On The Welsh Border

was otherwise called Gilbert de Strongbow. The Clares first became owners of these estates after the death of Roger de Britolio, who seems to have been an exceedingly high-tempered knight. The king having thrown him into prison for disloyalty, this obstreperous Roger let his tongue wag in a most offensive manner, and refused to eat humble pie of any man’s baking. It pleased the king at Easter, however, to send the imprisoned Roger his royal robes, “as was then usual.” This was no doubt a great condescension on the king’s part, but Roger was not mollified by it; on the contrary, he “so disdained the favor that he forthwith caused a great fire to be made, and the mantle, the inner surcoat of silk and the upper garment, lined with precious furs, to be suddenly burned, which being made known to the king, he was not a little displeased;” and by way of expressing his displeasure, observed, “Certainly he is a very proud man who has thus abused me, but, by the brightness of God, be shall never come out of prison as long as I live.” And he never did, but died there.

The first object we notice on approaching Chepstow is a goodly portion of the old town wall, a long distance away from the castle. The ruins of the feudal fortress stand on a high perpendicular limestone precipice, whose base is washed by the waters of the Wye. The castle was so built on the edge of this cliff that the ponderous walls of the ruin seem to blend with the rock on which they stand. A peculiarity of many of these enormous Welsh castles is that, viewed from one point, they appear to spread out with great spaces between their various towers and halls, while from another they seem to be one solid pile of masonry. From across the river, Chepstow Castle displays long reaches of green ivied walls, which seem almost on a level with the ground, they are so hidden underneath their wealth of verdure; but seen from the bridge which spans the Wye just below, the ruins wheel together in a solid and imposing mass. The approach to the castle is on this side, up a gentle hill covered with velvety greensward. The grand entrance is guarded by two lofty towers, with a massive iron-plated door of curious and beautiful workmanship, the plate half fallen off now, through the crumbling of the oak beneath it — oak no