The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, by Various
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Various >> The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction,
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XII. NO. 328.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1828. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
ANCIENT PLAN OF OXFORD CASTLE.
[Illustration: Oxford Castle]
By these mysterious ties the busy pow'r
Of mem'ry her ideal train preserves
Intire; or, when they would elude her watch,
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste
Of dark oblivion.
AKENSIDE
Gentle, courteous, and _patient_ reader--to understand the above plan,
it is requisite that you carry your mind's eye back to those troublous
times when men enjoyed no protection, but in opposing force to force;
and to a period when _every man's house was his castle_, though not in
the metaphorical sense we have since been accustomed to apply these
words, viz. to the protection and security of British subjects.
Few portions of our island have been more amply illustrated, by
antiquarians, than OXFORD; and from one of these we learn that a Keep
Tower, or Castle, existed here a considerable time before the conquest;
for Alfred lived here; and Harold Harefoot was crowned and resided here;
and one of Alfred's sons struck money here. Hearne has likewise
identified this fact by the very ancient and original arms of Oxford,
which have a castle represented, with a large ditch and bridge. Upon the
same authority we learn that Offa "built walls at Oxford," and by him,
therefore, a Saxon castle was originally built at Oxford.
Leland, Dugdale, and Camden, on the other hand, affirm that the castle
at Oxford was built by Robert D'Oiley, who came into England with
William the Conqueror; and the Chronicles of Osney Abbey, preserved in
the Cottonian library, even ascertain the precise date of this great
baron's undertaking, viz. A.D. 1071. No question, therefore, can remain,
but that this illustrious chieftain either repaired or rebuilt the
castle; but as we have shown, upon equal authority, there was a Saxon
castle, fit for a royal residence at Oxford, long previous to D'Oiley's
time. About the year 1794, several Saxon remains were discovered here;
but our engraving represents the castle in Norman times, with Robert
D'Oiley's magnificent additions, and is a facsimile of a plan by Ralph
Agas, in 1538, which, allowing a little for bad or unskilful drawing,
may be taken as a perfect specimen of Norman military architecture, and
will, we are persuaded, be received by our readers as a popular and
interesting illustration of the warlike character of the age in which
the castle was erected.
For the description we are indebted to a MS. account of Anthony Wood, in
the Bodleian library, who informs us that at one of its entrances was "a
large bridge, which led into a long and broad entry, and so to the chief
gate of the castle, the entry itself being fortified, on each side, with
a large embattled wall; and having several passages above, from one side
to the other, with open spaces between them, through which, in times of
storm, whenever any enemy had broken through the first gates of the
bridge, and was gotten into the entry, scalding water or stones might be
cast down to annoy them."
On passing through the gate, at the end of this long entry, the
fortification stretched itself, on the left hand, in a straight line,
till it came to a _round_ tower, that was rebuilt in the 19th of Henry
III.[1] And from thence went a fair embattled wall, guarded for the most
part with the mill-stream underneath, till it came to the high tower
joining to St. George's church.[2]
From hence, says the manuscript, the wall went to another gate, now
quite down, opposite to the abovementioned; and leading to Osney, over
another bridge; close to which joined that lofty and eminent mount,
sometime crowned with an embattled tower. The manuscript adds, that for
the greater defence of this castle, there was, on one of the sides of
it, _a barbican_; which seems to have not merely been a single tower,
but (according to an ancient deed) _a place_, or outwork, containing
several habitations; and from other accounts it further appears, that
there were more barbicans than one.
The ruins of certain other towers of the castle, besides the barbicans,
and those already described, are also said to have been standing till
1649; when they were pulled down to erect new bulwarks for the
parliamentary garrison.
This is an abstract of Anthony Wood's manuscript, which agrees with
Agas's drawing, except that in his sketch, the tower between the
gate-tower and St. George's, is represented square instead of being
round. Antiquarians also infer that in the drawing it was intended to
represent the great keep-tower as standing upon the top of the mount,
and not by the side of it.[3]
Some discoveries made in 1794, throw much light on the history of the
castle, and warrant a conclusion that in its area were several
buildings. Wells were then cleared out, and among the rubbish were found
horses' bones, dogs' bones, horse-shoes, and human skeletons; the
appearance of the latter is not easily accounted for, unless they were
the bodies of malefactors, who had been executed on the gallows placed
near the castle, in later ages, that might have been flung in here,
instead of being buried under the gibbet. We must however pass over many
interesting facts, and content ourselves with a mere reference to the
empress Maud being besieged here in 1141, and her miraculous flight with
three knights, all escaping the eyes of the besiegers by the brightness
of their raiment; Maud having just previously escaped from the castle of
the Devizes, as a dead corpse, in a funeral hearse or bier. The reader
will not be surprised at the decay of the castle, when he is informed
that it was in a dilapidated state in the reign of Edward III.
The castle was situate on the west side of the city of Oxford, on the
site of the present county gaol. In 1788 little remained except the
tower, which was for some time used as the county prison, and part of
the old wall could then be traced 10 feet in thickness. In the
castle-yard were the remains of the ancient sessions-house, in which, at
the _Black Assize_, in 1577, the lieutenant of the county, two knights,
eighty esquires and justices, and almost all the grand jury, died of a
distemper, brought thither and communicated by the prisoners; and nearly
one hundred scholars and townsmen fell victims to the same disorder.
We have been somewhat minute in the preceding description, but we hope
not more so than the exhaustless curiosity of the public on such
subjects appears to warrant. Indeed, these interesting details are only
a tithe portion of what we might have abridged. The warlike habits of
our ancestors are always attractive topics for inquirers into the
history of mankind, and their study is not
Dull and crabbed as some fools suppose,
but a treasury or depository of useful knowledge, by enabling the
inquirer to draw many valuable inferences from the comparative states of
men in the several ages he seeks to illustrate. The enthusiasm of such
pursuits is, likewise, an everlasting source of delight; for who can
visit such shrines as Netley, St. Albans, or Melrose, without feeling
that he is on holy ground; and although we are equally active in our
notice of the architectural triumphs of our own times, we must not
entirely leave the proud labours of by-gone ages to be clasped in the
ponderous folio, or to moulder and lie neglected on the upper shelves of
our libraries.
We have to acknowledge the loan of the original of the engraving, from a
lineal descendant of D'OILEY[4], the founder or repairer of the Castle
at Oxford--a name not altogether unknown to our readers.
[1] The sum of 144_l_. 5_s_. was expended in the rebuilding.
[2] By an odd mode of expression in the MS., it should seem as
if this tower itself, or at least some building adjoining it,
was formerly made use of as a _royal residence_, for the words
are, _from hence went a fair embattled wall, guarded for the
most part with the mill-stream underneath, till it came in the
high tower, going under St. George's College, and the king's
house employed formerly as a campanile belonging to that
church_.
[3] Grose fell into an error on this point, in his 3rd volume of
Antiquitica, for in his copy of Aga's plan, he placed a large
keep tower just at the foot of an artificial mount--an anomaly
in fortification. The same punster who described _fortification_
as _two twenty fications_, would call this a _Grose_ blunder.
[4] When Robert D'Oiley, in the reign of Henry V. built the
abbey at Osney, for monks and regulars, and gave them the
revenues, &c. of the church of St. George, in the Castle, it is
said in the Osney chronicle, that there "Robert Pulen began to
read at Oxford the Holy Scriptures, which had fallen into
neglect in England. And after both the church of England and
that of France had profited greatly by his doctrine, he was
called away by Pope Lucius II., who made him chancellor of the
holy Roman church." This short effort, to which the Pope's
preferment put a stop, seems to have been the true origin of the
DIVINITY LECTURE, and of the DIVINITY SCHOOLS at Oxford; and of
the studies of the SORBONNE at Paris.
* * * * *
THE "INTELLECTUAL CAT."
(_For the Mirror_.)
The _cat mania_ has hitherto been more popular in France than in
England. To be sure, we have the threadbare story of Whittington and his
cat; Mrs. Griggs and her 86 living and 28 dead cats; Peter King and his
two cats in rich liveries; Foote's concert of cats; and the newspaper
story of tortoiseshell male cats--but in France, cats keep better
company, or at least are associated with better names. Thus, MOLIERE had
his favourite cat; Madame de Puis, the celebrated harpplayer, settled a
pension on her feline friend, which caused a law-suit, and brought into
action all the most celebrated lawyers of France; and M. L'Abbe de
Fontenu was in the habit of experimenting on these animals, one of which
he found could exist twenty-six months without drinking! which fact is
recorded in the History of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, 1753.
Our present portrait is, however, of more recent date, being a free
translation from _Le Furet de Londres_, a French paper published in
London, whose columns are an agreeable accompaniment for a cup of
coffee. It is a mere _bagatelle_, and as an amusive trifle may not be
unacceptable.
My pretty little Puss, it is high time that I should pay a just tribute
to your merits. We often talk of people who do not esteem you;
therefore, why should I blush to give publicity to your perfection?
You are exceedingly well made; your fur boasts of the delicate varieties
of the tiger; your eyes are lively and pleasing; your velvet coat and
tail are of enviable beauty; and your agility, gracefulness, and
docility are, indeed, the admiration of all who behold you! Your moral
qualities are not less estimable; and we will attempt to recapitulate
them.
In the first place, you love me dearly, or at least you load me with
caresses; unless, like the rest of the world, you love me for yourself's
sake. I know well that you like me less than a slice of mutton, or the
leg of a fowl, but that is very simple; I am your master, and a leg of
mutton is as good again as one master, twice as good as two masters, &c.
You possess great sense, and good sense too, for you have precisely such
as is most useful to you; for every other kind of knowledge will make
you appear foolish.
Nature has given you nails, which men unpolitely call claws; they are
admirably constructed, and well jointed in a membrane, which is extended
or drawn up like the fingers of a glove; and at pleasure it becomes a
terrific claw, or a paw of velvet.
You understand the _physical laws of good and evil_. A cat who strangles
another will not be more culpable than a man who kills his fellow men.
My dear Cat, the great Hobbes never reasoned more clearly than you do!
You forget the past--you dream not of the future; but you turn the
present to account. Time flies not with you, but stands still, and all
your moments appear but as one. You know that your muscles will give
action to your limbs, and you know no other cause of your existence,
than existence itself. My dear Cat, you are a profound _materialist_!
You flatter the master who caresses you, you lick the hand that feeds
you, you fly from a larger animal than yourself, whilst you unsparingly
prey on the smaller ones. My dear Cat, you are a profound _politician_!
You live peaceably with the dog, who is your messmate; in gratitude to
me, you regulate your reception, good or bad, of all the animals under
my roof; thus, you raise your claw against such as you imagine mine
enemies, while you prick up your tail at the sight of my friends. My
dear Cat, you are a profound _moralist_!
When you promenade your graceful limbs upon a roof, on the edge of a
casement, or in some situation equally perilous, you show your dexterity
in opposing the bulk of your body to the danger. Your muscles extend or
relax themselves with judgment, and you enjoy security where other
animals would be petrified with fear. My dear Cat, you perfectly
understand the _laws of gravity_!
If through inadvertence, blundering, or haste, you lose your support or
hold, then you are admirable; you bend yourself in raising your back,
and carry the centre of gravity towards the umbilical region, by which
means you fall on your feet. My dear Cat, you are an excellent _natural
philosopher_!
If you travel in darkness, you expand the pupil of your eye, which, in
forming a perfect circle, describes a larger surface, and collects the
greater part of the luminous rays which are scattered in the atmosphere.
When you appear in daylight, your pupil takes an elliptic form,
diminishes, and receives only a portion of these rays, an excess of
which would injure your retina. My dear Cat, you are a perfect
_optician_!
When you wish to descend a precipice, you calculate the distance of the
solid points with astonishing accuracy. In the first place, you dangle
your legs as if to measure the space, which you divide in your judgment,
by the motions of your feet; then you throw yourself exactly upon the
wished-for spot, the distance to which you have compared with the effect
on your muscles. My dear Cat, you are a skilful _geometrician_!
When you wander in the country, you examine plants with judicious
nicety; you soon select that kind which pleases you, when you roll
yourself on it, and testify your joy by a thousand other gambols; you
know also the several grasses, and their medicinal effects on your
frame. My dear Cat, you are an excellent _botanist_!
Your voice merits no less eulogium; for few animals have one so
modulated. The rhyming pur of satisfaction, the fawning accents of
appeal, the vigorous bursts of passion, and innumerable diatonic
varieties, proceed from your larynx, according to the order of nature.
My dear Cat, you are a _dramatic musician_!
In your amusements, you prefer pantomime to dialogue; and you neglect
the pen to study the picture. But then what agility! what dancing! what
cross-capers! The difficulty never impairs the grace of the feat. Oh, my
dear Cat! you are a _delightful dancer_!
Lastly, my dear Puss, show me a man who possesses as many kinds of
knowledge as you do, and I will proclaim him a _living cyclopaedia_, or
concentration of human wisdom. But, what do I see? I am praising you,
and you are fast asleep! This is still greater philosophy.
* * * * *
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
(_For the Mirror._)
Yes, radiant spirit, thou hast pass'd
Unto thy latest home,
And o'er our widow'd hearts is cast
A deep and with'ring gloom!
For when on earth thou wert as bright
As angel form might be:
And mem'ry shall exist in night,
If we think not of thee.
For, oh, thy beauty o'er us came
Like a fair sunset beam,
And the sweet music of thy name
Was pure as aught might deem.
With silent lips we gaz'd on thee,
And awe-suspended breath--
But thine entrancing witchery
Abideth not in death.
And all that we suppos'd most fair
Is but a mockery now;
No beam illumes the silken hair
That traced thy smiling brow.
The cheerless dust upon thee lies,
Death's seal is on thee set,
But the bright spirit of thine eyes
Shines o'er our mem'ry yet!
As in some dark and hidden shell
Lies ocean's richest gem,
So in our hearts shall ever dwell
The spells thou'st breath'd in them!
Why should we weep o'er the young flow'rs
That cluster on thy sod?
Stars like them glow in heav'n's bright bow'rs
To light thee up to God!
R.A.
* * * * *
"TROUT BINNING" IN WEST-MORELAND.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
--"Now is the time,
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile,
To tempt the trout."
THOMSON.
I have not yet done with this subject; and as it strikes me you are an
angler, I think the article a seasonable _bait_ for you.
I was certainly much entertained with your extracts from Sir Humphry
Davy's _Salmonia_; and from your being pleased to mention my name in
commenting on its merits, I took the hint, and resolved to send you
another leaf from my journal. You will easily imagine the abundance of
fish in Westmoreland when I inform you, that they seldom use the line
there, except in rivers, since they can take them much easier with their
hands as before mentioned. I will now account for the trout frequenting
such small brooks. There are frequent floods in that county, at certain
periods of the year, which sweep the fish in shoals from the mountain
rivulets, or perhaps the fish always go down with the flood, for the
rivers and rivulets are all well stocked afterwards; and in my opinion
it is on account of the rivers being so full, that great quantities are
obliged to inhabit the neighbouring brooks, all which empty themselves
in the rivers. At the latter end of the year, that is, the spawning
season, the large trouts (which are become very loose and flabby) take
to the small brooks to deposit their spawn; after which they return to
the rivers. At this time there are, in consequence, many young trouts,
which remain, I should imagine, till next year, when I believe they go
to the rivers; for during that time I have seldom caught trouts weighing
more than from half a pound to a pound, though in such a "beck" as
"Cannon's," which runs directly into the Eden, I have taken them at all
times very large--and this is how I account for the difference. I should
observe, that at the "_back end_" of the year, immensely large trouts
may be caught, which come up to spawn; but they are generally, when
caught, immediately thrown into their element again, as they are worth
nothing, on account of the looseness of their flesh.
But to the subject. _Trout binning_ is a name given to a peculiar method
of taking trout. A man wades any rocky stream (Pot-beck for instance)
with a sledge-hammer, with which he strikes every stone likely to
contain fish. The force of the blow stuns the fish, and they roll from
under the rock half dead, when the "binner" throws them out with his
hand.
_Night-Fishing._--I have frequently gone out with a fishing party at
about ten o'clock at night to spear trout. We supplied ourselves with an
eel spear and a lantern, and visited Cannon's "beck." We drew the light
gently over the water near the brink. Immediately the light appeared,
both trouts and eels were splashing about the lantern in great
quantities. We then took the spear, and as they approached, thrust it
down upon them, sometimes bringing up with it three or four together.
One night we took nearly twenty pounds of trout and eels, which, for the
short time we were out, may be considered very fair sport, and some of
those were of a very large size.
Should you notice this, I may be led to recur to the subject in a future
paper.
W.H.H.
* * * * *
A proud man is a fool in fermentation,
that swells and boils over like a porridge-pot.
He sets out his feathers like an owl,
to swell and seem bigger than he is.
* * * * *
THE TOPOGRAPHER.
AN EXCURSION TO THE RUINS OF RIEVAULX AND BYLAND ABBEYS; AND TO THE
RESIDENCE OF LAURENCE STERNE, COXWOLD, YORKSHIRE.
(_For the Mirror_.)
"The air around was breathing balm,
The aspen scarcely seem'd to sway;
And, as a sleeping infant calm,
The river stream'd away--
Devious as error--deep as love,
And blue and bright as heaven above."
_Alaric A. Watts_.
Though I am as romantic a being as ever breathed on the face of this
beautiful earth; yet, I will promise the reader, that in detailing the
events of an interesting day, I will not tinge them with that colouring;
yet, such a glorious bard as Wordsworth could, alone, do justice to our
excursion. Leave him to wander alone in that woody dell, with the
thrilling picture spread around him--the sinking walls of elaborate
Gothic, clouded by the hanging woods--the rural dwellings of the
illiterate peasantry scattered below the templed mount--and the mourning
stream and its rustic bridge--thus entranced, his fairy spirit would
pour forth a flood of pensive and philosophic song.
It was on the dawning of a fine morning in August, that I left the
brick-and-mortar purlieus of home, and in company with two young
friends, commenced this excursion. The diversified chain of the
Hambleton Hills, bounding the fruitful valley of Mowbray, rose at the
distance of six miles before us; and whose summit we intended reaching
before breakfast. The varying aspect of these rocky eminences requires
the descriptive charms of Sir Walter Scott, or the pencil of Salvator
Rosa, to do them justice. Within two miles of them, you might imagine
yourself in the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre, whose circular walls
reared their dark-gray forms to the heaven; and the inimitable
description which Byron has given us of that edifice, occurs to the
recollection; though no waving weeds and dew-nurtured trees crown the
apparent ruin--
"Like laurel on the bald first Caesar's head."
On a nearer view, they change their appearance, and you might suppose
that the remains of some fortified castle, typical of the feudal system,
looked over the heather which clothes their rocky sides; whilst the
detached pieces of rock, which rolled from the summit eighty years ago,
appear amongst the furze, like the tombs of Jewish patriarchs in the
valley of Jehosaphat at Jerusalem, darkened by the lapse of ages. To the
right of our path lay the solitary and frail memorials of the monastery
of Hode, founded by Roger de Mowbray, and afterwards attached to the
abbey of Byland. Shortly after passing Hode, we arrived at the base of
Hambleton, and began to ascend its rocky front; we had climbed half the
ascent, when, on cautiously turning ourselves, an indescribable picture
presented itself in the vale and its objects below; the solemn silence
of the early hour--the first greeting of the morning sun--the glittering
and distant lake of Gormire, guarded by towering hills to the
right--and, to the left, rocks which have stood whilst generations of
heroes and kings have passed away; and, beyond this vivid scene, in dim
perspective, arose the western hills, tinged with delicate blue, and
scarcely discernible from the clouds which floated over them. Even the
enraptured travellers, who stood gazing from the summit of Mont Blanc,
were not more delighted than the enthusiastic _trio_ who looked from the
brow of Hambleton on that memorable morning. But our object was not
attained, and we set forward with replenished vigour, to cross the
heather-heath, whose bleak aspect prepared us for the paradise which
smiled below the other side of the hills. The first prominent object
which met our view, was the terrace, with its classical temples at each
of its terminations; and next, the wood encircled hamlet of Scawton, at
whose little alehouse we enjoyed a hearty breakfast; and then set
forward to explore our beloved region of Rievaulx; our path being
through a mountainous wood, which nearly kissed the sky, and obscured
the rustic road which divided it: after several windings through this
leafy labyrinth, we arrived at a point where the wood was more open, and
the dell considerably wider. It was after passing a picturesque cottage
and bridge, that the first view of Rievaulx Abbey broke upon us. It was
then that the first outline of its "Gothic grandeur" was displayed to
us. Crossing the little bridge of Rieval, we proceeded along the banks
of the Rye, which morosely rolled along, scarcely deigning to murmur its
complaints to the woody hills which skirted it, as if in pique for the
ruin of its sublime temple, and the disappearance of its monastic lords.
The village of Rieval, constructed out of the wreck of the spacious
abbey, displays some reverence for the preservation of inscriptions dug
out of the building; and the little windows which lit the cells of
studious monks five hundred years ago, now grace the cottages of
illiterate peasants. We took a facsimile of one inscription, in Saxon
letters, merely denoting the name of the monastery.