It consists of two rooms, considerably below the present level of the street—the first being fifteen feet long, eight feet wide, and about six and a half feet deep. The Hypocaust is of rectangular shape, about the same size, but, except at the entrance, not more than half as deep as the first chamber. It was originally supported by thirty-two square pillars, two and a half feet high, and one foot in diameter at top and bottom: twenty-eight of these pillars still remain. Brick tiles, eighteen inches square, and three inches thick, surmount these pillars; and over these are placed tiles two feet square, perforated here and there with small holes, through which the heat ascended to the sweating chamber above. The sweating room, or Sudatory, was immediately over the Hypocaust, and was fitted with seats for the bathers, who soon found themselves in a hot perspiration. They were then scraped carefully with an instrument constructed for the purpose, or else plunged into a cold water bath; after which they were rubbed down with towels, anointed with fresh oil, and then repaired to the tiring room: there they dressed themselves, deposited their denarii for the attendants, and then went their way, having enjoyed a luxury which few but Romans had then learned to indulge in.
As we have before stated, the buildings above and around have been only recently rebuilt: but Messrs. Royle, the proprietors, with that antiquarian zeal, and true public spirit, which have ever distinguished them, took especial precautions to preserve, both from injury and molestation, this curious relic of proud old Rome. Since the adjacent premises have been rebuilt, the bath is much easier of access than it was before; and visitors can now inspect these remains without any personal sacrifice, either of cleanliness or comfort.
Lower down than the Roman Bath, there was, until recently, a break in this Row, occasioned by a narrow lane, which leads up to the stables of the Feathers Hotel. This inconvenience has now been obviated by a neat wooden bridge, stretching across the passage from row to row; and we can now walk along, without the slightest obstruction, till we come to St. Michael’s Church.
The large and well-conceived street upon the right hand is Grosvenor Street, capable, under proper management, of being made the finest street of the city. It is flanked on the right side by White Friars, formerly Foster’s Lane, in which the Church and Monastery of that fraternity was at one time situate.
At the junction of White Friars with Grosvenor Street stands that capital, well-conducted establishment, the King’s Head Inn. This is one of those quiet, cosy-looking houses, in which, the moment a traveller enters, he feels himself “at home;” and certainly, under the presidency of Mr. and Mrs. Bedson, he will find that—“deny it who can!”—domestic comforts are still to be enjoyed in an old English inn.
Some thirty yards up the street, on the right hand, is Cuppin Street, before noticed; and nearly opposite to it, an old and narrow street called Bunce Lane, leading off to St. Mary’s Church and the Castle. Beyond, upon the same side, is an elegant structure of white freestone, erected in 1853, from the designs of Mr. James Harrison, of this city, to wit, the Chester Savings Bank. The architecture of this building is of the Tudor style; and the genius of Mr. Harrison has accomplished a work which, while highly creditable to himself, is, at the same time, a genuine ornament to the city. The clock turret at the north-west corner, though it somewhat destroys the equilibrium of sight, yet, on the whole, adds much of beauty to the general fabric. The clock, which works four faces, and chimes the quarters on two melodious bells, was constructed by Mr. Joyce, of Whitchurch.
The ordinary business of this Bank is conducted in two large rooms, nearly twenty feet square, on the ground floor; over which a spiral staircase conducts to the committee and lecture-room, a noble apartment, forty-one feet long by twenty feet wide, lit on the north and west sides by four handsome traceried windows. The panelled ceiling, and other internal decorations of this room, are exceedingly chaste, and in happy unison with its exterior character. The Bank was formally transferred here from Goss Street in March, 1853. Here the poor and thrifty hoard up their little savings; the shillings grow into pounds, and provision is thus quietly, but surely, made against the rainy day. Let us never despise the day of small things, remembering that the foundation of many a rich man’s fortune has been laid with his first shilling deposited in a Savings Bank.
On the right is St. Bridget’s Church; and from this spot we obtain a capital view of the Castle, including the Grand Entrance, Shire Hall, Barrack Square, and Julius Cæsar’s Tower. We have noticed the Castle more particularly in our “Walk round the City Walls;” so we will now pass on towards the Grosvenor Bridge, one of the modern wonders of old Chester. From the parapet of this bridge we obtain a splendid view of the Roodeye and river, as well as of the Viaduct and Railway Bridge in the distance. This bridge has obtained an unenviable notoriety from its having broken down with a passenger train, on May 24, 1847, precipitating the whole of the carriages and passengers into the river below. By this accident four persons were killed upon the spot, and very many others more or less injured.
We are no sooner over the Grosvenor Bridge than we feel ourselves at once out of range of the town, and breathing the fresh and balmy air of the country. Bowers of trees are on either side of us, through which we can see, upon our left hand, something which seems like unto a Christian temple. The gateway we are approaching stands invitingly open; let us therefore step in, and cast a quiet glance at the prospect around. Despite the rose-clad lodge which guards the entrance, and the numerous flowers and shrubs that everywhere greet the eye, we are at once struck that this is a sacred scene, a royal domain of the grim King Death. “Tread lightly,” then, all who would venture in hither, for assuredly “this is holy ground;” and while we reverently scan the numerous memorials of the departed lying scattered around, let us all prepare, ere the day be too far spent, to follow them in peace and in hope to our last earthly home. There are few but have, at some time or other, borne a friend to the grave—perhaps even the soul and centre of their domestic hearth; our ‘household god’ lies peacefully here. To all such these lines, coming thus from among the tombs, will lose nought of their original force and beauty: