Oct. 26th.—Visited Umberslade; this ancient seat of the Archer family is about fifteen miles from Leamington in Warwickshire. The view of the house and grounds is good from the obelisk; the latter leans fearfully, and totters to its fall. The mansion is a fine old handsome square building, cased in stone, and balustraded around the flat roof with the same material. We proceeded to the church of Tanworth, and inspected the monuments of the family. Thence we visited “The Butts;” a farm-house is now called by that name, of course; the place was formerly the archery ground.
My love of beautiful scenery, the faint remembrance I retained of the mountains of Wales, and the wandering propensities inherent in my nature, added to a desire to revisit Conway, because the pilgrim was born within the walls, induced me to go into Wales.
Dec. 4th.—The entrance to Conway from a distance is very beautiful; it has finer hills around it than you would be led to suppose, judging by the views generally taken of the castle; the suspension-bridge is handsome, and in keeping with the ancient building. I visited the old ruin, which afforded me the greatest pleasure, and went over the ancient walls that encompass the town; there are fifty picturesque points of view in Conway.
Darkness coming on, I took refuge at the Castle Inn, a good, comfortable, and very clean house: my dinner consisted of a leg of the most delicious Welsh mutton, for which Conway is especially famed, and which is more like our gram fed mutton in the East, than any I have tasted: the English sheep are generally large, fat, and very coarse; and the mutton is decidedly inferior to that of India. A troutlet fresh from the river was excellent; the Welsh ale good, and the cheerful fire was most agreeable.
5th.—I discovered William Thomas, an old servant, who formerly lived with my grandmother; he keeps a small inn: the man was very glad to see one of the family, and he became my escort to the house in which I was born, which having been sold by my father, is now the property of the Castle Inn. I went over it: in the room formerly my nursery were a couple of twins, and the landlady wished me to take lodgings there, saying they would be very cheap in the winter. I could not find a harper in Conway; it being the winter season, the only one they appear to have had quitted the place; he is there during the summer, when visitors are plentiful. Nor could I even see a Welsh harp, which they tell me differs from all other instruments of the same kind. With great pleasure I revisited the old castle, admired the great hall, and the donjon keep; the pilgrim was not born in the latter, but in “the flanking walls that round it sweep,” that is, within the walls of Conway. The ivy which covers the castle walls in the richest profusion is remarkably fine, the wall-flowers most fragrant. Irish ivy is however larger and finer. The well-known lines—
“On a rock whose haughty brow
Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood”
present to the imagination an idea of a grandeur of rock and waterfall that you do not find near the castle. Old Conway’s “foaming flood” is a small river flowing close to the rocky site on which the castle is built; the rock is of slate stone, and in digging for slate some hundred years ago the foundation of one of the old towers was undermined, and a part fell in; the work was stopped, and the old castle is still in fine preservation. The oriel window in the Queen’s tower is to be admired, and the banquet-hall must have been very handsome. Quitting the castle I went to the church,—a very handsome old one, if viewed from within, and very old and curious if viewed externally. It contains some ancient and curious monuments: on a flat stone in the chancel the name of Archer attracted my attention; on it is this inscription:—
Here lyeth yᵉ body of
Richᵈ Hookes of Conway
Gent—who was the 41ˢᵗ child
of his father Wᵐ Hookes
Esqʳᵉ by Alice his wife
and yᵉ father of 27 children
who died yᵉ 20 day of march
1631
N.B. This stone was revived
in the year 1720
