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CLIFFOED. 



[By the Rev. T. W. Walwyn Trdmpkr, M.A.] 



There is such a thing as robbing a story or history of its reality, by making 

 it so true, so inartistically accurate, as to leave nothing to the imagination. 



This charge, however, can hardly be laid against the antiquary and 

 historian, who are generally inclined to err on the other side, and are in danger of 

 giving to the woi-ld delightful fiction in the form of fact. 



It is not an easy task to get particulars with regard to Clifford Castle 

 (Clivus Fortis), but it is to be hoped, if there be but little to be said which can be 

 vouched for, still that the spot, which in olden days was probably the birthplace 

 and early home of one of the most beautiful women the world has ever seen, may 

 be of sufficient interest to draw our thoughts to the time, when the old ruin before 

 us was a noble building, full of busy people, and occupied by men of renown. 



Clifford has fall'n — howe'er sublime. 

 Mere fragments wrestle still with time ; 

 Yet, as they perish, sure and slow, 

 And rolling dash the stream below ; 

 They raise tradition's glowing scene — 

 The clue of silk, the wrathful queen. 

 And link in mem'ry's firmest bond 

 The love-lorn tale of Rosamond. 



We may picture King Henry II. coming to Clifford Town to hunt, and no 

 doubt the Lord of the Castle found him magnificent sport, to say nothing of the 

 society of his bewitching daughter. 



His Majesty evidently possessed the secret of ingratiating himself with 

 women. He was strong in wind and limb, " A mane usque ad vespereni stat in 

 pedes," and, although selfish and of an ungovernable temper, he had a charm of 

 manner and address at once gentlemanlike and pleasing. Added to this he had 

 the character for being " Parthis mendacior," doubtless both scientific and social. 

 And why, pray, should not the cultured and fascinating liar have been as 

 irresistible in the 12th as in the 19th century ? 



The Queen's disagreeable and mischief-making temperament was not likely 

 to improve such a disposition as her husband'.s, and may account for his indiscrimi- 

 nate love-making and fickleness. 



How could such a man help being enamoured of the beautiful " Rosa 

 Mundi," nature's lovely child, simple and unaffected ; what a contrast she must 

 have offered to the grand artificial ladies of the Court, who of course wore high 

 shoes, dyed their hair, tight-laced, and jiainted their faces, like the silly fashionable 

 women of our own or any other age. 



And can we blame the fair Joan for liking the boisterous stranger, with his 

 athletic form and handsome face ? And besides he was a King. 



The knightly Baskerville was, as the poor, always with her, and perhaps too 

 fond and assiduous in his attentions, possibly he bored her, and, womanlike, she 



