s
at this distance? We continued our walk for about two miles, without
losing sight of this interesting edifice, and at length all doubts were
cleared in the certainty that the long wished-for object was absolutely
before us. It is impossible to describe the feelings of interest
experienced by the sight of these gigantic remains. The eastern transept
still rises above the woods, a point, pinnacle, and round tower.
Descending the hill towards Hindon we lost sight of the Abbey. A most
singular specimen of country life was presented by an old shepherd, of
whom we inquired the way. "How far is it to Hindon?" "About four
miles." "Is this the right road?" "Yes, you cannot miss it, but I
haven't been there these forty years. Naa, this is forty years agone
save two that I went to Hindon: 'twas in 1807."

This place, which once sent members to Parliament, and which the author
of "Vathek" himself represented for many years, is not so large as the
village of Batheaston! There are neither lamps nor pavement, but it
possesses a most picturesque little church. It was one of the rotten
boroughs swept away, and properly enough, by the Reform Bill. Here our
rustic relinquished his burden to a Hindon lad, who acted as our future
cicerone, and undertook to show us the way to the inn called the Beckford
Arms. Soon after leaving Hindon the woods of Fonthill were reached. We
mounted a somewhat steep hill, and here met with a specimen of the
gigantic nature of the buildings. A tunnel about 100 feet long passed
under the noble terrace, reaching from Knoyle to Fonthill Bishop, at
least three miles in length; the tunnel was formed to keep the grounds
private. The beech trees, now arrayed in gaudy autumnal tints, seen
through this archway have a lovely effect. Emerging from the tunnel, the
famous wall, seven miles long, was just in front. To the left you trace
the terrace, on a charming elevation, leading to Fonthill Gardens, and
here and there you have glimpses of the great lake. The ground is broken
and varied in the most picturesque fashion. You pass some cottages that
remind you of Ryswick, and soon come to the church of Fonthill Gifford.
This church is perfectly unique in form, its architecture purely Italian;
one would think it was designed by Palladio. There is a pretty portico
supported by four tall Doric columns, and its belfry is a regular cupola.
We at last gained the inn, and were shown into a lovely parlour that