actress, and the mother of a royal child. The lively, witty, charming, and generous Nell Gwynn was born in this obscure nook, which nearly joins the episcopal palace of which her grandson, in after times, became the proprietor. Of all the favourites of the most profligate court in Europe, where women of the highest rank strove for the distinction of dishonour, Nell Gwynn was the least guilty. She had neither birth, instruction, nor example, to have guarded her against the dangers into which her beauty led her, and, but that the knowledge of wrong is innate, she had every excuse for her laxity of conduct, which could not be accorded to those ladies who envied her position, and strove to share it. Of none of them is it recorded, as a veil that might cover the multitude of their sins, that they used their powerful influence over a careless and weak, but occasionally kind-hearted monarch, to assist the poor and right the injured. Chelsea Hospital stands an everlasting memorial of the benevolence and generosity of Nell Gwynn; and rightly has it been said that "her errors have vanished in the blaze of her munificence."

At the bottom of Widemarsh Street there are several projecting houses of antique appearance, whose upper stories hang over the footway; and here was once the Angel Inn, where a young lieutenant of horse was quartered in the year 1717. With him was his young wife, who, having arrived after a fatiguing journey from Lichfield, where they usually resided, was taken ill, and the result was her presenting her husband with a boy, who was no other than the friend of Dr. Johnson and the wits of his age; the admired of all his countrymen, and the boast of the drama,-David Garrick.

When James the First paid a visit to Hereford, he was received at Ingeston House, in the neighbourhood, the seat of a gentleman of much consideration, Mr. Sergeant Hoskyns, who entertained him most royally; and, in order to prove to the king the salubrity of the air of this district, he caused a morrice-dance to be performed before him, which was executed by ten old men and women whose united ages amounted to a thousand years. No doubt this was just the sort of pastime to suit the taste of his refined Majesty, who must have been highly delighted with the exhibition.

The Cathedral of Hereford, the boast of the country, is now under repair, and the works are directed by a judicious admirer of art-the present Dean being a man of singular taste and judgment. Much that has formerly been done in the way of improvement is being cleared away, and, by this means, whole ranges of beautiful arches, and pillars of exquisite beauty, long covered with brick and mortar, are coming to light; brasses of the most splendid kind, monuments, windows, and columns are rising from the rubbish of years, and emancipating themselves from the thraldom of ignorance, which has concealed their beauties under a mask of plaster from year to year.

The Lady Chapel is exquisite, and, when entirely restored, will be most beautiful. St. Cantilupe's aisle is full of graceful columns and Saxon arches, and a perfect maze of splendid architecture opens upon the sight in the various chapels which adorn this once gorgeous edifice, where enough remnants of painting and gilding remain to show how splendid it must have been in early days. Nothing can, however, exceed its present confusion; and many years, and the expenditure of large sums of money, will be required before it presents an aspect of its former self, and before service can be performed beneath its roof.

The remains of cloisters, once very extensive, show them to have been extremely grand, but so demolished, that to restore them seems almost impossible.

The College, with its cloisters a hundred feet long, has a gloomy, monastic effect; the oak rafters of the roof are curiously carved with the figures of animals in grotesque profusion.

There are several other churches in Hereford, and all, both old and new, have an imposing appearance, and add grace to the aspect of the

town.

The neighbourhood of Hereford, owing to the vicinity to the Welsh borders, abounds in ruined castles, and, within a drive, are many abbeys extremely interesting. The venerable remains of Clifford Castle, in one of whose now mouldered towers the beautiful Rosamond was born, stand conspicuous on a lofty hill. Dore Abbey, once the retreat of a learned body of Cistercian monks, remarkable for their literary attainments as well as their piety, has much to interest in its present renovated state, though its glories have long departed. There is scarcely a hill which was not formerly crowned by a fortress; but most of these have, in the course of time, been swept away.

The once redoubted Castle of Wigmore, possessed by the haughty and independent Mortimers, who disputed the rights of England's monarchs as Lords Marchers, and whose descendant, Edward the Fourth, conqueror at the terrible battle of Mortimer's Cross, became himself the sovereign, is now a majestic ivy-covered ruin, even in decay preserving its grandeur, and dominating the country over which it reigns.

A dependent abbey nestled beneath its shadow, in whose holy precincts the mighty lords, returned to dust, were laid, at length, in peace. All this part of the country was under the dominion of the Earls of March, and is called Wigmore Land.

Vestiges of Roman and British camps also exist in great numbers; and the Roman town of Kenchester, or Magna-castra, about three miles from Hereford, may furnish all the museums in the country with relics of that wondrous people.

At Netherwood was born the imprudent and impetuous Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, who could not brook reproof even from his sovereign, an enamoured woman, and perished in his youth on a scaffold, leaving his royal mistress a prey to regret and remorse.

Traditionary spots abound in every direction; the ill-fated Ethelbert and the treacherous Offa offering subjects at many a village and on many a hill and legends of the middle ages are sufficiently rife hereabouts. Amongst others, there is a strange story told, explanatory of the figure of a huge green dragon with expanded wings, represented on the walls of the church of Mordesford.

It seems that there existed here, in times of old, one of those monsters which might be considered altogether as fabulous, did not the researches of geologists bring daily to light huge bones of animals, whose elongated necks and gigantic and fearfully-shaped heads and bodies singularly resemble the fairy-tale descriptions handed down to us of such. This "lothly worm," this "winged serpent," this "dragon huge and grim," was accustomed to disport himself on the banks of the rivers Lugg and Wye, at the spot where their waters meet. His cave was on a forest-crowned height above the floods, and he would sally forth, in his moods, and desolate the country for miles, sparing neither man nor beast. No knight was found at length hardy enough to offer

him combat-so many having fallen in encounters with him, torn by his talons, or poisoned by his breath. A malefactor, doomed to die, was the hero for whom the accomplishment of the adventure was destined. He offered, if his life were granted him, to attack the enemy; concealed himself in a brake till the dragon came down to the river to drink, then set upon him in a lucky hour, and succeeded in slaying the scourge of the country. But, while his grateful fellow-citizens were preparing to reward him for the service he had rendered them, the champion became aware that the pestiferous breath of his monster antagonist had poisoned him, and it was soon evident that he must die. He was borne to the neighbouring convent, and surrounded by the holy brotherhood, whose prayers soothed his departing soul till he expired. Masses were instituted for him, and the representation of his adventure was painted on the church.

It is singular that a similar tradition is often repeated, not only in various parts of England, but abroad; probably, it owes its origin to the monkish custom of figuring heresy under the form of a serpent or dragon. The Druids are frequently named, both in the Welsh triads, and other ancient writings, as serpents, from their worship as well as from their supposed evil lives; and all disbelievers of every nation may come under the head of dragons, and worms of different kinds. It is, however, not impossible that these tales are other than allegorical, and that some strange and fearful animal did really exercise a power which was with difficulty destroyed; for, even in modern times, in mountainous and wild countries, bears and wolves have been known so to desolate a district, that a party of determined hunters have at length been obliged to set forth on an expedition of extermination.

Another story is told of this part of Herefordshire, which is recorded to have occurred in the time of Queen Elizabeth, when, according to several historians, who appear to tremble as they write, a hill called Marclay began to walk" in a most surprising and awful manner. Camden relates that the hill "rose as it were from sleep, and, for three days, moved on its vast body with a horrible noise, driving everything before it to an higher ground."

Fuller goes further still, asserting that no less than twenty acres set forth on their travels for fourteen hours, and ascended ́eleven fathoms, up hill, leaving a chasm four hundred feet wide and five hundred and fifty long. Little less marvellous is the version of Sir Richard Baker, in his "Chronicle of England:"

"In the thirteenth year of Queen Elizabeth a prodigious earthquake happened in the east parts of Herefordshire, at a little town called Kinnaston. On the 17th of February, at six o'clock in the evening, the earth began to open, and a hill, with a rock under it, making at first a great bellowing noise, which was heard a great way off, lifted itself up and began to travel, bearing along with it the trees that grew upon it, the sheep-folds, and flocks of sheep abiding there, at the same time. In the place from where it first moved, it left a gaping distance forty foot broad and fourscore ells long: the whole field was about twenty acres. Passing along, it overthrew a chapel standing in the way, removed a yew-tree planted in the churchyard from the west to the east. With the like force it thrust before it highways, sheepfolds, hedges, and trees, made tilled ground pasture, and again turned pasture into tillage. Having walked in this sort from Saturday evening till Monday noon, it then stood still."

VOL. XVII.

Y Y

All this wonderful relation resolves itself into the fact, that here a landslip of considerable extent occurred; and for the twenty acres read two: nor is there any ground for supposing that its motion was opposed to the laws of gravitation, or that the hill was so ambitious as to attempt the ascent of another hill, though, like Burnham, there is no doubt that it did move.

At no great distance from Hereford is the ancient town of Leominster, the name of which is fancifully derived, by some learned historians, from a very remarkable circumstance that happened to Merwald, king of the Marches, who is said to have either met a lion near the town, or to have had a vision of such an animal, and who, in remembrance of his escape, or his terror, founded a monastery for nuns on the spot. But from the latter event, as a more probable derivation, some accounts are satisfied to allow the town to have been called, from the Welsh Llanllheny, meaning church and nunnery. The Danes destroyed this famous convent, which was rebuilt; and not long after the beautiful Abbess Edgiva forgot her vows for love, and listened to the sighs of Swain Earl of Hereford, with whom she fled to

"Some bright little isle of his own,"

disgracing her name and her order, and causing the banishment of her rash lover. It is recorded that Swain, after a time, was permitted by his father, Earl Godwin, to return to his kingdom; but history tells nothing of the fate of the fair creature, who, imprudent and frail,

"Set, like stars that fall to rise no more."

The church of Leominster is a fine one; and, amongst other charitable institutions, there is an almshouse, founded by the widow of a man who, it was said, gave away the greatest part of his estate during his life, and experienced the fate of Timon from his ungrateful friends. His statue, holding a hatchet, was placed in a niche over the entrance, with the following quaint and ludicrous piece of advice inscribed above it :

"Let him that gives his goods before he be dead,

Take this hatchet, and cut off his head."

Owen Glendower took possession of Leominster; and in a dungeon, now a stable, in Church Street, confined Mortimer Earl of March, whom the chance of war had placed in his hands. Glendowr also plundered the church of much of its riches, and levied heavy contributions on the monks of the priory.

The circumstances of the imprisonment of Mortimer are thus detailed: Owen, provoked at the injustice which he had experienced from Lord Grey of Ruthyn, took up arms to recover possession of an estate, of which he had been deprived by that nobleman. Henry the Fourth, totally regardless of the justice of the case, sent assistance to Grey, and then began a fearful contest, which ended by Glendowr's desolating the domains of Grey, who advanced from Wigmore to give him combat. The two chiefs are said to have struggled hand to hand; and to this fight Hotspur is made by Shakspeare, to whom all traditions were familiar, to allude, when he addresses the king, in answer to his refusal to ransom Mortimer, then captive to the victor Glendowr:

"Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sov'reign liege,
But by the chance of war: to prove that true

Needs no more than one tongue for all those wounds-
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,

When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank
In single opposition, hand to hand,

He did confound the best part of an hour,

In changing hardiment with great Glendowr.

Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of sweet Severn's flood;

Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp'd head in a hollow bank,

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants."

By refusing to ransom Mortimer at this time, Henry committed a great error, which was, however, caused by his jealousy of the Earl of March, who had a good right to the crown of England after the resignation of Richard the Second. The consequence was, that Mortimer and Glendowr agreed to take part with each other, in conjunction with the Percies of Northumberland; and thus the whole country became a scene of slaughter, till the battle of Shrewsbury decided the fate of Wales and England.

There is a tradition current in Wules, that Owen Glendowr died at the manor of Monnington, in Herefordshire, which then belonged to one of his married daughters. After his last battle with the English at Pwll-Melyn, the wizard Glendowr, as usually happened when his cause went wrong, disappeared, and wandered about the country, concealing himself as he could. Some assert that he died in Heywood Forest of famine; others, that he stayed with one of his daughters at Kentchurch, where he was said to have taken refuge; and a place was long shown which had served as a stable to those wonderful horses of his, on which he was commonly believed to take journeys through the air. After his supposed death, a singular character appeared, called by the Welsh, Sion Cent, or John of Kent, wearing the habit of a Franciscan monk, whose supernatural knowledge, and secret deeds of power, caused it to be shrewdly suspected that the Welsh prince had assumed this garb, and changed his name, in order to end his days in peaceful though dangerous and mysterious study.

Near the fine old town-hall, or Brother Close, of Leominster, are still remaining a few of the striped houses which formerly were conspicuous and numerous, and which, appearing singly in ancient towns, serve to tell tales of former days, and add interest to the streets, now generally improved into common-place, and rendered unattractive to the lovers of historical recollections.