my attention into a shop window; the huge man as suddenly did the fame. I gave a fide-glance at him, but he appeared to be profoundly contemplating a pair of bellows of no particular novelty of fashion. I fprang forward as abruptly as I had stopped, hoping that my great shadow was sufficiently attracted by the bellows to adhere, and thereby, like the fhadow of Peter Schlemyhl, fall away from me. Nothing of the kind. As if my removal was the inevitable cause of his, he turned gravely and renewed-his chase?—no; his pursuit ?-no, it could not be said to be either, but his mechanical following. But he is fat, I thought; and thereupon I put, to use a Derbyshire phrase, my best leg foremost, and went up the steepest part of the street at a rate of at least five miles an hour. It was useless. The stupendous man, if he were not the actual grey man of Peter Schlemyhl, had on, it seemed, his seven-league boots. With enormous strides and the equally great accompanying stretches of a stout stick, he cleared the pavement wonderfully, and was still just two yards behind me.

"This is intolerable!" I faid to myself, and, wheeling suddenly round, I ftood and gazed down over the town, and over the Wye circling round its base, and over the Gloucestershire fields and woods beyond. The man wheeled round too, blew a large hot breath from his puffed cheeks-I had tired him a little then!-took off a capacious broad-brimmed hat, and, wiping a capacious forehead with a brilliant red and yellow filk handkerchief, revealed a gigantic head-what a head he had! -covered with a profusion of brown and curly hair.

"A very fine view," he observed, still gazing round on the extensive scene of town and ships, and Wye and distant Severn. "Very!" I said, somewhat short. "Very, indeed," he replied with a much more amiable complacency. I went on, and fo did the imperturbable, inevitable ftranger. Then

thought I, if he will stick to me, here he shall stand some time and cool his heels. I ftood still and stared him full in the face. He looked with a broad, frank look,-I could not call it a ftare -also at me, and obferved, "I take it you are for the Beaufort Arms ?" "I am," I refponded. "Then I am for the Beaufort Arms, too." It was too much: I went on again, and as the great stranger entered the lobby of the house at the same moment, he observed, "I take it that you propose to breakfast here?" "Just so," I replied. "Then I am for breakfast, too,” he added; "and so we may as well breakfast together.'

The adhesive tendency of the ftranger was fingular, but he had nothing finister or unpleasant in his appearance; I was under no apprehenfion of bailiffs or fpies, nor did he look like either; on the contrary, he had an ample, open, good-natured and intelligent aspect. There was nothing to be faid against his propofition. I fate down to a table ready spread, and ordered coffee and beeffteak. "The fame for me," said the incomprehenfible, and feated himself opposite to me. We breakfafted for fome time in filence, then the great presence began to drop sententious remarks: the air in the early morning in the boat was chilly-the fun now was very cheeringthis town ftood on a very steep hill-fide-a good inn this Beaufort Arms-and fo on; to all which I affented, for there was no denying the affertions.

"And now, I

We paid our bills, and rofe fimultaneously. take it," faid my chofen companion,—the choice being all on his infcrutable fide,-"that you are for Tintern." "Exactly so," I faid. “Then I am for Tintern, too," he remarked, “ and fo let us join at a chaise, or a boat. I don't mind which."

“But first," I said, “I shall visit the castle here." "By all means," he replied; "I am at your fervice for that."

"And fo," I thought, as we began to descend again to the left towards the castle ruins, "my jolly Great Unknown, you are for Tintern,-fix miles, and a good spell up-hill; and you dream of a boat up the Wye, or a chaise up the steep hereha! ha! we shall fee! I now perceive a coming divorce from my zealously attached one. If he will do as I do on the way to Tintern, I warrant him he never did such a penance yet; so, whatever the upshot, let us at all events be agreeable. A chaife indeed! A boat!"

I must in my internal amusement have faid the last words audibly, for my great rofy friend remarked, "Ay, it will be a boat, I think, for we are descending." At the next moment we stood before that great extent of ancient towers and walls, enclosed in their grass-grown ditch, and beautifully draped with ivy. I pulled out my guide-book; my great double, or rather quadruple, drew out one exactly the fame. "What an extenfive place," I observed, and began to read; my friend-for I think I may call him so, for he showed a remarkable preference for my company-alfo reading in filence. "The caftle was founded in the eleventh century by William Fitzofborn, Earl of Hereford, a relative of William the Conqueror. In the thirteenth century the greater part of the original structure was taken down, and one, larger and of great ftrength, was erected. It is still a magnificent pile, towering upon the summit of a cliff whose base is washed by the claffic Wye. The fite occupies three acres of ground, and is divided into four courts. "That is probable,” I observed,-"I mean, that it arose in the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, for it bears a wonderful resemblance to the old castle and town-walls of Conway, which were built in the eleventh. You observe these great round battlemented towers, with their straight battlemented walls,

ftretching from one tower to the other."

"I never faw

Conway," replied my friend; "that is interefting."

But we need not repeat all our remarks. I will now awhile draw from more extensive sources than the guide-book the chief particulars of the history of this castle. There have not been wanting those who have attributed the original

CHEPSTOW CASTLE.

structure to the Romans, fimply because a few Roman bricks are vifible in the walls of what is called the chapel. It may have been fo; but the Britons at least had a castle here, which ́ they called Caftell Gwent, or Cafgwent, as the town was called by the Saxons Chepeftowe, or place of trade. But the

K

Normans, who raised what remains now, termed it Striguil, and it appears in Doomsday-Book as Caftellum de Eftrighoiel, and in ancient charters is named Striogul, Striguil, etc. It is divided into four courts, two of which are now used as gardens. As you enter the great eastern portal you behold on your right hand a number of dilapidated offices, befides the lodge of the keeper, and on your left hand the south-eastern ancient tower or citadel, now called Marten's Tower. On your left hand in the third court stand the walls of a fine old gothic building, ninety feet in length, and thirty in breadth, which is called the chapel, but was probably the baronial hall. The ftyle of the arches and niches which remain are more modern than the rest of the castle, and poffefs much elegance. The fourth court was approached formerly by a drawbridge, long ago destroyed; and the entrance at the western extremity of the castle was also defended by a portcullis, and another drawbridge over the ditch.

The William Fitzofborn who built Striguil or Chepstow castle, fought, it seems, at Haftings, and in reward for his services was made jufticiary of England, and received this property, as well as others. But it did not remain in his family beyond the next generation. His eldest fon, like nearly all the Normans who came with the Conqueror who had estates at home, returned to them, and left landless adventurers to get estates in England. His fecond fon was a monk; and his third fon, Roger, rebelled against the king, and was put in prison. Whilst there the king fent him a fuit of royal robes,-that is, a fuit of his cast-off clothes,-which so offended him that he threw them into the fire. This, again, so incensed the king that he vowed, "by the brightness of God," that the proud Roger fhould never come out of prison; and there Roger died. The king then gave his estate to Gilbert, furnamed Strongbow, brother of