roken by glades chequered with flickering lights and shadows. On the
north and east side of the walls the ground falls away precipitously to
a great depth, and a stream runs along the valley beneath. The ruins are
covered with ivy, saplings and bushes spread their fresh shoots and
sprays among the crumbling stones, and all is open to the sky; but
enough remains to show what a noble building Berry Pomeroy must have
been. The outer walls of the Castle were built by the Pomeroys--it is
thought probable by Henry de Pomeroy, in the reign of King John, though
the Castle was granted them by William the Conqueror. A hexagonal tower
flanks the gateway on either side. Above it is the guard-room, in which
two pillars support circular arches that are in a very perfect
condition, and the grooves in the walls for the portcullis may easily be
traced. It is usually reported that the Pomeroys' coat of arms is still
visible on the gateway, but as the lodge-keeper, who for many years has
trimmed the ivy at intervals, has never seen it, it may be that a little
imagination has come to the help of mere eyesight.

A curtain wall connects the gateway with a tower called St Margaret's
Tower, of which merely the shell remains, smothered in overhanging ivy,
brambles, long grass, and a tapestry of plants, and beneath the tower is
a small, dark dungeon. To the left, across the quadrangle and along the
western wall, are a number of rooms more or less imperfect that belonged
to the Pomeroys' castle. They lead one into another, and contain
enormous fireplaces and chimneys. Opposite the gateway the ruins are
much more broken down, in parts hardly more than fragments and tall
trees peer over a low wall, the crowning point of a very steep ascent.

Just inside the gateway, on the right, is the skeleton of the splendid
west front, due to Sir Edward Seymour. The inner buildings, which rose
in Tudor days, are of a character entirely different from that of the
older remains, and the Seymours' spacious ideas were reflected in the
magnificence of their castle. The windows and traces of fireplaces in
the walls show that it must have been four stories high and held a maze
of rooms. One becomes confused wandering through enclosed spaces,
cell-like, for the great height, unbroken by floor or ceiling, gives an
impression that the rooms are small. Over all is an uncomfortable sense
of desertion, and the high empty windows, with stone mullions and square
labels, someh