Cross</g> had been a great object of clerical

ambition; but now there was a difficulty of finding a sufficient number

of preachers for that duty: and about four years after the final

suppression, Bonner, Bishop of London, wrote to Parker, then Master of

Corpus College, importuning him to send him some help from Cambridge;

and not long after--during the short reign of Edward the Sixth--Latimer

said, “I think there be at this day ten thousand students less than were

within these twenty years.”

<g>In the Country</g>, “the rural parishes were served by priests who had

scarcely the rudiments of education.” Following an example set them by

the king--who required Cromwell to give a benefit to a priest who was

kept in the royal service, because “he had trained two hawks for his

majesty’s pastime, which flew and killed their game very well”[141]--the

patrons of livings gave them to their menials as wages or rewards; to

their gardeners, to the keepers of their hawks and hounds; or otherwise

they let in fee both glebe and parsonage; so that whoever was presented

to the benefice would have neither roof to dwell under, nor land to live

upon, being but too happy if his tithes afforded him a chamber at an

alehouse, with the worshipful society of the dicers and drinkers who

frequented it. According to Latimer, the parish priest, under these

circumstances, frequently kept an alehouse himself--thus uniting the

more profitable calling of a tapster with that of a preacher of the

gospel.[142]

So completely were the funds absorbed, and so greedy were the courtiers

to keep fast hold of what they got, that no proper recompense was

reserved for Miles Coverdale and his associates, who translated and

published the first complete English Bible--the greatest achievement of

the age, and the measure that most effectually promoted the Reformation.

Coverdale himself was left in great poverty; and the printers, in order

to cover their expenses, were obliged to put a high price upon their

copies--thus impeding the circulation of the book, and thwarting the

wishes expressed by the king himself.[143]

In addition to these lamentable facts, the destruction of the

monasteries left important gaps in the physical accommodations of the

people, which not a pound sterling of the spoil was devoted to fill up.

The monasteries had been hospitals, infirmaries, and dispensaries for

the poor; caravanseras to the wayfarer; and in the absence of inns, the

badness of roads, and the thinness of the population, their value in

this respect had been felt both by rich and poor. In many of the wilder

districts, the monastery had served as a nucleus of civilization; and

sociality, personal safety, and hospitality, were nowhere to be found

but within these walls.

[Illustration: C]<g>RANMER</g> deplored “the woeful dissipation of church

property, which he would have applied to the uses of religion,

education, and charity; but he had not often the courage to press this

subject with the king, whose displeasure, more easily excited than ever,

was equivalent to a death-warrant. The archbishop, however, did what he

could with safety to himself; and Henry, startled perhaps by a popular

outcry, resolved to appropriate a part of the spoil to the advancement

of religion. Parliament passed an act for the establishing of new

bishoprics, deaneries, and colleges, which were to be endowed with

revenues raised on the lands of the monasteries. But it was too late;

the money and lands were gone, or the king and his ministers needed all

that remained. The number of new bishoprics was reduced from eighteen to

six--those of Westminster, Oxford, Peterborough, Chester, Bristol, and

Gloucester; and these were so scantily endowed, that they hardly

afforded the new bishops the means of living.” At the same time fourteen

abbeys and priories were converted into cathedrals and collegiate

churches, with deans and prebendaries; but the king kept to himself a

part of the lands which had been attached to them, and charged the

Chapters with the obligation of contributing annually to the support of

the poor, and the repairing of the highways.[144]

The preamble of the act for the suppression of the lesser monasteries

thus concludes: “Whereupon the said Lords and Commons, by a great

deliberation, finally be resolved that it is, and shall be, much more to

the pleasure of Almighty God, and for the honour of this his realm, that

the possessions of such houses now being spent and wasted for the

increase and maintenance of sin, should be used and committed to _better

uses_, and the unthrifty religious persons so spending the same, to be

compelled to reform their lives.”[145]

Besides that at Canterbury, already noticed,[146] “other shrines had

been plundered, and certain miraculous images and relics of saints had

been broken in pieces at St. Paul’s Cross, and the machinery exposed, by

which some of the monks had deluded the superstitious people;” but now

every shrine was laid bare; or, if any escaped, it was owing to the

poverty of their decorations and offerings.

Among the rest of these condemned images, there was “a crucifix in South

Wales, called by the common people <g>David-Darvel-Gatheren</g>, which,

according to an old legend or prophecy, was one day to fire a whole

_forest_. It happened at this time that there was one Forest, a friar,

who, after taking the oath of supremacy, repented of the deed, and

declared it unlawful; wherefore he was condemned as a relapsed traitor

and heretic. Hitherto King Henry, ‘Defender of the Faith,’ had burned

the Reformers, and hanged the Catholics; but on the present occasion, he

could not resist the temptation to make a point, or to figure as a

mighty engine of fate, and a fulfiller of prophecy.” “The miraculous

image was accordingly conveyed from Wales to Smithfield, to serve as

fuel with faggots and other materials; and there, on the twenty-second

of May, 1539, the monk was suspended by the armpits; underneath him was

made a fire of the image, wherewith he was slowly burned--and thus by

his death making good the prophecy that the image should fire a whole

_forest_. There was a pulpit erected near the stake, from which Hugh

Latimer, Bishop of Worcester, preached a sermon; and there was also a

scaffold in the centre for the accommodation of the Dukes of Norfolk and

Suffolk, the Lord Admiral Howard, the Lord Privy Seal, Cromwell, and

divers others of the council; together with Sir Richard Gresham, Lord

Mayor, and many citizens of repute, who stayed to witness the frightful

execution.”[147] By frequent spectacles like this, the minds of the

people were brutalized to a degree previously unknown in England.[148]

<g>From</g> these revolting details of a fierce and persecuting spirit--a

spirit opposed in every sense to that of Christianity--we turn with

pleasure to the inspiring influence which monastic times and

institutions have been supposed to exercise over the dominions of poetry

and the fine arts; and of this Warton has transmitted us a glowing

sketch:--The customs, institutions, traditions, and religion of the

middle ages were favourable to poetry. Their pageants, processions,

spectacles, and ceremonies, were friendly to imagery, to

personification, and allegory. Ignorance and superstition, so opposite

to the real interests of human society, are the parents of imagination.

The very devotion of the Gothic times was romantic. The Catholic

worship, besides that its numerous exterior appendages were of a

picturesque, and even of a poetical nature, disposed the mind to a state

of deception, and encouraged, or rather authorized, every species of

credulity. Its visions, legends, and miracles, propagated a general

propensity to the marvellous, and strengthened the belief of spectres,

demons, witches, and incantations. These illusions were heightened by

churches of a wonderful mechanism, and constructed on such principles of

inexplicable architecture, as had a tendency to impress the soul with

every false sensation of religious fear. The savage pomp, the capricious

heroism, of the baronial manners, were replete with incident, adventure,

and enterprise; and the untractable genius of the feudal policy held

forth those irregularities of conduct, discordancies of interest, and

dissimilarities of situation, that framed rich materials for the

Minstrel-muse.

The tacit compact of fashion, which promotes civility by promoting

habits of uniformity--and therefore destroys peculiarities of character

and situation--had not yet operated upon life; nor had domestic

convenience abolished unwieldy magnificence. Literature, and a better

sense of things, not only banished these barbarities, but superseded the

mode of composition which was formed upon them. Romantic poetry gave way

to the force of reason and inquiry: as its own enchanted palaces and

gardens instantaneously vanished, when the Christian champion displayed

the shield of truth, and baffled the charms of the necromancer.

The study of the classics, together with a colder magic and a tamer

mythology, introduced method into composition; and the universal

ambition of rivalling those new patterns of excellence, the faultless

models of Greece and Rome, produced that bane of invention--imitation.

Erudition was made to act upon genius; fancy was weakened by reflection

and philosophy. The fashion of treating everything scientifically,

applied speculation and theory to the arts of writing. Judgment was

advanced above imagination, and rules of criticism were established. The

brave eccentricities of original genius, and the daring hardiness of

native thought, were intimidated by metaphysical sentiments of

perfection and refinement. Setting aside the consideration of the more

solid advantages, which are obvious, and are not the distinct subject of

our contemplation at present, the lovers of true poetry will ask, What

have we gained by this revolution? It may be answered, Much good sense,

good taste, and good criticism: but in the meantime we have lost a set

of manners, and a system of machinery, more suitable to the purposes of

poetry, than those which have been adopted in their place. We have

parted with extravagances that are above propriety; with incredibilities

that are more acceptable than truth; and with fictions that are more

valuable than reality.[149]

[Illustration: I]<g>N</g> addition to what has been already noticed in these

pages, respecting the employment of the monks within the walls of their

monasteries, and by which they daily contributed to the public good, we

present to the reader the following epitome of their industrial habits,

as recorded by monastic writers. In every conventual establishment there

was a chamber called the <g>Scriptorium</g>, or writing-room; but it was

sometimes applied to a more remote place, where there was room for other

employments. The only persons who had free access to this apartment were

the abbot, prior, sub-prior, and precentor. There was an especial

benediction of the Scriptorium. Writing of books, as a monastic

employment, is to be found in the earliest eras. Among British monks,

St. David, the tutelary saint of Wales, had a study, or writing-room,

and began the Gospel of <g>St. John</g> in golden letters with his own hands.

<g>The Antiquarii</g> in monasteries, were industrious men continually employed

in making copies of old books, either for the use of the monastery, or

for their own emolument. Du Cange says, that _Antiquarii_ were those

scribes who repaired, composed, and re-wrote books, old and obsolete

with age, in opposition to the Librarii, who wrote both new and old

books. Those of the religious community, who were found dull at the

study of letters, were employed in writing and making lines. The

monastic scribes were certain persons selected by the <g>Abbot</g>. The senior

monks were employed on the church books; the junior monks in

letter-writing, and matters which required expedition. Du Cange mentions

a singular kind of scribes, called <g>Brodiatores</g>, who wrote books and

letters in the manner of embroiderers, so lightly representing the

object that it almost escaped the sight. It is to such writers, perhaps,

that Petrarch thus alludes: “His writing was not wandering, nor loaded

like that of writers of our age, who flatter the eye from afar, and

fatigue it when near.”[150]

To the credit of the monastic scribes, “very few instances of bad

writing,” says the late Mr. Fosbroke, “have occurred during my

researches.” In one manuscript, indeed, there was a shocking scrawl,

which he took to be the writing of a nun, the lines being irregular, the

letters of various size, and of rude make. Writing, after the Norman

invasion, was neglected by the Anglo-Saxons. A neat running epistolary

hand is quite modern, except among papers written by lawyers. Hamlet

says--

“I once did hold it, as our statists do,

A baseness to write fair.”

<g>The Gilbertine</g> rule prohibited the employment of hired writers--more

probably, as Mr. Fosbroke thinks, limners. “At St. Alban’s, however,

such limners, or writers, had commons from the alms of the monks and

cellarer, that they might not be interrupted in their work by going out

to buy food.” These had the too frequent drunken habits of artisans, who

(‘because every man,’ says Johnson, ‘is discontented with his avocation,

from the obligation to pursue it at all times, whatever be the state of

his mind’) too often abuse relaxation. Barclay, without knowing that

stimulants--however injurious, in a prudential and medical view, and

never a good means--prevent, by the providential extraction of good from

evil, much hypochondriacal influence and tedium, which might end in

madness or suicide, says--

“But if thou begin for drinke to call and crave,

Thou for thy calling such good rewarde shalt have,

That men shall call thee malapert or dronke,

Or an abbey loune, or _limner of a monke_.”--ECLOGUE 2.[151]

<g>Printing.</g>--This invention occasioned the following results: The scribes

having less employment, there were few good artists of this kind, and

writing lost much of its former beauty. About the year 1546, when all

the religious houses had been dissolved, limners and scribes were

reduced to great distress for want of employment; for, besides printing,

engraving, “invented about 1460, superseded the illumination of initials

and margins. The last specimen was the sectionary of Cardinal Wolsey at

Oxford. Besides the rule, it was inquired whether the monks had made,

taken, and received the king’s age and succession, according to act of

parliament; for they were obliged to record these, and the births of the

royal family, as well as other public events.”

<g>Bookbinding</g> was generally very gorgeous; gold, relics, silver plate,

ivory, velvet, and other expensive adornments, were bestowed upon the

books relating to the church service--hence the vast amount of plunder

derived from this source alone at the <g>Dissolution</g>, when the Vandal

emissaries, hired for the work of destruction, stripped the sacred books

of their gold, silver, and jewels, and sold them to the highest bidder.

These ornaments, however, were not confined to the books of the Altar;

for we hear of a book of _Poems_, finely ornamented, bound in velvet,

and decorated with silver-gilt clasps and studs, intended for a present

to the king.

Books were written on purple vellum, in order to exhibit gold or silver

letters, and adorned with ivory tablets. The most common binding was a

rough white sheepskin, lapping over the leaves sometimes, with or

without immense bosses of brass, pasted upon a wooden board; and

sometimes the covers were of plain wood, carved in scroll and similar

work. There were formerly leaden books with leaden covers, and books

with wooden leaves.[152]

<g>Music-schools</g>, says Davies, were built within the church. Great pains

were taken with the pupils, who were instructed in the musical service

of the altar.[153] Music, says Giraldus, was so prevalent in the middle

age, that even _whistling_ became a fashion and amusement, from being

asked for by an archbishop. In his own time, as Erasmus informs us,

“they introduced into the church a certain elaborate theatrical species

of music, accompanied with a tumultuous diversity of voices. All,” says

he, “is full of trumpets, cornets, pipes, fiddles, and singing. We now

come to church as to a playhouse; and for this purpose ample salaries

are expended on organists, and societies of boys, whose whole time is

wasted in learning to sing,--not to mention the great revenues which the

church squanders away on the stipends of singing men, who are commonly

great drunkards, buffoons, and chosen from the lowest of the people.

These fooleries,” he adds, “are so agreeable to the monks, especially in

England, that youths, boys, &c., every morning, sing to the organ, the

Mass of the Virgin Mary, with the most harmonious modulations of voice;

and the bishops are obliged to keep choirs of this sort in their

families.”

<g>Libraries.</g>--Mr. Nichols has made the following excellent remarks upon

the library of Leicester Abbey:--From the catalogue it seems rather

doubtful whether, in the library of this religious house, there might be

any one complete collection of all the Holy Scriptures. Supposing

_Biblie_, in the first article, to have included both the Old and the

New Testaments, it was a tome defective and worn. The second consisted

of each book of the Old Testament only; and the third contained the

Gospels, without any mention of the Acts of the Apostles, of the

Epistles, or of the Apocalypse. There is, however, a second mention of

“_Actus Aplor’ gloss’_, _Apocalyps’ gloss’_, _Eple Pauli_ [but of no

other apostle] _gloss’_, _Eple Canonice_;” and among the last occurs the

“_Canticus Canticorum_.” Perhaps, he adds, there might be some of those

Augustine monks, to whom the divine oracles in the learned languages

would have been of little use; and yet to these was not indulged a

translation in English, there being in the Consistorial Acts at

Rochester, the minutes of a rigid process against the <g>Precentor</g> of the

priory of that cathedral, for retaining an English Testament,[154] in

disobedience to the general injunction of Cardinal Wolsey, to deliver up

these prohibited books to the bishops of the respective dioceses.[155]

It is worthy of remark, that Petrarch, as we learn from his “Memoires,”

whenever he made a long journey, carried his books along with him upon

extra horses, as carefully as others, passing through the Desert, carry

their provisions of daily food.

Leland’s story of the library of the Franciscans at Oxford has been

often told: it was only accessible to the warden and bachelors of

divinity; was full of cobwebs, moths, and filth; and contained no books

of value, the best having been surreptitiously carried away.[156] In the

monastic libraries the books were contained in painted presses or

almeries. In the _Abbatial_ libraries, according to the catalogues given

by Leland, there were only the following classics--Cicero and Aristotle,

which were common; Terence, Euclid, Quintus Curtius, Sidonius

Apollinaris, Julius Frontinus, Apuleius, and Seneca. From this disregard

of the classics--not to the shameful destruction only of the monastic

libraries at the Dissolution--probably ensued that loss of the Decades

of Livy, &c., which has been so justly lamented.[157]

<g>Museum.</g>--Adjoining the abbey library, says Erasmus, “was a certain small

but elegant museum, which, upon the removal of a board, exhibited a

fire-place if the weather proved cold, otherwise it appeared a solid

wall.[158] Coryatt saw a stuffed crocodile in an abbey”--the one

solitary specimen, perhaps, of Natural History.[159]

Upon the utility of profane learning in ecclesiastical studies, Petrarch

has thus emphatically expressed himself:--“I know by experience,” he

says, “how much human learning may contribute to give just notions, to

make a man eloquent, to perfect his morals, and, what is more, to

_defend_ his religion. If it be not permitted to read the poets and

heathen authors, because they do not speak of CHRIST, whom they did not

know, with how much more reason ought we to prohibit heretical works?

Yet the defenders of the <g>Faith</g> studiously peruse them. Profane

literature, like certain solid aliment, does not hurt a good stomach,

only a weak one. Reading, though wholesome to a sound mind, is poison to

a feeble intellect. I know that letters are no obstacles to holiness, as

some pretend. There are many roads to heaven. Ignorance is that which

the idle take. The sciences may produce as many saints as ignorance. And

surely we ought not to compare an ignorant devotion to an enlightened

piety.”[160]

<g>Monastic Wit.</g>--Speaking of the wit and humour that often enliven the

otherwise dull uniformity of monastic writings--“I met with the

following epigram,” says Mr. Fosbroke, “in a MS. of the Ashmole library,

of which I have never seen a copy; but as it was in a collection of

poems made in the sixteenth century, I cannot tell its age:”--

<g>Marriage</g>, saith one, hath oft compared bin

Unto a fest, where meet a public rout;

Where those that are without would fain get _in_,

And those that are within would fain get _out_.

Acrostics were known to the Greeks; but the monks used those of a

hieroglyphical kind, which could seldom be divined unless by aid of the

inventor himself. In the hollow stonework over the kitchen chimney of

Kingswood Abbey in Wilts--already noticed in this work--are a _T_iger,

_h_art, _o_strich, _m_ermaid, _a_ss, and _s_wan; the initial letters of

which make the name of the founder, T h o m a s.[161]

<g>Abbey Seals.</g>--That of Tinterne Abbey, as already noticed in this volume,

page 75, is imperfect.[162] Of ecclesiastical and monastic seals, those

of a _round_ form generally denoted, according to Lewis and Blomfield,

something of royalty in the possessor, or a more than ordinary extent of

jurisdiction. Monasteries of royal foundation had commonly round seals;

bishops and superiors of houses had usually oval seals; the former held

the pastoral staff in their left hands, abbots in their right. The

earliest conventual seals commonly bore mere rude representations of

their patron saints; the more recent were highly finished, the most

common device being the superior of the house praying to the patron

saint, who was represented as looking down upon him. Previously to the

reign of Edward the Third, the conventual seals represented their patron

saints and abbots seated upon thrones; but after this period, they as

constantly exhibited these figures sitting or standing beneath canopies

and arches. The <g>Patron saint</g> subduing and treading upon the dragon, was

symbolical of his overcoming sin. A star, the symbol of the Epiphany,

and a crescent of the increase of the Gospel, are frequently introduced

into the seals.[163] In the Cistercian and Premonstratensian orders, the

custody of the seal, though in general ill observed, was committed to

the prior, and four others of the establishment elected for that trust.

Abbeys had not only different seals for different purposes, but these

were often altered and changed; though, from the seal of Hyde Abbey

being worth fifteen marks, the expense of having them engraved must have

been extremely high. But so careless were the monks in the custody of

it, that Matthew Paris mentions that it was thrown aside among a chest

of papers. The abbot’s _Bajulus_, or domestic monk, was also the bearer

of this seal. A silver seal and chain--‘sigillum argenti cum

cathena’--is mentioned as that of a plain monk.[164]

<g>Luxury.</g>--With respect to luxuries--which in some monasteries, it was

alleged, were earned to a degree quite inconsistent with their professed

abstinence--Thomas Pennant, Abbot of Basingwerk, is said to have given

twice the treasure of a king in wine, and was profuse of more humble

liquors. The apartments for the reception of persons of quality,

according to Davies, were furnished in a most expensive and gorgeous

manner. But their profuse expenditure in wine, it must be remembered,

was in consequence of a too liberal hospitality; for, while the monks

themselves were restricted to a meagre diet, their guests, when men of

rank and influence, were plentifully regaled with whatever was best in

cellar and larder; and the whole country furnished no better cooks or

butlers than were to be found in conventual houses.

[Illustration: C]<g>ISTERCIAN</g> abbeys, according to Giraldus Cambrensis,

avoided all the bad consequences of _cells_, in the irregularities of

their inhabitants, by _having none_; and by remedying all defects by

visitors and chapters. Yet the Abbey of Kingswood, already noticed, was

a cell of Tinterne, and the scene of as many irregularities and abuses,

perhaps, as the cells of any other monastic order. The brethren who

stayed at cells were to be three in every place, or two at least. “In

food, in clothing, and the tonsure, they did not vary from the common

institution. They kept silence at table, and did not speak in the

church. They sung compline at an early seasonable hour, in summer and

winter; and did not run about the village or elsewhere.” It was thought

a great grievance to be sent to remote cells, or from cell to cell; and

scandalous tales were occasionally told of the licentious lives of some

of the monks, whom the abbots had sent thither for penance and

reformation.[165]

<g>In</g> reference to the introduction of Cistercian monks into England, we

annex the following from an old Chronicler:--“About this time,” says

he, “by means of one <g>Stephen Hardyng</g>, a munke of Sherburne, an Englyshe

man of the order of Sisteaux, or whyte munkes, had his beginning in the

wildernesse of _Cystery_, within the Provynce of Burgoyne, as witnesseth

Ranulph, munke of Chester: but other wryters, as Jacobus Philippus, and

the auctor of Cronyca Cronycorū, Matheolus, with other sayen, yᵗ this

Stephen was the second abbot of yᵗ place, and that it was founded by the

means of one Robert, abbot of Molynēse, in the yere of Grace,

M.lxxx.xviij, which, to follow their sayinge, shulde be in the ix yere

of yᵉ reyne of this Kynge” [Rufus.] “This <g>order</g> was after brought into

Englande by one called <g>Walter Espeke</g>, that founded the firste abbey of

yᵗ religion at <g>Ryuall</g> [Rivaux], about the yere of Grace xi.c.xxxi., the

which shulde be about the xxxi. yere of the firste <g>Henry</g>, than Kynge of

Englande.” This last is the correct date of the introduction of white

friars into this country, and he adds:--“Somewhat of their religion is

towched in the x chapitre of the vii boke of _Polychronicon_.”[166]

<g>Abbey Windows.</g>--Warton says the stem of Jesse was a favourite subject,

and Sugerius thus proves it: “I have caused to be painted a beautiful

variety of new windows from the first, which begins with the stem of

Jesse in the _caput ecclesiæ_, or part where the altar was erected. Any

miraculous events happening to persons were represented in their chapels

and churches in stained glass, or such as happened within the knowledge

of the erector. Common subjects were a genealogical series of

benefactors; arms and figures of donors of lights; the seven sacraments

of the Romish Church; many crowned heads, with curled hair and forked

beards, represent the Edwards, Richard the Second, and Henry the Fourth;

whole length figures with crowns and sceptres, Jewish kings, connected

with some Scriptural history, universally so when in profile.” The

principal subjects in the great window of Tinterne Abbey appear to have

been arms and figures of the founder, and of a series of benefactors.

The last fragment, after many years of desolation, was a shield of the

Bigod family.

<g>Cowls.</g>--With respect to the habit, it is recorded that many noblemen,

and others of high rank, gave directions that, after their decease, they

should be dressed in monk’s gear, and be thus consigned to the grave.

This was a very common practice in Wales; for as it was written, that

“all were monks who shall gain heaven, or rather that there were none

there but monks,”[167] it became necessary to assume the garb at least,

as a safe though surreptitious passport to those happy seats. It was

usual in some cases to wear the garb during sickness only, and lay it

aside on the return of health; in others, to keep it in reserve for

their death. Lewis, Landgrave of Hesse, said to his attendants--“As soon

as I am dead, put on me the hood of the Cistercian order; but take very

diligent care not to do so while I am living.”[168]

<g>MSS., Books.</g>--In addition to what has been already quoted on this

subject, it was long a proverbial saying, that a convent without a

library, was like a castle without an armoury. When the monastery of

Croydon was burnt in 1091, its library, according to Ingulphus,

consisted of nine hundred volumes, of which three hundred were very

large. “In every great abbey,” says Warton, “many writers were

constantly busied in transcribing, not only the service-books for the

choir, but books for the library.”[169] The <g>Scriptorium</g> of St. Alban’s

Abbey was built by Abbot Paulin, a Norman, who ordered many volumes to

be written there about the year 1080. Archbishop Lanfranc furnished the

copies. Estates were often granted for the support of the Scriptorium.

We find some of the classics written in the English monasteries very

early. Henry, a Benedictine monk of Hyde Abbey, near Winchester,

transcribed, in the year 1178, Terence, Boethius, Suetonius, and

Claudian. Of these he formed one book, illuminating the initials, and

forming the brazen bosses of the covers with his own hands. Other

instances of the same kind are added. The monks were much accustomed

both to illuminate and to bind books, as well as to transcribe them.

“The scarcity of parchment,” it is afterwards observed, “undoubtedly

prevented the transcription of many other books in these societies.

About the year 1120, one Master Heugh, being appointed by the monastery

of St. Edmondsbury, in Suffolk, to write and illuminate a grand copy of

the Bible for their library, could procure no parchment for this purpose

in England.” Paper made of cotton, however, was certainly in common use

in the twelfth century; though no evidence exists that the improved

kind, manufactured from linen rags, was known till about the middle of

the thirteenth.[170]

<g>The pavement</g> lately discovered in the Abbey Church of <g>Tinterne</g>, and

described at page 42 of this volume, forms an interesting relic of its

internal decorations. There is abundant proof, in the Norman centuries,

that mosaic work was adopted as an embellishment of the high altar, and,

as in the present instance, in the front of shrines. At first, these

pavements exhibited scripture stories, painted upon glazed bricks and

tiles of an irregular shape, fitted together as the colour suited, and

upon the same plan as the glass in windows. By an improvement in the

succeeding ages, the bricks, as in the specimen before us, were made

equilateral, and about four inches square; which, when arranged and

connected, produced an effect closely resembling the Roman designs, yet

wanting their simplicity and taste. The wreaths, circles, and single

compartments, retain marks of Gothic incorrectness, and of as gross

deviation from the original as the Saxon mouldings.

At what period heraldic devices were introduced cannot be ascertained

with precision; but it is probable that, when they were first carved or

painted upon escutcheons, or stained in glass, the floors received them

likewise as a new ornament. The arms of founders and benefactors were

usually inserted during the middle centuries after the Conquest, when

many of the greater abbeys employed kilns for preparing them, from which

the conventual, and their independent parish, churches were supplied.

Some writers have conjectured that the painted tiles were made by

Italian artists settled in this country; and it has been thought that

monks, having acquired the art of painting and preparing them for the

kiln in the manner of porcelain, amused their leisure hours by designing

and finishing them.

<g>The altar-pavement</g> here under notice is of an early period; but in those

of a later age, when the branch of encaustic painting had reached

perfection, the exquisite delicacy and variety of the colours--though

seldom of more than two--are particularly discernible. The use of these

painted bricks, or tiles, was confined to consecrated places, almost

without exception; and those discovered since the Reformation have been

all found upon the sites of convents, preserved either in churches or in

houses, to which tradition confirms their removal.[171]

Amongst the encaustic relics of a later date, family arms, impaled

and quartered, as well as scrolls, rebuses, and ciphers, are very

frequent. In the present instance, the tile exhibits a quartering of

the <g>Clare</g> and <g>Bigod</g> shields. In others, the arms are

interspersed with various devices, or single figures, such as griffons,

spread eagles, roses, fleurs-de-lis, &c., of common heraldic usage,

but not individually applied. It appears that in some instances they

formed a kind of tesselated pavement, the middle representing a maze,

or labyrinth, about two feet in diameter, so artfully contrived that

a man, following all the intricate meanders of its volutes, could not

travel less than a mile before he got from one end to the other. The

tiles are baked almost to vitrifaction, and wonderfully resist damp

and wear.[172] Actual tesselated pavements once existed. A manuscript

Anglo-Saxon Glossary, cited by Junius, says--“Of this kind of work,

mosaic in small dies, little is used in England. Howbeit, I have seen

of it a specimen upon church floors, before altars--as before the high

altar at Westminster--though it be but gross.”[173]

<g>Abbey Wire-works.</g>--Among the objects of local industry in Tinterne, to

which the stranger’s attention is usually directed, the Abbey Wire-works

are the most interesting. “These,” to quote the words of the late Mr.

Thomas, “as well as the stately pile in their vicinity, amongst whose

silent recesses the tourist has so often and fondly trodden, are also

the dominions of Art. But how widely different is the scene! Here she is

met with in her busy laboratory, controlling and directing the energies

of mankind, and seizing upon the very subjects of nature--the gurgling

water and the lambent flame--to make them tributaries to her ambitious

designs; whilst there, in the precincts of that ruined fane, she is

beheld indolently reclining in the flowery lap of her indulgent

rival--just as we have seen the wasted form of a lovely maiden pillowed

on the bosom of her elder sister, and gently languishing through the

departing hours of her insidious disease.”

<g>It</g> was in the seventeenth century, during the times of the Stuart

dynasty, that certain Swedish and German artisans, flying from

continental tyranny, were induced to seek an asylum within the pale of

the British constitution, and introduce into their adopted country the

art of forging wire. They were received with open arms; locations were

assigned them, denominated _Seats_; and a privilege of a vote in

parliamentary elections, with an exemption from taxes, were constituted

as part of the favours which our discerning government thought proper to

confer. Of these seats <g>Tinterne</g> was one from the very first immigration;

and here many of the descendants of the original settlers are still

employed in the handicraft of their forefathers. Of the methods used in

the manufacture of iron-wire before the introduction of improved

machinery, tradition has preserved the following outline:--

“A large beam was erected across the factory, to which were affixed as

many seats--in the form of large wooden scales--as there were men

employed, who were fastened in them by means of a girdle round their

bodies. The artificers were employed near each other, while between them

stood a piece of iron pierced with holes of different dimensions, for

reducing the wire to an appropriate size. The worked iron was heated;

the beam was put in motion by a water-wheel; and as the workmen swung

backwards and forwards, they passed and repassed the iron through the

holes described with forceps, until it was reduced by force to the

required diameter. The motion was regulated; and if any workman chanced

to miss seizing the iron with his forceps, he suffered a considerable

shock on the return of the beam.”

On the introduction of the improved system of wire factories, the nature

of the contracts between the principals and their workmen underwent a

necessary change. The struggle, however, was continued for some time,

but ultimately subsided in the adoption of the present plan, and the

alterations which it introduced. Under the management of the late Mr.

Thompson--whose mausoleum forms a conspicuous object in the adjoining

cemetery--the Tinterne Wire Works acquired a new impetus, which has been

successfully kept up by his able and intelligent successor.

<g>Natural History.</g>--On this interesting subject, we take advantage of the

following notes from the journal of the late Mr. Thomas of

Tinterne:--April 2d, half-past seven A.M. Notwithstanding a cold

north-easterly wind, with fugitive showers, I saw a nightingale, for the

first time this year, on the road to Chapel Hill, perched upon the

topmost branch of a budding thorn. He uttered one or two of those rich,

cheerful, metallic notes, so characteristic of his song; and quickly

returned to his busy search for food amongst the low bushes adjoining.

One of my friends informed me that he had listened to its music the

evening before; and another averred that he had heard the nightingale as

early as the second week of March. If these accounts be true, which I

have not the slightest reason to doubt, they seem to favour the idea

that some of these lovely songsters hibernate amongst us. Naturalists,

by common consent, name the last week of April as the period of their

ordinary arrival in this island. It seems probable, however, that those

which winter amongst us undergo some variation of plumage, which may

lead a cursory observer--if he did not pass them by unnoticed--to

confound them with the female redbreast, the hedge-sparrow, or some

other unpretending bird.

In point of song from Nature’s choristers, says an enthusiastic admirer

of the Wye, these woods might challenge all England. It is impossible to

enjoy a higher treat of the kind than the harmony of these little

warblers on a fine summer’s evening, when, on each side of the Wye, they

seem to vie with each other in the richness and fullness of their notes.

Mr. Heath had the following anecdote from Signor Rossignol, so

celebrated for his imitations of the feathered tribes:--“While at

Monmouth,” said he, “I often walked towards Hadnock at a late hour of

the night, for the purpose of comparing my own _notes_ with those which

I attempted to imitate. First, I began with those of the blackbird, when

every bird of that species within hearing would instantly awake as it

were with the rapture of day. Then came the thrush, next the

nightingale, and so on, until I had called forth the song of every bird

in the woods; and thus I continued to amuse myself for an hour together.

If, in the meantime, a traveller happened to be passing the road, he was

immediately forced to conclude that he had quite mistaken the time of

day!”[174]

<g>Walnut-trees.</g>--The Abbey appears to have been sheltered and enriched in

its prosperous days by extensive orchards; but of the lofty

walnut-trees, that formerly spread their luxuriant branches in its

vicinity, one only remains. These trees were of great age: under their

shadow many generations of monks and pilgrims had found shelter and

repose; but having long survived their patrons, and attained that fatal

majesty which insured their destruction, the axe was applied with

ruthless force to their stems; they were hewn down, burnt, or sold; and

the rich soil, from which they had derived their strength and fertility

for centuries, was converted into patches of cabbage and potato ground,

profusely bordered with weeds, and enlivened with pigsties that, to

imaginative tourists, perhaps, may recall the memory of Friar Bacon.

<g>The Abbot’s Meadow.</g>--“I have often felt incommunicable delight,” writes

Mr. Thomas, “in a walk southward along the meadows skirting the Wye.

During the bright summer evenings, the glorious sun tinges the summits

of the encircling hills with his oblique golden rays, while a gentle

breeze makes the ripening grass wave in elegant undulations. How sweet

at that pensive hour to sit upon the sedgy bank, and hear the artless

music of the feathery tribes! The reedwren chants his vesper-song; full

many a robin swells it by his perennial response; whilst the inimitable

thrush and tender cushat revive the thrilling echo on the distant

cliff.”

During this concert, “you turn round to behold the <g>abbey</g> embosomed

amidst apple-trees, and so singularly foreshortened that the beautiful

western window appears through the eastern. The entrance of the western

valley is at the same time so happily disposed, that the effulgent light

of the setting sun is seen through the roseate windows, gilding the

interior of the abbey with an unearthly brightness; whilst, to complete

the scene, multitudes of noisy daws are seen careering in fanciful

circles, high in the balmy air, before they retire to roost within the

mantling ivy of the ‘roofless house of God.’”