From thence a flight of steps leads down to the Groves, near a spring of great repute, called Jacob’s Well; over which is engraved the warning of Christ to the woman of Samaria,
Whoso drinketh of this water shall thirst again.
Moving along to the eastward, we see a curious old house, crowning the edge of the cliff on the left, and known as the Anchorite’s Cell. Here it is traditionally affirmed that King Harold, merely wounded, not killed, at the Battle of Hastings, was conveyed by his friends, and lived the life of a hermit for several years. This is an article of faith which you may believe or reject, as the spirit moves you; for ourselves, we are tainted with the leaven of unbelief!
Passing Queen’s Park Hotel, at the foot of the Suspension Bridge, we see the rich Grove of trees which has given to the present locality its name. We are now close to the river side, and feeling, moreover, somewhat tired with our long walk; let us, therefore, with appetites sharpened by exercise, step into the Deva, a handsome Hotel overlooking the river, and lay violent siege to its well-stored larder. Take care to lay in a plentiful stock of both liquids and solids ere you quit the Hotel,—and, “would you know the reason why?” Our next chapter will treat us to a “Row on the Dee,” and a visit to Eaton Hall,—neither of which, as you’ll presently see, are feats to be accomplished on an empty stomach!
CHAPTER XI.
The River Dee.—Chester Rowing Club.—The Earl’s Eye.—Villas on Dee Banks.—The Water Works.—Eccleston.—Eaton Lodge, and the Iron Bridge.—Eaton Hall.—The Grosvenor Family.—The Belgrave Lodge.—The Interior of the Hall.—Eaton Gardens.—Grosvenor Lodge.
Having finished our repast at the Deva Hotel, and tested the merits of Huxley’s prime ale (we should like to know where you can meet with its equal!), we are now fully charged for a “Row on the Dee.” Talk of your Thames and your Tamar, your Tyne and your Clyde! To our minds a quiet little “row up the Dee” has a charm superior far to them all! Yonder gaily-decked barge, adorned with the “red, white, and blue” of old England, is the craft of our choice. While, then, mine host is summoning the oarsmen, and arranging the cushions and seats for our reception, a word or so touching the source of the Dee, and its progress towards Chester, will not be out of place.
Rising in Merionethshire, not far from Dolgelley, a modest little rivulet, fed by a score of tributary brethren, elbows its way through many a chasm and rocky dell, until it reaches Bala Lake. We have so far been tracing a mere mountain stream; but gathering strength and increased impetuosity as it passes through the centre of this beautiful Lake, our little Welsh brook, twin sister of the Wnion, developes into a River, and henceforward assumes the “local habitation and name” of the Dee. Still, as from its source, a pure Welsh river, the “Druid stream of Deva” gambols cheerily on, through the rich Vale of Corwen, ’neath the frowning ruins of Castell Dinas Bran, by the side of the beautiful Abbey of Valle Crucis, and so through Llangollen, “that sweetest of vales.” Winding its way thence, through Overton and Bangor,—the latter the scene of the massacre of the British monks,—our river proceeds by a series of zigzags on its course towards Holt; before reaching which, it serves as the boundary line between Denbighshire and Cheshire. On the Welsh side of the river stand the town and castle of Holt, an important post in the Anglo-Welsh wars. On the opposite side is Farndon, connected with Holt by an ancient stone bridge; and from this, the Dee passes Aldford and Eaton on its way to Chester and the Irish Sea.
But see; “our bark is by the shore,” and the boatmen are awaiting us; let us, then, take our seats beneath its awning, and launching out into the stream, cast a momentary glance at the landscape behind us. In the foreground is the Deva, “our marine Hotel,” half hidden from view by yon rich Grove of trees stretching along the river’s edge. Behind, and far above it, the tower of St. John’s Church proudly shows its rugged form. To the left is the Queen’s Park Suspension Bridge, more particularly noticed in our “Walk round the Walls.” Away under the Bridge we can see a small portion of the Walls near the Wishing Steps; and beyond that, again, the Dee Mills and Bridge, of ancient fame. Talking of the Dee Mills, of course you know the song, the rare old song, of the “Miller of the Dee,”—that “miller hale and bold,” the burden of whose song