little stream which the
premeditating builder had previously diverted and dammed. Northward
the ground rose pretty steeply from the moat, a circumstance which
seems to detract somewhat from the strength of the castle, till we
remember that the planning and building were done in the days before
artillery had become the deciding factor in warfare. Southwards the
ground fell away to the river, and because of this much doubt has been
cast on the efficacy of the stronghold. It has been pointed out
frequently that an investing army would have had little difficulty in
piercing the bank of the basin; but there was no mediaeval siege whereby
its strength might have been tested.

The castle was built in the form of a parallelogram, after the French
model, with four strong curtain walls protected at the angles by boldly
projecting round towers, 54 feet high and 29 in diameter. Three of the
curtain walls had intermediate square towers, while the fourth, that on
the northern side, had a double tower flanking the great gateway.
Between this deep and well-protected portal and the land stood an
octagonal platform on which was built an advance work, or barbican, the
intervening spaces being bridged by drawbridges. Thus was the way into
the castle strongly held by a succession of defences.

As we approach the castle now from any side, it is difficult to realize
that it is a ruin--a mere empty shell. Outwardly its towers and walls
rise sheer from the lily-covered waters of the moat in a fine state of
preservation: curtain walls, round towers, square towers,
battlements,--all are there as in the days that were. True, the
drawbridges are gone, and of the barbican only a fragment remains; but
of the great donjon itself nothing appears to be missing until--until
we cross the causeway where once the drawbridge rose and fell, and so
come to the interior. Then do we realize the antiquity of the place;
for everything has crumbled to dust, leaving just here and there a
suggestion of what has been--a window, a buttress, a fireplace. Lines
from Lord Thurlow's sonnet come to mind:

"Thou hast had thy prime,
And thy full vigour, and the eating harms
Of age have robb'd thee of thy warlike charms,
And placed thee here, an image in my rhyme;
The owl now haunts thee, and oblivion's plant,
The creeping ivy, has o'er-veil'd thy towers;
And Rother looking up with eye askant,
Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours,