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broken roof-gables, chimneys, tiles, and roofwindows-does this pile present! The chimneyssome square,
some round, some clustered, some solitary, some straight, some spiral-have a very singular effect, and may well, as tradition tells, have been brought bodily from Fulbrooke Park, (whence Shakspeare is said to have stolen deer,) on wooden platforms, and re-erected here in all their original quaint forms. Let us turn across the lawn, listen to a sleepy fountain fed from the neighbouring hills, and pass to the massive old porch, with its much-worn side benches, its old oak bullet-battered door, its armorial bearings of the royal and the Compton arms; and let us pass into the quiet quadrangle, around which the hall is built. Before us is the entrance to the great hall, well-wainscoted with fine old carvings of quaint and ludicrous subjects, with its minstrel-gallery, long silent and deserted, and a solitary 'black-jack,' long dry and dusty, hanging on the wall. Let us notice the beauty of the carvings of the screen, and the fine proportions of the open-timbered roof; let us pass up narrow stairs to the various old rooms; see the secret recesses behind the wainscoting and underneath the arras, where two or three companies of riflemen—we mean Cavaliers-might secretly be lodged. Let us visit the chapel and adjoining rooms; look at the old huge kitchen, and see the Priests' rooms up stairs, with secret doors and traps recently discovered, and one little room with a window always found open in the morning, although closed the previous night. Let us pause to admire the many finely-decorated ceilings,
now recently restored; the noble room with the royal arms in stained glass in the windows, in which the burly Monarch' slept when he came to Sir William Compton's house-warming apparently) in this old hall. Let us pass through corridors and stairs to the roof-rooms called "barracks,' where ample accommodation was provided for the royalist troops by the Compton of the civil wars, when the Cavalier and Roundhead met at Edgehill, or when this solitary mansion was attacked by Sir Samuel Luke in 1644. Let us step on the leads, and look on the curious bird's-eye view of the place, its picturesque chimneys and roofs; its antique stables, its dove-cote like the Glastonbury kitchen, its solitary little church, its quiet moat, its curiously-clipped trees, its lonely situation in this wooded valley, far from even a village, to say nothing of a town. High in the roof of the chief part of the mansion is an open timber-roofed little hall, with three separate staircases to different parts of the house, and sundry hiding-places near, where it is supposed some of the family may have followed the rites of the old religion ’ long after the Reformation doctrines had spread through the land, and Protestantism had become a popular creed. The Protestant chapel below, as it is called, was evidently commonly used; and there is no reason to doubt that this old roof chapel was used by some members of the old faith' when it was dangerous to do so, and when ready means of escape were needed, should the rites and ceremonies be disturbed by strangers, or revealed by the residents in the house itself. Leaving the labyrinth of rooms, many of which are singularly interesting besides those named, let us thank our kind guide, Mr. Burnham, for showing us over this curious relic of olden days; pass by the stables, now desolate and deserted, cross the solemn avenue which leads up to the house, and visit the singular and solitary old church. It is a small but curious old place, with a double-vaulted ceiling, on one part of which is painted a representation of 'Day,' and on the other of ‘Night,' with clouds and constellations in abundance. Several banners mouldering away remain to tell the tale of Compton loyalty and the troublous days of the Civil War; some mouldy hatchments mark the death and the achievements of the family; and several much-broken monumental effigies tell the story of the attack in 1646, when, as Dugdale says, the monuments of Sir W. Compton and his lady, and of their grandson, Lord Henry, 'which were very beautiful and stately, were then utterly razed and knockt in pieces; ' and that as he was 'not so happy as to take notice of them while they stood, he was obliged to content himself with copying the Compton window in Balliol College, Oxford, as a memorial of the founder of this House.' The little footpath, long deserted, which leads from the church porch to the hall gate, will ere long be trodden, doubtless, by the family again, as the present Marquis has rescued the place from its slow decay and destruction, and preserved the building, while he has to some extent destroyed the solemn, mournful interest of this long-deserted hall and park.”
HOW WE CLOMB THE GREAT ORME'S
Many times, in sailing from Liverpool to Menai and back, had we gazed with delight on the two hills which bear respectively the names of the Great and Little Orme's Head. As the vessel passed by, we looked, with the hope of one day climbing their green sides, of gazing on the sea from those two beautiful projecting headlands, and of watching the tide's ebb and flow, and listening to the Ocean's thunder-hymn, from the beautiful bay of Llandudno. We had passed these objects of our desire when the sea was calm as a lake, not a ripple upon its waters, while the gorgeous summer was making glad the glorious mirror that reflected his beams. We had passed them when the fierce winds lashed the waves into billows, which madly rolled against their precipitous and rocky sides, covering them with foam, and falling back only to make a more boisterous and terrible attack on these strongholds of the earth, again to fall impotently into the mass of foaming and raging waters. We had stood on deck, covered with the spray which the winds bore on their wings over the vessel's side, and watched the waves roll into that pleasant little bay, as if they would have
found joy in swallowing the village that calmly reposed on the hills and steep places around it. We had passed them in the quiet even-time, when the rich glory of the setting sun gave earth and ocean its own unequalled hues of loveliness and grace. In the still night-time, when alternate clouds and moon gave a variety of adornments to the whole, had we gazed upon those hills, and longed, with the intensity of ramblers, to climb their heights, and look upon the waves over which we were then sailing from their attractive summits. In all times, and in all moods, had we beheld them; and in our heart of hearts registered a vow, that some day or other we would have a ramble over the Great Orme's Head.
Late in a beautiful autumn the opportunity so long desired came, and, with a joyous heart, we seized it, to fulfil our long made promise. We had been making a coast journey through North Wales, and arrived late at night in the famous old town of Conway. Conway was well known to us; we had visited its pleasant places, rambled over every spot of its ruined castle, been over and through its wonderful bridges, gathered weeds and shells round its bay ; but now we had another object in view, and, late as it was, we resolved not to spend the night in Conway. We made several vain attempts to get a conveyance to Llandudno. All the hotels were desirous of keeping us, and threw obstacles in our way. Messengers were dispatched from one hotel to another, but all refused a carriage. At this, the driver was gone to