hat
of Tintern Abbey necessarily became the scenes of stirring and
highly-important events. How altered is the scene! Where were formerly
magnificence and splendour; the glittering array of priestly prowess;
the crowded halls of haughty bigots, and the prison of religious
offenders; there is now but a heap of mouldering ruins. The oppressed
and the oppressor have long since lain down together in the peaceful
grave. The ruin, generally speaking, is unusually perfect, and the
sculpture still beautifully sharp. The outward walls are nearly entire,
and are thickly clad with ivy. Many of the windows are also in a good
state of preservation; but the roof has long since fallen in. The
feathered songsters were fluttering about, and pouring forth their
artless lays as a tribute of joy; while the lowing of the herds, the
bleating of flocks, and the hum of bees upon the farm near by, all burst
upon the ear, and gave the scene a picturesque sublimity that can be
easier imagined than described. Most assuredly Shakspere had such ruins
in view when he exclaimed--

"The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve--
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."

In the afternoon we returned to Bristol, and I spent the greater part
of the next day in examining the interior of Redcliffe Church. Few
places in the West of England have greater claims upon the topographer
and historian than the church of St. Mary's, Redcliffe. Its antiquity,
the beauty of its architecture, and above all the interesting
circumstances connected with its history, entitle it to peculiar notice.
It is also associated with the enterprise of genius; for its name has
been blended with the reputation of Rowley, of Canynge, and of
Chatterton; and no lover of poetry and admirer of art can visit it
without a degree of enthusiasm. And when the old building shall have
mouldered into ruins, even these will be trodden with veneration as
sacred to the recollection of genius of the highest order. Ascending a
winding stair, we were shown into the Treasury Room. The room forms an
irregular octagon, admitting light through narrow unglazed apertures
upon the broken and scattered fragments of the famous Rowleian chests,
that with the rubble and dust of centuries cover the floor. It is here
creative fancy pictures forth the sad image of the spirit of t