The village is beautifully intersected with trees, and the houses are examples of neatness and simplicity. The people look cheerful and contented; and every shrub or flower which here profusely expands, seems proudly to rejoice and flourish in this charming retreat.
A walk through this village will make the tourist thoroughly acquainted, in his own belief, with the persons who inhabit it, although he never heard the history of one of them, from the rector to the tinker. The first portrait that rises in his imagination is the venerable curate, with contentment beaming in his mild eyes, his silver locks flowing over his well-brushed thread-bare coat, with snow-white neck-cloth, mended small clothes, black hose and polished shoes, visiting the cottage of some invalid—a lovely girl, scarce sixteen, the rose of the village, who had long been stretched upon a bed of sickness, but now blessed with returning health, seated at the door, the fresh evening air playing with her fair locks, the woodbine clustering over her head, a slight tinge of vermilion spreading on her cheeks, her eyes upraised in pious gratitude to heaven, and to him who prayed beside her, and for her, morning and evening, and who now with grateful heart holds up his hands to the Creator, in thankfulness for her convalescence.
The next object is the village surgeon; a busy, merry, bustling, prying, talkative, little gentleman, who amuses one patient with all the scandal he has been able to pick up about another; but, notwithstanding, a most important person, and people feign illness for the gratification his visits communicate; constant in his morning calls from house to house, he continues to pick up all the flying rumours of the day; and at night is, of course, the object looked up to, in all parties, as the oracle, in whom all the secrets of the village are deposited, while he is cautious not to commit himself, by imprudent exposures.
Then comes the lawyer, with snuff-coloured riding coat with brass buttons, top-booted, and spurred, who does very well for himself, by doing his neighbours in a professional way.
Then come the ladies, who are of course all nature, no art, sweetness, simplicity, and all that; but as I am not going to write a volume upon rural life, I will just give a short description of
WITTINGTON CASTLE.
“In ancient days, of high renown,
Not always did yon castle frown
With ivy crested brow;
Nor were its walls with moss embrowned,
Nor hung the lanky weeds around
That fringe its ruins now.”Fitz-Gwarine.
In the year 843, when Roderick the Great was King of Wales, a British noble, named Ynyr ap Cadfarch, built the Castle of Wittington. He was succeeded by his son Tudor Trevor, whose descendants possessed it for many generations; and many families at this day trace their origin to him.
At the Conquest, Wittington became the property of Pain Peveril, who dying without issue, it was seized by Roger, Earl of Shrewsbury, and passed into the hands of Hugh, his son, who was succeeded by his brother Robert; but he being defeated by Henry I, the castle was restored to the Peverils, in the person of Sir William Peveril, who was a great warrior, and is said to have miraculously recovered from a (supposed) mortal wound by eating the shield of a wild boar. He had a daughter named Mellet, whose exceeding beauty attracted many suitors; but, being of Amazonian mind, she declared she would marry none but the knight who proved himself best and bravest in the field. Her father published this declaration, and promised the Castle of Wittington as her dower. The trial took place at the Peak in Derbyshire, and Guarine de Metz, who had a shield of silver, and a peacock crest, overcame all his rivals, and obtained the beautiful Mellet. His posterity, for nine generations, assumed the name of Fulk, a race of heroes who performed extraordinary feats of arms, and for a full account of which the reader is referred to the history of Wittington, a little book of forty-one pages, by William Davies, L.M.W.S., Head Master of Caernarven School.
The ninth, and last Fulk Fitz Gwarine, died here in his minority, in the reign of Henry IV, and his sister Elizabeth, the heiress to the estates, married Richard Hankfdd, who left his possessions to his only daughter Thomasine, who married Sir William Bourchire, brother to Henry, the first Earl of Essex; and the title of Lord Fitz Warine was given to Sir William, in consequence of his marriage.
John, the third in descent from him, exchanged Wittington with Henry VIII for other landed property. This John was the first Earl of Bath, and his family retained the name of Fitz-Warren until the race became extinct, which took place at the death of Henry, the fifth Earl of Bath. This place was presented by Elizabeth, to Henry Grey Duke of Suffolk, who fortified it in consequence of several crimes imputed to him by the bigot Mary, who granted it to Fitz-Alan, the last Earl of Arundel, who mortgaged it to a number of London citizens, and William Albany, the chief amongst them was appointed sole possessor of it, and by the marriage of whose grand daughter it fell into the hands of Thomas Lloyd Aston Esq. in whose family it now remains.