HEREFORD AND THE WYE 



267 



the abbey, drawing in the flowers growing in the high-up window of one 

 of the towers. These flowers looked as if they had been planted by human 

 hands, and we expected to see a tonsured monk with emaciated features 

 (the pictorial monk) look out upon the objects of his care; but no such 

 spectral vision greeted the eye. The tower evidently was the home of no 

 human joy or sorrow. Nevertheless N. insisted upon spoiling the sketch by 

 filling up one window with a broad-faced monk. 



Friday. The drive in an open carriage to Hereford led through a coun- 

 try of bounteous aspect. The apple orchards confirmed what we had heard 

 about the quantity and quality of Herefordshire cider. The exterior of the 

 cathedral was not especially impressive; but the choir and the Lady chapel 

 were exceedingly beautiful, and Mr. Shaler was particularly impressed by 

 the mighty Norman piers, whose capitals were more richly carved than any 

 he had seen, also by the old map of the world, made about 1310. The 

 secluded and peaceful garden stretching along the Wye led N. to say 

 he would like to come and live the rest of his days under the shelter of the 

 great cathedral, but then, he added, "I dare say familiarity, gossip, and 

 petty cares would soon reduce even this venerable pile to the level of the 

 commonplace." We were very tired and went to the "Green Dragon," 

 where, paying no modest price for tea, bread, and butter, N. remarked that 

 all English hotels should be dedicated to the Golden Fleece. 



July 3. We rose early and started for a trip down the Wye. The third- 

 class car was crowded with soldiers and market-men. We concluded, in spite 

 of the advice of English friends, to avoid the third class in the future. 

 Mr. Shaler said if he could only rip the stuffing out of the first class, and 

 insinuate a little liveliness into it, it would suit him better. At Ross we 

 engaged a boat and started on the journey. The boatman was a stolid John 

 Bull who only became talkative as the time for his tip drew near. It was 

 not long before the rain descended, first in drops and then in torrents. Nat 

 and I, crowding together on one bench, drew up the waterproof blanket, 

 hoisted the umbrella, and sadly prepared to enjoy the scenery from beneath 

 the eaves of our shelter. The longer the boatman rowed, so tortuous is the 

 Wye, the farther we seemed from our destination. The heavier it rained 

 the more N. tried to keep up our spirits. But at last even his succumbed, 

 and we stopped at an inn on the banks of the river. A brief lull in the wind 

 and rain gave a chance to reembark, and finally, with misty recollections 

 of the Wye, Monmouth was attained. At the Beaufort Arms a fire was 

 ordered, and we proceeded to dry our clothes and abuse the English climate. 



We arrived at York Cathedral just in time for the afternoon service. 

 Sitting in the great nave, we listened entranced to the music. Nat was 



