principle of the arch. Their Italian successors, systematizing their ideas, and adding new devices as their wants and luxuries required, have produced a style which, though inferior to the Grecian in the beauty and finish of its component parts, much surpasses it in the grandeur of its combinations, and in the varied character of its picturesque masses. In illustration of these distinctive peculiarities of the Italian style, it would be scarcely possible to refer to a finer example than the dome of the metropolitan cathedral; together with which we might particularize the steeples of some half-dozen churches, among which the former rises preeminent. But if to each of these styles, distinguished as it is by its own attribute of the beautiful or the picturesque, we grant its own share of merit, we can scarcely refuse a double portion of approval to a style which unites in itself the qualifications of both the former, and that to an unlimited degree. Such is the Pointed style of architecture, stigmatized as it has been with the appellation of "gothic," by those whose contracted minds would not allow them to confess the existence of any beauty which was not regulated by arithmetical calculations, and geometrical problems. If the highest display of elegant combination be not found in the ever-varying designs of the old English windows, in the diversified exuberance of the appropriate foliage, bosses, and crockets, of the cornices, ceilings, and pinnacles,-in the undulating forms and appropriate character of mouldings,-in the clustered richness of the tall column or the sweeping arch,—in the luxuriant tracery or branching ribs of the vaulted ceilings,-or in the elaborate varieties of screen, niche, canopy, altar, and stall,-it is to be found nowhere. Nor is the excellence of this style less in the command which it has of the picturesque in the external distribution of its masses, its shadowy or its flying buttresses, its dignified porches, its rising gables, its varying outlines of plan, broken only to enhance the interest, and its elegant and airy finishings of battlement, pinnacle, and tower, by which the eye is carried off into the clouds. But of all the combinations in which this great style displays its master-power, there is none so impressive as the effect of a well-composed interior. The Greek interiors were of no account; and even the finest efforts of Rome never made the slightest approximation to the overpowering grandeur of effect displayed in York Minster, or in King's College Chapel, those monuments of the artificial sublime. But we may also notice an additional advantage in the Pointed style, as resulting from the completeness of all its collateral decorations. In the treatment of this style we have not, as in the case of Grecian art, to look abroad for windows, ceilings, pavements, &c. unknown to the inventors of that system; but we have in this a prototype for all the principal accessories sufficient for our direction in similar compositions. Indeed, to do justice to the recommendation of this department of architecture would be far beyond our limits; and almost the only remaining objection to its use that we can anticipate, is that arising from its solemnity of character. That its prevailing aspect is that of gravity, and often of solemnity, is admitted, and we grant therefore that it would not be suited for the purposes of a theatre; but the exceptions are few, compared with the many advantageous opportunities for its application. In short, adapted as it is to our climate and scenery, interesting as it is from old associations, and applicable as it is to all the great purposes of architectural science, we must confess it to be a subject every way worthy of the enthusiastic study of the artist, and the zealous patronage of the Englishman. E. T. THOUGHTS ON THE MALVERN HILLS. To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, BYRON. GENTLE READER, imagine thyself with him who, with the "hand of his heart," is tracing these lines ON THE SUMMIT OF THE MALVERN HILLS. The breeze free, clear, and cutting; the month October, and the day sunny and joyous, though at intervals chequered, like life, with clouds, which cast their light and shade with magical effect, over the surface of that vast and matchless panorama. Whatever may be asserted to the contrary, Cowper never wrote a truer line than when he said, "God made the country but man made the town." We know this jars with the sentiments of the large class of matter-of-fact people, the nil admirari description of travellers, who can hurry through the finest scenes, and cry "'tis all barren;" such persons view even the ocean as merely facilitating the purposes of traffic. To the lover of the country, mountains stand pre eminently forth in the poetry of nature. How undefinable are those feelings which arise in our bosoms on beholding a lofty mountain from afar. How heartstirring a sun-burst amidst hills, now revealing for a moment that rocky hollow, now casting a blaze of radiance around the summit of that half-concealed steep.*— to our hearts of our own decay; but as poor Keats beautifully sings, Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they? Α But whither are we wandering, we are bewildered We have understood, that objects in no fewer than with that vast expanse of country, surveying at one twelve counties may be seen from the "Worcestermoment county upon county of rich merry sylvan Eng-shire Beacon," the elevation we now stood upon. land, mansioned, abbeyed, towered, spired, castled;" landscape may suffer as much from a bad light as a in good sooth, we hardly know how to embrace it in picture, but on this day, the 17th of October, as noted description, for in the peculiar nature of the scenery, in our journal, the purity and clearness of the atmosMalvern stands alone. October is a month after our phere was very unusual. Immediately below us lay own heart, and the richly wooded plain of Worcester- the entire counties of Worcester and Hereford. The shire appears to most advantage in its autumnal livery, eye roved over the vast sea of wood in the former, while nature speaks thus silently, though eloquently, which seems one wide verdant forest. In the midst stood the city of Worcester, famous for its porcelain, with its massive cathedral, (in which repose the ashes of the tyrant John,) and its lofty spires; further onwards, in strong relief, the Clifton and Abberley hills rose over the plain; till we came to the Clee hills and Wrekin, famed in Salop, which bound the view in this direction; leaving Hagley Park, near which is comprehensible; it is, however, sufficiently clear, that certain contingent circumstances exercise a powerful influence over it. We have not yet mentioned Burns, of whose poetry it has been remarked, by those whose arguments we have been endeavouring to controvert, that " there is not much that is purely des It has been ingeniously argued, that romantic and mountainous scenery exercises no influence in forming poetic fancy. Switzerland, that strong hold of the picturesque, is instanced; yet she has produced only one poet, Gesner. The names and histories of Shakspeare, Milton, Spenser, Dryden, Pope, and others, are also brought forward by these reasoners, with a view to prove that poetic feeling is affected by hidden and deeper influences, than mere external objects. It is true, that of our eminent English poets, many may have been born or lived in the metropolis; the crowded streets and noises of which are certainly not very poetical, and we believe that Dryden was laughed at for proposing to write an epic poem, because he had never seen a mountain, while a well-known living poet is jeered as the bard of Cockaigne. But we would en-criptive;" that he seldom soars amongst the more elevated of quire whether, in the majority of instances, the parties had not passed the period of early youth in the country, when the mind is a virgin field, open to all the mysterious influences of nature? There they drank at the fount of their inspiration, for who recalls without a bounding heart that happy period, when the world was yet a sunny paradise before him, when he climbed that crumbling relic of the olden time, swam that river, bounded over those hills, or lay amongst that new-made hay, looking at the glorious sun, yet unconscious of those quicksands which would ere long too fatally engrasp him. Indeed, the lives of most of our great modern poets stand directly opposed to this town theory. Byron was brought up, in early youth, in the highlands of Scotland, and passed much of his life amidst the most spirit-stirring of nature's scenes. Campbell still fondly clings to the remembrance of the land of his fathers; Scott has undoubtedly drawn the fount of his inspiration from the scenes he has passed his life amongst; Southey and Moore are said to detest a town; we have Wordsworth, "Nature's bard," with Coleridge, and the other lake poets; nor should we omit Cunningham and Hogg in this brief enumeration. If these few eminent names, and many more might be added, do not establish the influence of scenery on poetic character, we are at a loss for an argument. A fine scene, or the moral of a ruin in a landscape, comes home with more or less effect to every mind. Still, however, we do not mean to argue that genius may not be found in Cheapside, as well as amongst the lakes; the mind, or in other words, the Sout, is deep and in nature's works, but is most himself whilst describing rural Scenes like these eminently tend to calm and to elevate the mind, and to lead us indeed from nature up to nature's God. One of the boasts of England, a snug farm-house, with its orchard and its trim stack-yard, and well-filled barn and out-tenements, bespeaking plenty and old English comfort, lay below us on the Herefordshire side of the hills. There we turned our eyes with pleasure, for we could individualise the interest, and we inwardly thought of the delights and the pleasures of farming and of a pastoral existence; the sterner realities of that once happy occu the Leasowes of Shenstone, and glancing more to the within our gaze. But we were in a mood to read west, we observed dense clouds of lurid smoke rolling" sermons in stones, and good in every thing." in the horizon, over Birmingham and its thickly populated district; nearer to us lay the vale of Evesham, that rich and fertile belt of country stretching for a distance of forty miles, till it terminates at Thornbury, in Gloucestershire; the Severn might here and there be discovered winding through its high and wooded banks; the Edge Hills, near the classic Stratford-onAvon, where the first encounter between Charles and the Parliament took place, and the extensive Cotswold range melting away in the distance, rose in the background; the towns of Pershore, Tewkesbury, Upton, Cheltenham, with the city of Gloucester and its mag-pation were for the moment shrouded by romance. nificent cathedral, stood plainly forth on this part of the landscape; while the Bristol channel, having the appearance of a vast lake of molten silver, had an almost magical effect on the distant horizon. On the reverse of the landscape was, as we have said, the whole county of Hereford, with its city and cathedral. Roving onwards over the irregular and undulating surface of this beautiful county, (watered by the Wye, and rich with orchards,) we rest on the confines of our British Alps, the "innumerous" hills of Cambria, amongst which the Black Mountains of Brecon and Radnor, rising 2600 feet, stood darkly forth on the frontier; till they mingled with the stern and varied features of Monmouth, and the western portion of the county of Gloucester. The gloomy and elevated nature of the scenery in this quarter of the country has a double effect on the mind, when it is considered that by a single turn of the head the senses wander from the wildness and desolation of that scene to the level plain of Worcestershire, prodigal in richness and fertility; while a host of cities, towns, villages, churches, farm houses, and many minor objects of interest are spread out before you as on a map; and the light and shadow, thrown at intervals over the whole country, give it a thousand different hues which a Claude might envy. Many of the minor features of the Malvern Hills are highly picturesque; a gorge or an elevated broken rock, with scattered sheep, are objects the mind loves to rest on. We seem to rise above and cast off the littleness of the world, as we survey man and his abodes from a lofty elevation. What a vast field for reflection is opened in the scene before us. What a contrast to the busy stream of human existence in the plains beneath did this elevated solitude present. How much of misery or of happiness-of good and of evil; how many an aching heart under a careless brow was to be found in the space embraced A word or two on the HILLS themselves and on the interesting watering-place of Malvern, and we have done. The Malvern Hills are a vast mass of quartz and limestone, rising at the southern extremity of Worcestershire, partially dividing that county from Hereford and Monmouth, and stretching gradually towards that tract; rich to a proverb, which is known as the Vale of Evesham. Standing thus alone in the landscape, it possesses a peculiar character. In a hilly country the variety of commanding objects divide the attention; but thy "blue steep," O Malvern, is ever the same, vasty yet not stern, of matchless sweep, a monarch in the land! Thou art yet before us as we saw thee last, at the close of an Autumn's day; thy flowing majesty of outline stretching away with a giant's grasp, till lost and blended with the shadows of evening; whilst the dying halo from the departing sun threw thy purple summits clearly and beautifully out on the heavens. This was from the "Old Hills," a range of eminences (which are endeared to our remembrance,) about five miles from Worcester and four from Malvern. The view from this point is eminently fine; the eye wandering over a richly-wooded and fertile vale, which sweeps gently away below you, while the Malvern chain, towering in the distance, forms a matchless background. It is a landscape of singular beauty. The sequestered village, (and Abbey church of Great Malvern,) which chiefly lies along an elevated natural terrace on the side of the hills, below the two highest summits, is plainly discernible from this spot. It holds a high rank in picturesque beauty, and as a watering place it is quite unique. The Malvern Hills may lay claim to some interest in a literary point of view, apart from that which they derive from their natural attractions. They were the scene of the earliest British poem, the "Visions of William, concerning Piers Plowman," which is supposed to extract: In a summer season, when soft was the sun, have been written by Longlande, though also ascribed | founded A. D. 1104, by Juga, sister of Ralph to John Malvern, a monk. We present a short Baynard, (who held the manor at the time of the Domesday survey) for a prior and eleven canons, of the order of St. Augustine, and consecrated by Maurice, Bishop of London. At the suppression, this monastery was given to Robert, Earl of Sussex, by that rapacious sovereign, Henry VIII.; but it has since been in the possession of several different families. It was on a bright and beautiful morning at the latter end of October, 1831, that I set out from That went forth in the world wonders to hear, Malvern was a favourite resort of Henry VII., who built the Abbey Church. In its architecture you may trace the same hand which raised that beauteous edifice at Westminster. Its painted windows have long been celebrated, but they exhibit only a type of their olden beauty. Massive and imposing, yet airy in its details, the Abbey exhibits the ravages of the great destroyer on its walls, and a bazaar was held in the village to raise funds for its repair last summer. Since the long visit of the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria, we believe Malvern is fast growing There are three springs, celebrated for their medical efficacy, one of which is far up the acclivity; which combined with the airiness and salubrity of the situation, render it a desirable residence for the invalid. A little below the Worcestershire Beacon is a circular half-ruined building, in fame and extent. the town of Dunmow, in quest of this little temple. I had more than one inducement to lead me there, for, besides its having been so long celebrated for the jocular ceremony of awarding the flitch, or gammon, of bacon (thrice performed within its walls previous to the Reformation), it is there that the fair Matilda lies buried, who, better known by the name of Maid Marian, shared the fortunes of Robin Hood. I was aware that Mr. Douce considers the story as a dramatic fiction, and that the female character which figures in the old ballads was borrowed from a French pastoral drama of the eleventh century, entitled, “Le Jeu du Berger, et de la Bergère," in which the principal persons are Robin and Marian, a shepherd and shepherdess; and I was well acquainted, on the other hand, with the opinion of Mr Steevens, Bishop Percy, and Master Drayton, that the name Marian was originally assumed by a " lady of high degree," who was murdered at Dunmow priory. It was, therefore, with feelings of no common interest, that I first caught a distant view of the modest little fabric: -a field and spacious burial ground dotted with headstones, decayed and covered with moss, separates it from the road. These were soon crossed, and having noticed a neighbouring farmhouse, which stands on the site of the monastery (and wherein is an oak table, of great age and huge dimensions, that groaned with the viands of the richer visitors, who came nearly a century ago to witness the last delivery of the flitch to Master Shakeshanks, wool-comber, and his worthy helpmate), and nearly stumbled over a stone coffin, (hollowed within to suit the shape of the body it once contained) I unlocked the nail-studded door, and entered the church. The No. I.—PRIORY CHURCH, LITTLE DUNMOW, ESSEX. Sunbeams, which streamed through the delicate tra cery-work of three lofty windows, shed a mild radiance upon the surrounding objects, and the serenity which pervaded the whole scene, so different from the tur THIS interesting and venerable relic of the olden time stands in a cornfield, about four miles distant from the town of Dunmow, (the Villa Faustina of the Ro-moil of the world, seemed powerfully to whisper, mans). It was formerly the eastern end of the south "This is none other than the house of God." aisle of a magnificent collegiate church, erected for the joint use of the parish, and of a religious house, A beautiful airy screen of dark oak, curiously carved, and probably coeval with the pile itself, sepa rates the body of the church from the chancel; on the left side of which, between two pillars of the Tuscan order, I found, as I expected, the fair alabaster Effigy of the celebrated Matilda. The face, although much disfigured, bears traces of former beauty: her hands are clasped as in prayer. The following description of this figure, (together with the annexed representations,) is derived from Gough's Sepulchral Monuments. On the head, which reposes upon a cushion, is a covering like a woollen night-cap. She has a collar of SS; a necklace of pendents falling from a rich embroidered neckerchief; a rich girdle, and long robes, the sleeves close to the wrists, and slit there. Her fingers are loaded with rings, there being two on several of them. Her face is round and full, but rather inexpressive. At her head were two angels, now mutilated, and a dog on each side her feet. According to the "Chronicle of Dunmow," in the Monasticon, vol. ii. p. 76, she was buried between two columns in the south part of the choir; but her effigy, with its slab, is now placed upon a gray altar tomb in the position before mentioned. The tomb is decorated with shields in quatrefoils, parted by pairs of arches, and evidently of a more modern style than the incumbent figures. This lady's history is briefly as follows:-She was the daughter of Robert, Baron Fitz-walter, proprietor of Castle Baynard, who is distinguished in English History, as the "Marshal of the Army of God, and Holy Church;" and the leader of the illustrious barons, who extorted Magna Charta from King John. Upon her entering her eighteenth year, he invited the neighbouring nobles to a costly banquet. For three days, justs and tourneys delighted the assembled guests, and won honour and lady's love for many a new-made knight. On the fourth, a strange warrior, cased in mail, entered the lists, and vanquished the bravest of the combatants; his gallant bearing and handsome features enamoured the fair young queen of that high festival, and she blushed deeply when she hung the golden chain around the victor's neck, and kissed his lofty forehead. His countenance was clouded with sorrow, and as he came so he departed, none knew whither. Prince John (afterwards king), who had honoured the castle with his presence, became smitten by the charms of the high-born maiden, and basely endeavoured to obtain her for a mistress. The Baron just and natural indignation, which so enraged the Fitz-walter, her father, treated his proposals with headstrong prince, that (taking advantage of his brother's absence in Palestine, where the greater part of his followers were likewise fighting) he immediately attacked Castle Baynard, and slew its owner: but Matilda fled away to the green forest, and there, on the day following, was again met by the stranger knight; his burnished steel was laid aside, and he told the lady that he was Robin Hood, the outlawed was clad in Lincoln green, the archer's garb. Earl of Huntingdon," at the mention of whose name the warrior trembled in his hall, and the ecclesiastic turned pale, although reclining on the episcopal throne," --and that he would shield her innocence from the fierce and cruel ravisher. retreat, and attacked the foresters; a sanguinary fray The prince discovered her ensued, during which it is said that John and the lady (who was then in male attire) met and fought. The prince required her to yield, and she resolutely desired him to win her first, and so stoutly did she repulse him, that he was constrained to withdraw from the ungallant contest. This part of the story places Matilda in a somewhat unfeminine light, but great allowances must be made for the customs of that age, and the peculiar circumstances of her case. She afterwards married Robin Hood, and when king Richard restored him his earldom and estates, she became Countess of Huntingdon: when her husband was again outlawed by King John, she shared his misfortunes, and, at his death, took refuge in Dunmow He |
