BOOKS.
ENGLISH HOUSES.* Ma. MOW is neither a good writer nor a sound historian. He is incorrigibly interested in the trivialities of life. He not in- appropriately chooses as his emblems, in a portrait here given, a pot of jam and a teacup. But we may overlook his eccen- tricities, for he has explored a part of England that is little known; he has discovered houses which for dignity and beauty are unrivalled in our own country or else- where ; and he has photographed them with a skill and taste for which we cannot be too grateful. Our gratitude, moreover, is increased by the fact that many of the architec- tural masterpieces which he has chosen for illustration are hastening to decay, and the day may come when Mr. Moss's book will alone preserve to us the memory of their ancient glories.
Time was when the marches of Wales were little better than a battlefield. Such houses as were found on either border were strongholds rather than dwelling-places. With an enemy ever at the gate, the border lords could not sleep in peace were they not fortified against sudden attacks. Ludlow Castle, for instance, one of the most splendid ruins in England, was built as a defence as well as a pleasure-house. Noble as it is, it suggests armed men and quick surprises rather than the entertainment of courtiers. Yet here it was that Milton's Comas was performed, and here, an emblem of peace, is the round church of the Templars, which has but one or two rivals in England. Mr. Moss has photographed this dignified castle from more than one point of view, but he is so busy in explaining a foolish quarrel with a janitor that he has little space in which to record its past. However, Ludlow Castle, like Tintern Abbey, belongs to the larger history of our country, and it is Mr. Moss's peculiar talent to discover such houses as have eluded the historian, and as might be over- looked altogether but for the zeal of an enthusiast.
Of these by far the finest are the timbered houses of the sixteenth century. The number and splendour of such buildings as Orleton Court or Moreton Old Hall will surprise the untravelled Londoner. In beauty and variety they are unmatched, and, above all, they are completely characteristic of their age and province. They are real houses, not strong- holds, built not to protect, but to delight those who dwelt in them. Nothing, for example, can be more romantic than
• Pilgrimages to Old Home, Mostly on the Welsh Border. By Fletcher Nose. Didabury published by the Author. [10s. 6d. net.]
Plas Uchaf Eglwyseg,—romantic in style, romantic in situa- tion. The Royal arms are blazoned over the door, but the house is a sad spectacle, having degenerated from a palace to a farmhouse. But all are not thus dilapidated. Moreton Old Hall, for instance, has lost none of its ancient grandeur, and Mr. Moss is probably right in describing it as the most picturesque timbered house in the world. This house, too, is a farm, and is not maintained in the same splendour as Pitchford or Speke. Nevertheless, it has not been permitted to fall into decay, and it has changed but little since the year in which it was built. It is a house of many gables and overhanging windows. Its gatehouse, which you approach by a stone bridge over the moat, is a mansion in itself. But the great glory of Moreton is its famous octagonal bay windows, which are as sumptuous in decoration as they are elegant in proportion. "The quadrangular pebbled courtyard," to quote Mr. Moss, "surrounded by a bewildering maze of cornered windows, dim recesses, infinite inscriptions, doorways, stairways, carved sentries, ornamental details, all as it was three hundred years ago, is unique." The inscrip- tions are not the least interesting adornments of the house. Over one window you may read the following : "God is al in al thing. This windous whire made by William Moreton in the yeare of oure Lorde MDLIX." Over another may be seen these simple words : " Rycharde Dale Carpeder made thies windous by the Gras of God." Though the Moretons no longer live in this wonderful house, traces remain of their occupation. The tiny church with a priest's room over the nave, and a rood-screen, is as it was on the day of its construction. Even the kitchen has its ancient furniture, its spice-chest, and its pewter decorated with the Moreton arms. Nor does this exhaust the interest of Moreton Old Hall. "The newel post," says Mr. Moss, "round which the stairs wind to the ballroom over the gate house, is one straight oak to the top of the three stories. The doors from the stairs to the rooms all have primitive fastenings, with great bars of oak to bolt right across them into holes in the wall. The ballroom itself is a most beautiful old
room. Long and narrow it is panelled with oak to about four feet high, and above that is nearly all windows with richly patterned lead lights, through which the sun and moon may cast fantastic shadows on the rocky floor or oaken walls. The floors are of cement, whioh time has caused to
roll up and down the ceiling is diapered with timber in pattern, and the ends of the room have figures and mottos. A blindfolded figure of Fortune, with wheel over her head, has The wheele of Fortune whose rule is ignoraunce,' the wheel bearing Qui modo scandit corruet statim.' At the other end of the room a figure of Destiny or Fate transfixing a globe has The spears of destiny whose ruler is knowledge.' " The description is not luminous, but it gives some idea of the splendour of the place.
Though Moreton Old Hall is the best of its kind, it does not stand alone. Orleton Court, Albright Hussey, Lemster Grange, Dieulacres Abbey, the Staick House, are worthy competitors. And there is not one of them which is not worth more care and thought than Mr. Moss has bestowed upon it. Had he thought less of his journeyings, and more of the houses which he visited, he might have written a really valuable work. Only now and again does he give us scraps of family history or antiquarian lore. Nor can he excuse himself by pleading lack of material. The records of Middle, for instance, from which he gives quotations, are full of interest, and from them it would be easy to reconstruct the history of an ancient parish. We learn that the rector's dues were a penny for every garden or milch cow, sixpence for men servants, fourpence for women, one shilling for bury- ing a corpse, but only sixpence if there were no coffin. We are also told that one Richard Parker gave a side of bacon to be chosen churchwarden, "and afterwards hee made that yeare the epoch of his computation of all accidents, saying such a thing was done soe many yeares before or after the yeare that I was churchwarden." These are only examples of a curious record, and it is clear that the scholar might find valuable material at every turn. Nor are the towns un- worthy the houses in their neighbourhood. The splendour of Ludlow is familiar. But who has visited Ledbury or Weobley ? Yet these towns are as strange and as beautiful as anything Brittany has to show us.
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