Gaston de Blondeville, vol. 1 of 4 : $b or the court of Henry III. keeping festival in Ardenne, a romance. St. Alban's abbey, a metrical tale; with some poetical piecesRadcliffe, Ann Ward
History
Gaston de Blondeville, vol. 1 of 4 : $b or the court of Henry III. keeping festival in Ardenne, a romance. St. Alban's abbey, a metrical tale; with some poetical pieces
Radcliffe, Ann Ward
Gothic fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Henry III, 1216-1272 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
forest, in the west, while a heavy shower darkened an open valley in the
east, softened the verdure of the nearer hills, and spread over the
woods and meadows and villages a gradual chastening tint, that was
enchanting. At length, the spire of the great church of Southampton
appeared over the woods in front, while the town was yet unseen.”
After a short notice of Southampton, where Mrs. Radcliffe remained only
two nights, the Journal proceeds:—
“After breakfast, set off for Lyndhurst; passed along the head of the
bay, and by Millbrook, then the long bridge and causeway. After a long
hill, descend upon the New Forest, and pass between open lawns and
woods, capping every little eminence, and spreading round like those of
Kensington Gardens. Longed for the speed of a stag to bound along these
lawns and endless forest-glades. Dined at the Crown, in a parlour
opposite to the inn, which was full; some forest-commissioners here. The
Princess Sophia of Gloucester expected at the King’s House; shown to us
by an elderly woman. Good rooms; ancient furniture. A wood fire on the
hearth of the Princess’s room and on that of the dining-room below. All
these rooms look under thick lofty trees to the forest woods, that rise
close over the village, towards Brokenhurst. Oak-benches at the upper
end of Rufus’-hall, where the forest courts are held—the most ancient
part of the building. A large iron stirrup, called Rufus’s stirrup.
“From Lyndhurst, the ride to Brokenhurst is through five miles of
pompous forest groves, of which grandeur is the characteristic, mingled
with great beauty. The forest crowds over the road. Only two spots the
whole way where the trees retire round lawns. Hence to Lymington: the
country is inclosed; but still the lanes are forest-lanes. Passed
Boldre, leaving Mr. Gilpin’s a mile on the left, and soon came in view
of the Isle of Wight, with Lymington, and its neat cupola-church. Came
in at dusk; made our way in the market-place, between waggons and cheese
piled up for the morrow’s fair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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