The Argosy — page 143: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

On the Wye. 131 intense. The picturesque banks, the green fields, the gloriously- wooded hills; which attain perfection round and about Ross; the bright sunshine, the blue canopy over all. It was exquisitely beautiful. If it would only last for an age, or until such time as body and nerves were thoroughly restored and braced up ; ready to begin again, like a giant refreshed, the wear and tear of everyday life ! Our first halting-place was Goodrich Castle : a ruin it was impossible to pass without visiting, if only for the sake of the view to be obtained from its summit. The ruin is full of romance and beauty, with its ancient walls, some of them ivy-grown, its green sward, its old associa- tions ; certainly one of the greatest attractions of the Wye. Nothing, surely, could exceed the beauty of the view from the top- most heights, on this marvellously clear day. For miles and miles, on all sides, stretched a dazzling, bewildering’panorama. At our feet the river ran, cool and glittering in the sunshine. Far and near its winding course could be traced. Hills and valleys surrounded us: on all sides the most lovely, graceful, and capricious undulations. Here a village lay half concealed amidst luxuriant verdure ; there the town of Ross, with its conspicuous church spire, upraised its head. The view was as extensive as it was wonderful and varied. ‘True, we had not here rugged mountains and snow-capped heights, rushing torrents or steep precipices. No eagle spread forth its wings to soar beyond the range of vision. But no feature of sylvan English scenery seemed wanting : such scenery as one might imagine set to the music of Handel’s Pas- toral Symphony. The shadows of the white clouds passing over the sun chased each other over hill and vale, silent and mysterious as if cast by a host of the spirits of the air. Round-about us, now resting, now spreading forth, and now gathering together, the rooks, sole inhabitants of a bygone day and splendour, whirled restlessly to and fro, with weird, hoarse clamour. The scene is not easily matched in England, and we turned reluct- antly away. At the foot of the castle we were of course met and saluted by the inevitable old woman’ with her treasures of ginger-beer and photographs. This particular dame was not old ; she was tolerably comely and buxom ; and she informed her hearers that she and her ancestors had had the honour of providing ginger-beer to sightseers for the best part of a century. “ And hard times it now is, sir,” she concluded. “Not at all what it used to be. We don’t get half the visitors we used to once. The © boatmen, a many on ’em, like to get over their work, and persuade their parties not to land at Goodrich Castle. They persuade them it’s not worth the time, and that there’s nothing to be seen they can’t see from the river, So more boats pass us than stop to land.” As if to corroborate the dame’s statement, as she spoke two boat- loads of tourists passed down the river, paused a moment,lo joked. up comicbooks.com