“After leaving the great hall, went, on the left, into the chapel—a
plain memorable chapel, lined with oak; then to the armoury, a long,
narrow gallery, or rather a suite of narrow rooms, communicating by
small Gothic doorways, and extending, perhaps, nearly the whole length
of the Castle, with tall windows of painted glass, bowing out into the
court of the Castle. The walls of this armoury were covered with weapons
of various kinds and sizes, from the Indian war-spear, to the Highland
dirk, with a knife and fork tucked into the same sheath. But what struck
me most was near the end of the gallery (when it makes a sudden turn
into the tower that terminates the castle), where appeared before me a
broad, yet dark staircase of oak, and at the foot of it, as if guarding
the passage, a large figure in complete armour, the beaver down, and a
sword in its hand! The general twilight, with the last western gleam
breaking through the painted window at the foot of the staircase, and
touching the bronze, gave full effect to this scene, and heightened the
obscurity of the stairs, in perspective. This armour came from Germany;
our conductor knew no more. Saw the brass coat, shot-proof, worn by Lord
Brooke when he was shot in the eye during his attack upon Lichfield
Cathedral. On the opposite side, a complete suit of black armour, the
knees with projecting points: could learn nothing of its history. Left
the building with regret. Paused again in the court to admire the
beautiful lofty acacias and other noble trees surrounding the lawn, and
the most majestic towers forming the grand front. The octagon tower,
rising in the angle of the walls near the house-door, the most
beautiful, as far as regards proportion; the one nearest the house the
most venerable and warlike. Near the summit an embattled overhanging
gallery, where formerly, no doubt, sentinels used to pace during the
night, looked down upon the walls of the Castle, the rivers and the
country far and wide, received the watch-word from the sentinel, perched
in the little watch-tower, higher still and seeing farther in the
moonlight, and repeated it to the soldiers on guard on the walls and
gates below. Before those great gates and underneath these towers,
Shakspeare’s ghost might have stalked; they are in the very character
and spirit of such an apparition, grand and wild and strange; there
should, however, have been more extent. Stayed before these grey towers
till the last twilight.”