brink of a stupendous cliff,
on reaching the top of which, we had a splendid view of the surrounding
country. Time, however, compelled us to retrace our steps, and after
partaking of a lunch, we mounted a horse for the first time in ten
years, and started for Tintern Abbey. The distance from Chepstow to the
Abbey is about five miles, and the road lies along the banks of the
river. The river is walled in on either side by hills of much beauty,
clothed from base to summit with the richest verdure. I can conceive of
nothing more striking than the first appearance of the Abbey. As we
rounded a hill, all at once we saw the old ruin standing before us in
all its splendour. This celebrated ecclesiastical relic of the olden
time is doubtless the finest ruin of its kind in Europe. Embosomed
amongst hills, and situated on the banks of the most fairy-like river in
the world, its beauty can scarcely be surpassed. We halted at the
"Beaufort Arms," left our horse, and sallied forth to view the Abbey.
The sun was pouring a flood of light upon the old grey walls, lighting
up its dark recesses, as if to give us a better opportunity of viewing
it. I gazed with astonishment and admiration at its many beauties, and
especially at the superb gothic windows over the entrance door. The
beautiful gothic pillars, with here and there a representation of a
praying priest, and mailed knights, with saints and Christian martyrs,
and the hundreds of Scriptural representations, all indicate that this
was a place of considerable importance in its palmy days. The once
stone floor had disappeared, and we found ourselves standing on a floor
of unbroken green grass, swelling back to the old walls, and looking so
verdant and silken that it seemed the very floor of fancy. There are
more romantic and wilder places than this in the world, but none more
beautiful. The preservation of these old abbeys should claim the
attention of those under whose charge they are, and we felt like joining
with the poet and saying:--

"O ye who dwell
Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge
From hands profane! O save the sacred pile--
O'er which the wing of centuries has flown
Darkly and silently, deep-shadowing all
Its pristine honours--from the ruthless grasp
Of future violation."

In contemplating these ruins more closely, the mind insensibly reverts
to the period of feudal and regal oppression, when structures like t