from being used as such in the late war during the threatened invasion.
The next is
<g>Llanishen</g> Hill, with the church of St. Dionysius; and continuous with it
rise the Devaudon and “New Church Hills,” opposite the Elms; the royal
forest of Wentwood and Pen-y-Cae Mawr; Kemeys Firs, near to Caerleon, an
elevation which commands a view of thirteen counties.[294]
In the south-west are seen the heights of Caerleon and Pen Twyn Barlwm;
Gaer Vawr, on which is an ancient encampment--the largest in the
county--with the site of a British town; Dial Carig; and Craig-y-Garcyd,
two miles north-west of Usk, the site of a Roman camp. In the immediate
foreground are the village and church of Raglan.
Westward appear Abersycan and the hills near Pontypool; the Blorenge
hill, nearly two thousand feet high.[295] The opening which occurs in
the range at this point, allows of a glimpse of the Breconshire hills at
Crick Howell to Bwlch, within eight miles of the county town. The next
in succession are--the Sugar Loaf, or Pen-y-Foel--so called from its
conical shape--near Abergavenny, which crowns the summits of four
converging hills, and rises eighteen hundred and fifty-two feet above
the channel of the river Gavenny, which flows near its base.
The same view takes in the Hatteril Hills, or Black Mountains, crowned
with Roman encampments; and near which is Oldcastle, once the residence
of Lord Cobham, whose unhappy fate forms a painful page in the national
history. From these hills the Monnow takes its source. Beneath lies the
dark Vale of Ewias; and in its bosom are the ruins of Lanthony, a
Cistercian Abbey of the twelfth century, which forms one of the
illustrated subjects of this work. In the same direction is seen the
Skyrrid Vawr, a lofty hill, seen in a volcanic fissure, which is
supposed to have been thrown open during one of those remote convulsions
of nature, of which in these districts the traces are so distinct and
frequent.
Looking northward, the prominent objects are Campstone Hill, and the
Craig, at the foot of which lie the picturesque remains of Grosmont
Castle, which gives the title of Viscount to the Beaufort family. To
these, but more northward, succeed Garway, Broad Oak, the Skinch-Cwm,
and White Hills, which close the panorama from Raglan Keep.--We have
been thus particular in designating the objects seen from the different
points of view, in order that the tourists who annually visit this
scene, may be in some degree prepared for the enjoyment which it is so
well calculated to afford.
[Illustration: From the top of the Keep.]
Descending from this lofty tower, where on festive occasions the family
ensign still floats, the contrast between the Natural scenery, which has
just faded from the spectator’s eye, and the iron-bound work of Art,
forces itself upon the mind, and elicits a spontaneous burst of
gratitude that, under the protecting banner of the English Constitution,
the peasant is now as safe in his cottage as ever Baron of Raglan was in
his Keep; that at last “right” is a match against “might,” and that the
strong arm of Justice falls with impartial force on the culprit--whether
he be robed in ermine, or clad in hodden grey.
“Yet <g>Barons</g> of the land! to you
A grateful people still retains
Proud memory of the swords ye drew--
The swords that broke a tyrant’s chains,
And planted Freedom on our plains!
For Freedom’s cradle was the <g>Keep</g>,
Her guardians were the Barons bold;
Who placed her temple on the steep,
And on her head a crown of gold;
And cried--‘The deed is done! Behold,
Henceforth our British land shall be
The glorious land of Liberty!’”
The visitor, as he crosses the rustic bridge that now spans the moat,
will recall the interesting fact, that this very spot, so to speak, was
the “birthplace” of the <g>Steam-engine</g>; a circumstance which, had Raglan
no other claim to their notice, must entitle it to a more than cursory
observation from all who have an hour to spend within its walls. The
spot where it is believed to have been first placed by the
inventor--then Lord Herbert--was in a building erected close under the
wall of the Keep, where the drawbridge rose; but which has left few or
no traces, in shape or dimensions, that are now visible above the moat.
It is satisfactory, however, to know that the ground is stamped by
tradition as the spot where the noble inventor, during his father’s
lifetime, made his first experiments on the uses and powers of steam;
and where he probably constructed that “model of his invention,” which
he desired might be placed with him in his coffin.
If ancient warriors considered it an honourable distinction to be
consigned to the tomb in a full suit of armour, it was excusable in one
who had carried with him through life the remembrance of many wrongs,
many sacrifices, to desire that, at least, the evidence of one bloodless
triumph, one proof of scientific discovery, might accompany him at his
final departure from this scene. It was the favourite child of his
matured judgment, the result of those scientific researches, after which
he had been straining for many years--the mighty consequences of which
were dimly foreshadowed in his imagination. It was the reward and
consolation of a life of suffering, as well as of science; and there is
something both natural and touching in the wish that this model--the
only mechanical evidence that told him “he had not lived in
vain”--should be deposited with him in the grave.
Some of his commentators have affected to smile at this wish, as
evincing a feeling of weakness and vanity on the part of Lord Worcester,
incompatible with a philosophic mind. But in this they only allege what
cannot be proved; and the charge falls harmless when applied to a man
who was--what can never be disputed--one of the most ingenious and
scientific men of his day. When Columbus--a schoolboy at Genoa--first
rigged his tiny skiff, and sent it dancing over the blue waters, on
which it moved like the shadow of coming events; no one foresaw that
this mere toy would one day be succeeded by vessels, directed by the
same master-pilot, that should throw open another continent to the old
world. Nor, while Lord Worcester was squandering much time and treasure,
as it was thought, in useless experiments in the Keep at Raglan, did any
one imagine that these very experiments were preparing the way for that
stupendous power, that should one day give incredible impulse to the
arts of civilized life, cross the Atlantic, and traverse the Pacific,
with a celerity that promises to unite in one bond of fellowship all the
nations of the earth.
It can hardly be doubted that results similar to these haunted the
imagination of Worcester, and kept up within him that spirit of
discovery which animated him in all his labours, soothed him with the
hope of being numbered among the benefactors of his country, and a
prospect of that immortality which attends the favoured votaries of
science. He may often have indulged the thought, though never embodied
in words--and it was a remarkable prediction on the part of him who
uttered it long afterwards--
“Soon shall thine arm, triumphant Steam, afar,
Drag the slow barge, and drive the flying car!”
It has been alleged by Desaguliers,[296] that Savary, the reputed
inventor of the steam-engine, obtained his notions from the work already
named, “The Century of Inventions;” and that, in order to conceal the
original, he purchased all the Marquess’s books that could be had for
money, and committed them to the flames. Of this, however, we have no
direct proof, and Captain Savary must be acquitted; but it is quite
certain that, as already mentioned, the original work is so rare, that
not a copy is to be found except in the British Museum, and perhaps in
the Beaufort Libraries at Troy House or Badminton Park. It is to be
observed, however, that no contemporary record exists to illustrate or
verify the Marquess’s description of the contrivance, which we presume
to call a Steam-Engine; or to inform us where, and in what manner, it
was carried into effect. Yet it is very evident from his account, that
he had actually constructed and worked a machine that raised water by
steam; an operation which was sufficient to produce on the minds of
rustics, the effect ascribed to the “roaring of lions,” as mentioned in
the preceding anecdote. The Marquess’s description, though short and
obscure, would appear to favour the belief, that the force of his engine
was derived solely from the _elasticity_ of steam; and that the
condensation of steam by cold was no part of his contrivance, but the
invention of Captain Savary, who, in 1696--nearly thirty years after the
Marquess’s death--published an account of his machine in a small tract,
entitled, “The Miners’ Friend.” In these engines--several of which he
had erected previously--the alternate condensation and pressure of the
steam took place in the same vessel into which the water was first
raised from a lower reservoir, by the pressure of the atmosphere, and
then expelled into a higher one by the elastic force of strong steam.
Steam was thus employed merely to produce a vacuum, and to supply the
strength that was applied, for a like effect, to the sucker or piston of
an ordinary pump; and it was a great and important step to have
discovered a method of bringing the air to act in this manner, by the
application of heat to water, without the assistance of mechanical
force.
To the simple incident which, during his confinement in the Tower of
London, first set the warm and fertile imagination of the Marquess to
work on this subject, we have already adverted; and must now turn from
the curiosities of science, to such portions or features of Raglan
Castle as still remain to be noticed.
<g>The Tilt-yard.</g>--The exact situation of this important adjunct to the
Castle is still a question among the learned. By some, what is now
called the Bowling-green is described as the ancient Tilting-ground.
This conjecture, however, being rendered improbable by a careful
examination of the ground, another has been thrown out, namely--the
Grand Terrace on the north-west side of the Castle. But this locale is
also disputed, particularly by one who is resident near the spot, and
fully conversant with whatever has descended to our own times respecting
the original plan of the Castle. His opinion is, that the ancient
Tourney-field must have been on the outside of the present walls. An
experienced officer of the Royal Engineers, who lately inspected the
grounds, with the view of ascertaining the exact spot, confirms this
opinion; and observes that the Tilt-yard occupied the space immediately
outside of the present gate, and enclosed between the two moats which
surrounded the gateway. This opinion will probably set the question at
rest--particularly as it comes from a quarter well qualified to decide
in such doubtful cases--and allow the Bowling-green to retain its
hereditary fame and honours.[297]
In this enclosure it was usual for the lords of Raglan to exhibit those
chivalrous fêtes which gave a character to the age. They brought into
martial competition those aspirants of knightly fame, whose dexterity in
the use of the lance was perfected by daily practice in the tourney. In
these gorgeous pastimes, all that could fascinate the eye, and kindle
admiration in the spectators, was brought into brilliant operation.
Beauty, presiding at the lists, bestowed the palm on him who had
disarmed his rival in the charge, and thus established his claim to
knightly honours. Here, no doubt, many a lance has been couched, many a
spear broken in rival combat; for one of the old lords, as already
mentioned, was renowned as the best horseman of his day; and to support
this character, joust and tournament may have been no unfrequent
spectacles under the walls of Raglan.
It cannot be doubted that these martial exercises--conducted with
admirable tact and courtesy--contributed, in a very special degree, to
foster a spirit for military enterprise; to inculcate a high and
chivalrous sense of honour; to form the young soldier to habits of
fortitude and endurance which procured him the respect of his comrades,
and future distinction in the field. A knight, thoroughly trained
according to the system of feudal times, was a being whom we are
accustomed to regard as the beau-ideal of a soldier; whose high bearing,
indomitable courage, inflexible faith, unsullied honour, and loyal
devotion to his “ladye love,” are themes on which poets and historians
of the middle ages have lavished many glowing panegyrics.
For the education and discipline of those military aspirants, the grand
palæstra was the tilt-yard. For the feudal tournament--descriptions of
which are handed down to us by contemporaneous authors--no substitute is
left in these times. Nothing could have been more animated and dazzling,
when celebrated with all those details of martial pomp and
ceremony--indispensable to such exhibitions--than a pageant, in which
all who aspired to distinction were required to evince, in action, the
pure and elevating principles of love, loyalty, and religion. For these,
and many other reasons, impartial taste, as Gibbon observes, must prefer
a Gothic tournament to the Olympic games of classic antiquity. Instead
of the naked spectacles which corrupted the manners of the Greeks, the
pompous decoration of the lists was crowned with the presence of chaste
and highborn beauty, from whose fair hands the conqueror received the
prize of his dexterity and courage.[298]--And with this flattering
[Illustration]
contrast between the demoralizing festivals of Greece, and the high tone
of refinement which characterised those of our Gothic forefathers, we
pass on to such other points in the history of Raglan Castle as have
been selected for illustration. In the woodcut introduced in the
preceding page, the view is taken from the old
<g>Bowling-green</g>--erroneously supposed to have been the Tilt-yard. Directly
opposite, in the centre, is the Donjon, or Tower of Gwent, so often
described or otherwise referred to in these pages. On the left, where a
massive gateway is seen, is the entrance to the <g>Fountain Court</g>, from
which, as formerly noticed, a noble staircase conducts to the State
apartments occupying the south side of the Castle. These are now in a
state of utter dilapidation; but the framework itself affords abundant
evidence--so far as architectural design and elaborate ornament can
assist us in such a conclusion--of their original splendour.
[Illustration: The royal apartments.]
“But now th’ unsightly brier grows,
Where once, in gilded bower,
The Queen of Beauty trained the rose--
Herself a fairer flower.
And damp the hearth, and cold the bed,
Where he who wore the crown,
With anxious heart, and aching head,
In slumber laid him down!
But brief the slumber, long the night--
For <g>Naseby’s</g> fatal day,
And sorrow’s still increasing weight,
Had scared his sleep away!”
There is a tradition, that the Bowling-green was King Charles’s
favourite walk during his visit. It commands a varied and extensive
prospect; the vegetation is vigorous; and the grassy carpet, though not
in courtly trim, is still uninjured by plough or spade; and to
sentimental tourists it seems the very spot--aided by the adjoining
ruins--where, in the mirror of fancy, pictures of the olden day, the
hues of domestic life as it passed in the fifteenth century, may be seen
faithfully reflected.
“There is a spirit brooding o’er these walls,
That tells the records of a bygone day;
When, midst the splendour of thy courtly halls,
A pageant shone, whose gorgeous array,
Like Pleasure’s golden dream, has passed away;
Where Beauty’s smiles, and winning graces, lent
The witching radiance of their love-lit ray;
And from the scene a mingled strain was sent
Of music, laughter, festive song, and merriment.”--_Raglan._
The game of bowls was unknown to the ancients, and bowling-greens are
said to have originated in England; where, in the course of time, every
castle, and most houses of the nobility, had each a bowling-green
attached to them. The “greens” were in some places narrow strips turfed
over; but if covered with gravel, they were called “Bares.”
Bowling-alleys were so called from being roofed over for play when the
weather was unfavourable; and these appear to have been the usual
appendages to taverns, and other places of public resort, particularly
in towns. In an old inventory we have--“To Sparke of Bury, Roper, for
vi. li. etc., of herryng line for the <g>Bowling-alley</g>, iij_s._ iv_d._” At
the same place [Hengrave Hall] a bowling-alley occupied the space
between the north side of the moat, having the convenience of an open
corridor communicating with the Hall. Flat bowls were best for a close
alley; “round biassed bowls” for open ground, of advantage; bowls, round
as a ball, for green swarths which were plain and level; and of the
latter description is the Bowling-green of <g>Raglan</g>, now under notice.
In a plate of “Strutt’s Sports,” two small cones are placed upright, at
a distance from each other, and the players bowl at each
alternately--the winner was he who could lay his bowl nearest to the
mark. A small bowl or jack was also used as a mark; and only one bowl
for each person--not two or three, as in the present day.[299] There
were also ground-bowls, driven by a baton or mace through an arch.
Half-bowl--so called because it was played with one half of a
sphere--was prohibited by Edward the Fourth; and is the rolly-polly
still practised in Herts.[300]
<g>Tennis-Court.</g>--The site of this is still a question in the topography of
Raglan, although “the practice” cannot be doubted. Henry the
Seventh--who was a prisoner in Raglan Castle--his son Henry, and Charles
the Second, were all tennis players. In the sixteenth century,
tennis-courts were quite common in England. They were divided by a line
stretched in the middle; and the players, standing on either side with
their rackets, had to receive and return the ball, which the rules of
the game required to be struck over the line.[301]
Having already spoken of the <g>Tilt-field</g>, it is proper to remark that the
jousts and tournaments, for which it was set apart, differed from one
another in the following respects:--The latter consisted of parties of
knights, engaged at the same time; the former of two persons only. The
Joust was at first called the “Cane Game,” because hollow canes were
used instead of lances. On some occasions the combatants with swords and
lances were on foot, with a barrier of wood breast-high between them.
Toys, made to imitate the joust, consisted of knights on horseback, who
could be thrown off and unhorsed by the shock of their adversaries’
spears. Some had wheels, others not.
There were also boat-jousts, as represented in old paintings. The
conqueror was he who could best turn aside the blow of his antagonist by
one blow of his shield; and, at the same time, strike him with a lance
in such a manner as to throw him over into the water, himself remaining
unremoved from his station.[302]
* * * * *
<g>Tradition.</g>--On taking a final survey of these extensive ruins, and
speculating on the style and date of several of their component parts,
the difficulties that attend antiquarian decision--as great in the
present day as in that of the first Marquess--remind us of the following
anecdote:--
During an excursion in the vicinity, “We were told,” says his Chaplain,
who relates the story, “that we should come to a place that was famous
for a miracle, which, according to popular tradition, was wrought by the
preaching of St. David to three thousand people.” To accommodate the
saint, the ground on which he stood at the time, being too low to admit
of his being advantageously seen and heard by the multitude, most
obligingly rose up into a green knoll, carrying the saint with it, and
there settled at a proper elevation. Whereupon <g>St. David</g>, pitching the
cross on which he leant into the miraculous soil, and continuing his
discourse, was distinctly heard and seen, much to their comfort and
edification, by the whole assembly. This cross, at the time in question,
“was yet standing, with some words, or letters, which time and Welsh
weather had so defaced that they were no longer intelligible to vulgar
eyes.” In memory, or rather in _proof_, of the miracle, the guardian
saint had caused a church to be erected on the spot, and many were the
pilgrims, during the long lapse of centuries, who had resorted to the
<g>Cross</g>, and borne testimony to the celestial influence which still
hovered round the spot; and in those who were already gifted with that
“faith which can remove mountains,” produced the most wonderful changes.
This relation, working upon the Marquess’s mind, made him desirous to
turn aside for a little, and inspect the hallowed ground in person.
Having reached the churchyard, the cross was instantly visible; but in
shape and ornament bearing all the marks of venerable antiquity. The
inscription was almost obliterated; and among the gentlemen who attended
the Marquess, it became an object of competition who should best
decypher the original; though all that could be traced with any
resemblance to an alphabet, were--<g>Crx</g> ... <g>Xti</g> ... <g>Dd</g>, and part of an <g>s</g>.
The enigma that had puzzled so many others, however, appeared to his
lordship of very easy solution. “Why,” said he to the gentlemen around
him, “these letters are neither more nor less than fragments of three
simple but sacred words; to wit--<g>Crux Christi Davidis</g>.” “Which we all
wondered at,” says the Chaplain, “that no man could find out, though it
afterwards appeared so plain. ‘Look ye now,’ said the Marquess; ‘I,
without my spectacles, and ill eyes, could read it sooner than all you
that needed none, and had good eyes. And mark me,’ he added, ‘it is not
a good eye but a good <g>faith</g> that attains to a knowledge of such things;
whilst you pore so much upon the letters you lose the meaning. Now, I
will tell you how I came to find it out: I considered what had been told
me, with the help whereof I came to understand what the words might
signify; so that in this, I am sure, <g>tradition</g> was a means to help me to
the understanding of the scripture.’”
The quaint simplicity of the last sentence--so full of meaning--and the
lesson it inculcates regarding the authority of Traditions, illustrate
in a quiet way the Marquess’s opinions as to those of the Church; and to
antiquaries, the aid of tradition is thus very ingeniously recommended.
Where authentic history falls short of the mark in researches, the
traditions of a castle are entitled to consideration; and in the
preceding account of Raglan, it has been our study to combine the
two--though not in the sense recommended by the Marquess.
<g>Of Lord Herbert</g>, the following anecdote is recorded:--Some time after he
was created Earl of Glamorgan, he received the King’s commission, as we
have seen,[303] to proceed to Ireland, and there ascertain what could be
done to strengthen the royal cause. Setting out on this expedition, and
accompanied, as we are told, by a distinguished retinue of officers,
knights, and gentlemen--“all of the red letter”--who had staked life and
fortune on the enterprise, his lordship arrived at Caernarvon, where he
was to embark for Ireland. Here they were detained a short time; and
Glamorgan continuing to receive at his table the loyalist gentlemen of
the place, the conversation turned upon some old prophecies, which it
was thought were fast reaching their fulfilment. “And particularly one,”
said a gentleman of the company. “It is an old Welsh prediction, and
says--‘That in these latter times there should come to this very town a
_magpie_, and build her nest in the royal crown; that next a _jackdaw_
should arrive, and beat off the magpie; then a _buzzard_ should appear
on the same roost, and drive away the jackdaw; and then there should be
seen no crown, but that of _thorns_, upon the King’s head! Farther, that
there should come a band of men from a far country, and take away the
thorns, and then the crown should appear again.’”
And thus far, as the townsmen averred, the prophecy had been
accomplished; to wit--“Over the gate of Caernarvon Castle, there was a
statue of King Edward the First, in full proportion, with a crown upon
his head. Well, there did come a magpie, as every one could tell, which
built, her nest in the said crown; then came a jackdaw that beat away
the magpie, as foretold; and, in like manner, came at last a buzzard,
and drove away the jackdaw.” “And all this,” said the worthy townsmen,
“we assure your honour to be as true as Holy Writ.”
Hereupon the Earl of Glamorgan, having listened with deep interest to
the recital, replied with much animation--“And why may not we, my
gallant friends and comrades--why may not _we_ be that band of men from
a far country, that shall take away these thorns from the King’s
head--first, in type, and then in substance?” And thereupon all
concluded themselves to be the men destined for that glorious service.
They resolved that, on rising from table, they would satisfy their eyes
with the sight, as their ears had already been with the relation, and
lend willing and helping hands to disencumber the figure. Nothing else
could be thought of; and dinner being ended, the Earl and his company
sallied forth to the castle gate, resolved to signalize the day by an
act of loyalty that would endear their names to posterity. Looking up,
accordingly, with great eagerness to the royal badge, that seemed to
implore their assistance, its appearance, sure enough, was in literal
accordance with the disordered condition in which crowns are generally
left by rival combatants. It was, in fact, quite a heart-breaking sight
to see the diadem of England so covered and entangled with thorns, as if
artificially platted round the King’s temples.
“Verily,” said one of the nobles present, “never hath mine eye beheld a
sadder spectacle!” “The Earl himself, almost frantic with grief and
indignation, straightway commanded the nest to be torn down; which was
done with every mark of ignominy; and then the company began to breathe
again. The materials composing the nest being examined with severe
scrutiny, were found to be of white-thorn--a substance whereof never was
bird known before to build her nest!”
A thing so unprecedented, both as regards the nest and the material[304]
thereof, caused in the beholders a degree of amazement not to be
expressed: in memorial whereof, every one present thrust a sprig of
thorn in his hatband, and so wore it as a talisman. So far, “in type,”
the thorns were removed from the King’s crown--but not “in substance.”
This adventure in Caernarvon being duly narrated to the Marquess at
Raglan, he paused for a minute, and then inquired of those about him,
“What was the nickname which the Roundheads were wont to give the
Bishops?” But there were none about him who could even guess at his
meaning; which he perceiving, said, “As I take it, they used to call the
Bishops _Magpies_, whom they reproach for building their nests in the
crown; then came the Presbyterian _Jackdaws_, and beat them out; and the
next thing that you shall see will be the Independent _Buzzard_, which
shall drive them away. And who shall come next, God only knows!”
To this solution, one with a Roman nose made answer: “I hope, my lord,
that after these men have played their pranks sufficiently, no man
hereafter will presume to build his nest in the crown; but I hope there
will be a knot of good fellows that may case the King’s head from the
pricking of those thorns, and clear the crown from those incumbrances.”
Whereupon the Marquess, replying, asked the party who related the story,
“What manner of crown it was--of what form--that was upon the King’s
head?” The gentleman replied, “A _royal_ crown.” “Ay; but I mean,”
rejoined my lord, “was it an open or an imperial crown?” “An _open_
one.” “Oh, then, that was the reason; the King’s crown was too open: had
it been close at top, with the <g>Cross</g> overhead [a sly word for the Roman
Catholic faith], such unlucky birds could never have come there to have
built their nests; but one thing there is,” said he, in conclusion,
“that I mislike in the story, namely, that after they had taken the
thorns from the King’s head, they should afterwards wear them in their
own hatbands.”[305] This was what no one present could explain to the
Marquess’s satisfaction. And Lord Glamorgan’s negotiations in Ireland
proved a failure to remove any “thorns from the royal crown.”--So much
for a prophecy which shows the superstition and credulity of the
times--a credulity which tainted even those who were charged with the
highest offices of the state. Yet such--
“The superstitious, idle-headed eld
Received, and did deliver to our age.”
In those days, no fortress surrendered, no castle fell, no band of
heroes was discomfited, but in fulfilment of some irresistible
“prophecy.”--But here we must close the subject with a few words on the
<g>Outworks of Raglan.</g>--On this head little remains to be added. The
details, given in the first volume of this work, respecting castles of
the middle ages, preclude the necessity of our doing more than simply
referring the reader to those passages in the description of Rochester
and Arundel, which equally apply to Raglan. With respect to the outworks
of the latter, a very brief notice may here suffice. By a practical eye
the line of fortification may still be traced; and what remains of the
original defences thrown up during the siege, shows very clearly that
the military engineers employed were men whose skill and science did
credit to the age. The vestiges of this lamentable war are mostly
observable on the west side of the castle, where a strong bastion,
projecting from the exterior wall of the fortification, forms a striking
feature of the outworks, and a no less striking contrast with the
luxuriant vegetation which now crowns, and almost conceals, these
monuments of a barbarous and unnatural war. The point to which we
allude, is that represented in the engraving, and entitled the “Avenue,”
where the state apartments, unlatticed, roofless, and dilapidated, look
down upon the green belt of trees and underwood that surround them with
a melancholy aspect--but a melancholy that imparts feelings of
thankfulness to the lovers of peace; for it tells very plainly that the
devastating storm has long subsided, and that the sunshine of national
prosperity and contentment has again visited the scene. The engines of
war have disappeared; the ramparts, raised by men for the destruction of
their fellow-men, are now razed to the ground. Nature--striving to throw
her green mantle of oblivion over a scene from which she was so rudely
banished by the violence of war--smiles at her own bloodless triumph,
and peoples the over-arching groves with feathered tribes that sing no
songs but those of peace and joy--
“Where once the steel-clad warrior trod,
Spring renews her verdant wreath;
And o’er the once ensanguined sod,
Flowers their mingled incense breathe.
Where the clang of clarion rose,
All is silence and repose;
Save where, in yonder <g>halls</g> of state,
The blackbird serenades his mate.”
[Illustration]