formed a “rural confusion.” The velocity of the stream shortly brought us to that noble scenery, about four miles from Ross, which so eminently distinguishes and constitutes the beauty of the Wye; before us, the noble remains of Goodrich Castle, cresting a steep eminence, enveloped with trees, presented themselves; behind, the thick foliage of Chase Woods closed the picture. The happiest gradation of tints, and the liveliest blending of colours, was here conspicuous. On the right hand we landed on the shore, in order to make a minute investigation of the castle: it is certainly a grand ruin, and stands on an eminence, naturally so steep, as to render it, in former times, capable of some resistance against a formidable enemy. On our first entrance into the ruin, we naturally indulged reflections on past scenes, contemplated the traces of ancient splendour; and connecting what remains, with what is destroyed; we pondered on the vanity of human art, and the ravages of time, which exhibit, in this ruin, their compleatest triumph. The warrior, who strove to preserve its original grandeur against the attacks of Cromwell, is buried in Walford church, situated on the opposite side of the river, and seen from the castle. The different parts of the building, bear evident marks of its having been erected at various times; from a seat in the castle-yard is the most advantageous spot for surveying, in one view, the whole of this ruin: an octagon pillar, of light and elegant workmanship, is seen to great advantage through the gate-way, and adds considerably to the magnificence of this ancient pile: it now belongs to Dr. Griffin, of Hadnuck, the lord of the manor. To return to our boat: we took a different and more circuitous route, for the purpose of inspecting the remains of Goodrich Priory, now converted into a farm. The chapel has experienced the same vicissitude; and those walls, which formerly re-echoed with the chaunting of voices, and the solemn peal, now repeat the continued strokes of the flail; in many parts of the walls, the initials of names of persons, who have long since paid the debt of nature, and left behind no other memorial, are carved with characteristic rudeness, shewing, to every passing stranger, the prevalency of that universal passion—the love of fame. The Gothic windows, and the cross, erected on each end of the building, shew evident marks of its former purpose. The boat usually meets the passengers at another reach of the river; but it is a plan by no means to be pursued; since, by missing a circuit round the castle, its different tints, and variety of attitudes, occasioned by one of the boldest sweeps of the Wye, are entirely lost. A short time after we had taken our last retrospect of Goodrich Castle, the spire of Ruredean church appeared in front, just peeping from among the woody skirts of the Forest of Dean: a little below, Courtfield House, belonging to Mr. Vaughn, was seen, in a very picturesque point of view,