For ever used to be,—
I envy nobody, no, not I!
And nobody envies me!
How few millers there are, who can say as much nowadays!
At length we are off, at a stately pace, for “steady’s the word,” in a Chester barge, and soon we leave the Groves and the Queen’s Park Villas behind us in the distance. Having rounded Aikman’s Gardens, we are opposite the grounds of the Royal Chester Rowing Club. We take a pride in our rowing, we citizens of Chester,—and not without reason, for in 1855, our “crack crew” were twice victors at the Henley Regatta, and then and there acknowledged “Champions of the Isis and the Thames!” Whew! there go the “Royals”—the champion crew, old Chester’s pride!—at a spanking pace, which nought but sterling metal could possibly maintain! They are out for their daily exercise, under the care of their trainer; the smile on whose face betokens the delight with which he views their performance. They are bad ones to beat, are those amateurs of Chester!
Here is Billy Hobby’s Field, with its Well of pure water, bearing the same obscure but euphonious name. The meadows on our right were anciently known as the Earl’s Eye, and used to be covered with water at every tide. A few more strokes of the oar, and we are scudding it past a second grove of trees, overshadowing the river for a considerable distance. The Dee here forms a magnificent crescent, its left bank studded with handsome villas,—foremost among which, “embosomed in foliage,” stands Dee Hills, the residence of Mr. Titherington; while, farther on, we see the new and elegant range of villas, recently erected by that gentleman, called Sandowne Terrace. To these succeed Richmond Villas, and Barrelwell, the sloping gardens of which form a pleasing object in the landscape.
We are now speeding along in front of the Water Works, an establishment which has literally worn itself out in “the temperance cause,” and now, in a great measure, superseded by the New Works lately erected in higher Boughton. Just above is St. Paul’s Church, of which we told you enough in our last chapter.
Onward again, past West Mount and Dee Banks, we are soon in front of another range of villas, of recent construction, called Dee View, from the long stretch of the Dee which the site commands. This part of the River takes the name of the Long Reach, until we come to Iron Bridge, vulgarly Heron Bridge,—yonder house amid the trees—the pleasant residence of C. W. Potts, Esq.
Yonder is the tower of Eccleston Church; and as we are now nearing the village, we may land, if we choose, and indulge in a hasty stroll of inspection. Eccleston is the pet village, and wholly the property of the Marquis of Westminster, whose elegant mansion, Eaton Hall, we are so soon about to visit. Every house in this village is a picture of itself, clothed in woodbine and choicest evergreen, and adorned with small, but sweetly smelling gardens. The Church is a modern structure of red sandstone, having taken the place of an older temple in 1810. The interior has recently been altered and re-decorated by Lord Westminster, and is now a pretty little model of a village sanctuary. The space above the altar is occupied by Westall’s grand painting, “Joseph of Arimathea begging the Body of Jesus from Pilate.”
It is now time to retrace our steps, and row glibly on towards the Iron Bridge and Lodge, the former erected, in 1824, by the late Lord Westminster, at a cost of 8000l. Another course, and one we ourselves prefer, is to row merely to the Eaton Lodge, a short distance up the river, and there, leaving our friendly barge, take the road along the Park,
’Twixt avenues of proud ancestral trees,
till we find ourselves suddenly close to the western entrance to Eaton Hall, the princely seat of the Marquis or Westminster.