THE WELSH BORDERLAND 



than once, when, months afterwards, I returned to 

 the Lugg to be revenged, as it so happened, upon the 

 autumn grayling the ill-behaviour of the June trout, 

 not a drop had fallen in the interval. 



I have always been not a little surprised that so few 

 outsiders ever penetrate the beautiful vale of Llanthony 

 watered by the clear rapid streams of the little river 

 Honddu. The small hostelry of the Queen's Head, 

 when not pre-empted by the members of the two 

 clubs who hold the lower half of the river, is available 

 for bed and board, and its landlord used to rent upon 

 his own account two or three miles of excellent fishing 

 over the mountain on the upper Monnow. But five 

 miles up this lovely and sequestered Honddu valley 

 stand the noble ruins of Llanthony Priory, presenting 

 as perfect a picture of mediaeval art set amid an 

 inspiring uplifted solitude as can be found in all 

 England. Moreover, portions of the old monkish 

 quarters have been kept habitable, and now this long 

 time have been doing unique duty as a very comfort- 

 able inn. The roomy living rooms and kitchen are those 

 inhabited by the monks of old. You squeeze upwards 

 by spiral stone stairways to your chamber in turret 

 or gable, whence you can watch the moonlight stream- 

 ing over the roofless cloistered aisles without, and hear 

 the owls hooting in the ivied arches. On three sides 

 the Black Mountains lift their heathy tops some 

 two thousand feet into the sky, and the Honddu sings 

 in its bosky rocky channel below. As a practical item 

 it may also be noted that the right of fishing over a 

 considerable stretch of the stream attaches to the 

 Priory, and that as a place of sojourn it is, or was, 



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