96 Country Rambles. 



streets of ancient Rome. The mind runs back to the 

 time when the walls were alive with armed men, and 

 shouts rose from the turrets, now discrowned. Not that 

 the castle was ever actually assaulted, for a glance at the 

 entrance is enough to convince any one that as a military 

 post in the feudal times it was impregnable. Of military 

 incidents connected with Beeston, there is indeed no 

 record whatever. All that history has to tell is of one or 

 two changes in the holding, brought about by treachery 

 or want of vigilance. But from the time of the building, 

 in 1 2 20, by Randulph de Blondeville, sixth Earl of 

 Chester, on his return from Palestine, there can be no 

 doubt that for four centuries the old castle was the scene 

 of much that was imposing. 



Everything has vanished now, and for ever. Up on 

 that wonderful crag to-day, where the scene is so still, 

 and the "heavens' breath smells wooingly," we feel far 

 more profoundly than in streets and cities, how grateful 

 is the dominion of peace compared with the turbulence 

 of war. For, looking over the westward parapet, at our 

 feet is Vale Royal, a warm and smiling plain that 

 stretches, literally, to the rim of the landscape. Randulph 

 looked upon those far away Welsh mountains, the Frods- 

 ham hills, the estuaries of the Dee and the Mersey, all 

 so beautiful as ingredients in the magnificent prospect. 

 To-day we have that which he did not see, and probably 

 never imagined. Scattered over this glorious map are 

 villages, homesteads, orchards, gardens innumerable; the 

 vast breadth of bright emerald and sunny pasture laced 



