Pulp Fiction, 1865 · page 147 of 399
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On the Wye. 135 the guardianship of such a treasure—conducted us over the whole tuin, which is of great extent. The view from the summit of the towers is very inferior to that from Goodrich Castle ; but with so much beauty immediately at hand, the eye scarcely desires to wander away. Finally we visited the photograph room, and were unable to resist purchasing a set of large and exquisitely-finished views, exhibiting the castle in every part. Then we took a reluctant leave, hoping to repeat the visit at some not far distant date. No one staying in this neigh- bourhood, or passing through it, should neglect to make the acquaint- ance of Raglan Castle. Let the day be clear and sunny, and they will meet with an enjoyment that, of its kind, cannot be surpassed. Returning to Monmouth, we started for Chepstow immediately after luncheon. In driving along, the river was seldom lost sight of, which pursued its majestic course to the sea. On either hand the wooded hills arose. Now they contracted, now opened out ; now seemed to break up into chains, and now again to unite. Every tint of verdure was there. Here we came upon a wild and rugged spot, there upon a stretch of softest, smiling nature. Now we crossed the river upon a rude, uneven bridge, which seemed to threaten destruction to the whole party, and now pursued our even course beside its cooling waters. Here a house peeped out far up the height, there one nestled in the plain ; now a whole village sprang into life and animation. At length the road turned sharply to the left, and there before us reposed the greatest attraction and wonder of the whole drive—Tintern Abbey. This ecclesiastical ruin is in exquisite preservation. The roof is gone, but the walls are almost perfect. Nothing can be more romantic than its site, surrounded on all sides by richly-wooded hills, whilst the river runs at its very feet. It is a building of Gothic architecture, dating back to the year 1131. Entering the western doorway, we are lost in wonder at the extent of the building, at its beauty and grace, at the wonderful harmony of its exquisite proportions, at the lightness of much of the work which yet for 700 years has told the course of time and witnessed the history of the world. Some of the columns and pillars are still standing, perfect in their beauty. If the word can be admitted, it would be impossible to find a ruin of more refined loveliness. You feel yourself in the presence of a pile once devoted to sacred objects. Its influence upon the mind is that of a grand old sermon, so directly does it seem to speak to the soul of the things that belong to our peace : the ravages of time, its chances and changes; that world whither its old Cistercian monks have, centuries ago, been summoned. The most witching time to see this wonderful ruin is said to be by the light of a full moon on a bright night. It is easy to fancy that the imagination would then play strange tricks with us. A-distant bell strikes midnight. Passing through the doorway into the interior, the comliichooks.com