DOI issue:
September 5, 1863
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16872#0107
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 5, 1863.
WYE AND WAYFARE.
and Wherefore, my dear
Punch, you have not seen
me lately, I will explain as
well as this bad pen will let
me; and did you ever, let
me ask, get at a country
house a good one ?
“ The fact is, then, that
having nothing to do in
town, and there being no-
body now left in town to do
it with, I thought I could
not well do better than go
into the country; and wish-
ing to enjoy the most ab-
solute tranquillity, I have
been staying at a house
where there were half-a-
dozen children. I lately
read a paper in a cereal ma-
gazine, treating of the Pro-
bable Extinction of Blue
Eyes; and if I saw any
cause before to doubt that
probability, my visit to this
country house must cer-
tainly have strengthened it.
Brighter blue I never saw
than were the eyes of the
the Goliath of scarce two,
whom I would freely back to win the first prize at a baby-show, both
for beauty and for bigness.
“ Of course you know a house cannot be otherwise than quiet with a
leash of grown-up girls and half-a-dozen healthy boys in it; and as
their parents may at times feel rather bored by their tranquillity, I
proposed a couple of days’ excursion down the Wye, which, it chanced,
was not far distant. In your aquatic explorations have you ever seen
this river? If not, take my advice and a cab at once and do so. You
will, besides the cab, have to take a trip by railway to the town of
Ross, where you will please touch up your memory and recollect John
Kyj&le, the famous ‘Man of Ross,’ and the (to my mind) not so
famous bit of poetry Pope wrote of him. The Loud Carlisle forgive
my speaking lightly of his favourite, but I wonder in what dictionary
the poet found the verb ‘repose’ described as having the meaning
which he gives to it hereunder
“ Whose causeway pai'ts the vale with shady rows ?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose ?
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ?
[Who filled the butchers' shops with large blue flies ?]
The Man of Ross, each lisping babe replies. ”
“ I beg your pardon, Mn. Pope. If the babies lisped, they’d say,
4 The Man of Roth.’
“ The ordinary tourist may have heard the name of Pope, if he have
not that of Kyrle ; and it is possible he likewise may have heard the
name of Newton. The recollection of this name may be of use to him
at Ross, for he will find a Mr. Newton there of whom to hire a
pleasure-boat, or, if he prefer it, he may get one at the Post Office.
What connection there can be between the Post Office and boating I
leave your clever readers at full liberty to guess; but it is certain that
at Ross I was directed to the Post Office when I asked the civil station-
master where I could get a boat. Thirty shillings is the charge for a
‘one man’ boat to Chepstow, but we, being heavy swells, of course
required a ‘ two men’boat, and so paid twenty shillings more for it,
together with a pour-boire of five shillings to the men. To a cockney
who is used to penny river steam-boats, such a fare for forty miles or
so may seem a little high; but, the cockney should remember that, the
boatmen have to row their craft back against stream for every fare
they take; and as there are no locks, the current runs in some spots at
a toughish pace to tug against.
“ The Thames is a pretty enough river to pull down, and about
Ciliefden especially its scenery is lovely. But there is no view on the
Thames that the Wye does not eclipse, and its beauties are not merely
varied but continuous. You may travel down the Rhine and not see
bolder cliffs than on the Wye at Symon’s Yat, where you will be told t,o
land aud climb up to the top, or in other words to the mast-head of the
Yat. Who this Syhon was, and why he called this cliff his Yat, I
have not the slightest notion; but he was not a Simple Symon if he
pic-nicked on his Yat, for a lovelier view to look at through a bumper
of champagne 1 have rarely been delighted by. I don’t myself much
relish peeping over precipices, but if I had nor, felt an objection to the
risk ol breaking my neck, I might have looked down perpendicularly
some six hundred feet or so, and seen the river flowing close on either
side of me. Gutta cavat lapidem, and perhaps some day the Wye may
run straight through the Yat, instead of going out of its course some
distance to get round it, as a glib barrister does sometimes to get round
a point of law. A remarkably good echo lives just opposite the Yat,
and when I asked it ‘How’s your mother?’ and ‘ Where are you
going on Sunday ? ’ which two romantic questions were inspired by the
romantic nature of the place, 1 had the satisfaction of eliciting some
local information on the subject from an ingenuous young clodhopper
who was in the fields beneath.
“ Our yatting expedition over, we resumed our boating one, but
though we passed a lot of rapids our pace was not a fast one. You see,
good scenery prevents one from pulling a good oar, and when one is
rowing on a fine day down a river like the Wye one feels inclined to
lazyftiire like the Naples lazyroni. Besides, to see our Paterfamilias
serenely lolling on the stern cushions, and like the Jolly Young Wal.er-
man, ‘ rowed along thinking of nothing at all’ (except keeping his pipe
alight,), was quite enough to paralyse the muscles of his oarsmen, one
of whom especially seemed glad of any excuse for imitating his tranquil-
lity. But we reached Chepstow at length, and then of course went, up
to Wyndcliff, of which no doubt you’ve heard, and know is well worth
going to. Tiie point from which to see the view being on the Duke oe
Beaueort’s property, the Duke ‘expects’ a sixpence from you (which
you pay quite willingly), as a largess to his servants who keep the paths
in order for you. But when you have panted to the top, you have your
remaining breath taken away from you by finding the Duke’s tenant
‘expects’ an extra three-pence, for doing nothing save abstaining from
doing something that might stop you from enjoyment of the view. To
find Nature made a peepshow of is not the pleasantest discovery : but
when you’ve had your grumble, you will, I think, allow that your nine-
pennyworth of landscape is really worth the money. Close in the fore-
ground and, as my guide-book finely phrases it, ‘ clasped in the winding
river’s arms,’ is the ‘ peninsula of Llancaut,’ which is noticeable chiefly
for the fact that at its parish church the service is performed once only
in three weeks. To compensate perhaps for this infrequency of preach-
ing, the rocks projecting opposite are called the Twelve Apostles (we
counted up fourteen of them, and so named two Paul and Barnabas),
while a pinnacle near Tintern has been termed the Devil’s Pulpit. If
one could have the Wyndcliff view to look at while one shaves, one
would not so much abhor that painful operation. As for trying to
describe it, Heave that to the writer of the guide-book I have quoted,
and I hope you will admire the profamty and snobbishness with which
his sketch concludes:—
“ The spectator stands upon the edge of a precipice, the depth of which is most
awful (!), and the river winds at his feet. The right side screen is Piercefield ridge,
richly wooded; the left is a belt of rocks, over which appear the Severn, and the
fine shores between Thombury and Bristol, rising behind each other in admirable
swells (!) which unite in most graceful curves. The first foreground is to the eye a
view from the clouds upon earth (!), and the rich contrast of green meadows to wild
forest scenery. The farm of Llancaut clasped in the arms of the winding river,
backed by hanging wood and rock. Thus there is a bay of verdure, walled in by
Nature’s colossal fences (!) wood, hill, and rock. * * On the undergrounds herds
of cattle, browsingin silent melancholy (!), some laving in the water, others retiring
to sheltered banks. * * The further horn of the Crescent tapers off into a craggy
informal mole, over which the eye passes to the second bay. This terminates in
Chepstow Castle, the town and the rocks beyond all mellowed down by distance
into that fine hazy indistinctness which makes even deformities combine in har-
mony with the picture (!). In the middle distance the widening sea spreads itself,
and from it the shores of Somerset and Monmouthshire steal away into the horizon.
Lastly, all this union of large and bold objects, from being comprised within a cir-
cumference of a very few miles, unites the landscape and the prospect, together
with the forest and the park character, of unimpeded expanse ; for the enclosures
are few in any part, and by distance are almost diminished into imperceptible
streaks. Thus the reproach of mappishness does not attach to this exalted exhi-
bition of the divine taste (! ! !).”
“ I am not a sentimental journeyer, and so, despite the elegant pre-
diction of the guide-book, the Wyndcliff view did not excite in me ‘ an
involuntary start of astonishment,’ nor did it ‘elevate my mind into
instantaneous rapture. Enough to feel it is a fitting climax to the beau-
ties of the Wye, and I hope that my mind’s eye may long find pleasure
in a look at it. Another view vve had, however, which, I rather think,
will live still longer in my memory, and this was Tintern Abbey as seen
by a cigar-light! Whoe’er would Tintern view aright must visit ir, by
pale moonlight: but unluckily it happened that the moon was nor, shining
on the night when we were there, so as we couldn’t get the moonlight,
we tried the substitute of match-light, and admired the fine old ruin by
the aid of a fusee. You can fancy how the grandeur of the venerable
Abbey was enhanced by this ingenious device in pyrotechnics, and what
subli me emotions were evoked by the effect.
“ Some people say that England has no scenery worth seeing, while
others when they travel only travel for excitement in the way of risking
life by scaling breakueck precipices, or scrambling over ice chasms
where a slip is certain death. Now, were a cockney tourist, not being
a good boatman, to try a passage down the Wye in a wager-boat or
coracle, he would see much pleasant scenery without much fear of
drowning, and yet with quite sufficient danger just to stimulate his
nerves. So recommending this excursion to all those who feel inclined
for it, believe me, my dear Punch,
“ Yours, ever so much,
“Wye-ator.”
half-dozen, from the Samson of eleven to
WYE AND WAYFARE.
and Wherefore, my dear
Punch, you have not seen
me lately, I will explain as
well as this bad pen will let
me; and did you ever, let
me ask, get at a country
house a good one ?
“ The fact is, then, that
having nothing to do in
town, and there being no-
body now left in town to do
it with, I thought I could
not well do better than go
into the country; and wish-
ing to enjoy the most ab-
solute tranquillity, I have
been staying at a house
where there were half-a-
dozen children. I lately
read a paper in a cereal ma-
gazine, treating of the Pro-
bable Extinction of Blue
Eyes; and if I saw any
cause before to doubt that
probability, my visit to this
country house must cer-
tainly have strengthened it.
Brighter blue I never saw
than were the eyes of the
the Goliath of scarce two,
whom I would freely back to win the first prize at a baby-show, both
for beauty and for bigness.
“ Of course you know a house cannot be otherwise than quiet with a
leash of grown-up girls and half-a-dozen healthy boys in it; and as
their parents may at times feel rather bored by their tranquillity, I
proposed a couple of days’ excursion down the Wye, which, it chanced,
was not far distant. In your aquatic explorations have you ever seen
this river? If not, take my advice and a cab at once and do so. You
will, besides the cab, have to take a trip by railway to the town of
Ross, where you will please touch up your memory and recollect John
Kyj&le, the famous ‘Man of Ross,’ and the (to my mind) not so
famous bit of poetry Pope wrote of him. The Loud Carlisle forgive
my speaking lightly of his favourite, but I wonder in what dictionary
the poet found the verb ‘repose’ described as having the meaning
which he gives to it hereunder
“ Whose causeway pai'ts the vale with shady rows ?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose ?
Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ?
[Who filled the butchers' shops with large blue flies ?]
The Man of Ross, each lisping babe replies. ”
“ I beg your pardon, Mn. Pope. If the babies lisped, they’d say,
4 The Man of Roth.’
“ The ordinary tourist may have heard the name of Pope, if he have
not that of Kyrle ; and it is possible he likewise may have heard the
name of Newton. The recollection of this name may be of use to him
at Ross, for he will find a Mr. Newton there of whom to hire a
pleasure-boat, or, if he prefer it, he may get one at the Post Office.
What connection there can be between the Post Office and boating I
leave your clever readers at full liberty to guess; but it is certain that
at Ross I was directed to the Post Office when I asked the civil station-
master where I could get a boat. Thirty shillings is the charge for a
‘one man’ boat to Chepstow, but we, being heavy swells, of course
required a ‘ two men’boat, and so paid twenty shillings more for it,
together with a pour-boire of five shillings to the men. To a cockney
who is used to penny river steam-boats, such a fare for forty miles or
so may seem a little high; but, the cockney should remember that, the
boatmen have to row their craft back against stream for every fare
they take; and as there are no locks, the current runs in some spots at
a toughish pace to tug against.
“ The Thames is a pretty enough river to pull down, and about
Ciliefden especially its scenery is lovely. But there is no view on the
Thames that the Wye does not eclipse, and its beauties are not merely
varied but continuous. You may travel down the Rhine and not see
bolder cliffs than on the Wye at Symon’s Yat, where you will be told t,o
land aud climb up to the top, or in other words to the mast-head of the
Yat. Who this Syhon was, and why he called this cliff his Yat, I
have not the slightest notion; but he was not a Simple Symon if he
pic-nicked on his Yat, for a lovelier view to look at through a bumper
of champagne 1 have rarely been delighted by. I don’t myself much
relish peeping over precipices, but if I had nor, felt an objection to the
risk ol breaking my neck, I might have looked down perpendicularly
some six hundred feet or so, and seen the river flowing close on either
side of me. Gutta cavat lapidem, and perhaps some day the Wye may
run straight through the Yat, instead of going out of its course some
distance to get round it, as a glib barrister does sometimes to get round
a point of law. A remarkably good echo lives just opposite the Yat,
and when I asked it ‘How’s your mother?’ and ‘ Where are you
going on Sunday ? ’ which two romantic questions were inspired by the
romantic nature of the place, 1 had the satisfaction of eliciting some
local information on the subject from an ingenuous young clodhopper
who was in the fields beneath.
“ Our yatting expedition over, we resumed our boating one, but
though we passed a lot of rapids our pace was not a fast one. You see,
good scenery prevents one from pulling a good oar, and when one is
rowing on a fine day down a river like the Wye one feels inclined to
lazyftiire like the Naples lazyroni. Besides, to see our Paterfamilias
serenely lolling on the stern cushions, and like the Jolly Young Wal.er-
man, ‘ rowed along thinking of nothing at all’ (except keeping his pipe
alight,), was quite enough to paralyse the muscles of his oarsmen, one
of whom especially seemed glad of any excuse for imitating his tranquil-
lity. But we reached Chepstow at length, and then of course went, up
to Wyndcliff, of which no doubt you’ve heard, and know is well worth
going to. Tiie point from which to see the view being on the Duke oe
Beaueort’s property, the Duke ‘expects’ a sixpence from you (which
you pay quite willingly), as a largess to his servants who keep the paths
in order for you. But when you have panted to the top, you have your
remaining breath taken away from you by finding the Duke’s tenant
‘expects’ an extra three-pence, for doing nothing save abstaining from
doing something that might stop you from enjoyment of the view. To
find Nature made a peepshow of is not the pleasantest discovery : but
when you’ve had your grumble, you will, I think, allow that your nine-
pennyworth of landscape is really worth the money. Close in the fore-
ground and, as my guide-book finely phrases it, ‘ clasped in the winding
river’s arms,’ is the ‘ peninsula of Llancaut,’ which is noticeable chiefly
for the fact that at its parish church the service is performed once only
in three weeks. To compensate perhaps for this infrequency of preach-
ing, the rocks projecting opposite are called the Twelve Apostles (we
counted up fourteen of them, and so named two Paul and Barnabas),
while a pinnacle near Tintern has been termed the Devil’s Pulpit. If
one could have the Wyndcliff view to look at while one shaves, one
would not so much abhor that painful operation. As for trying to
describe it, Heave that to the writer of the guide-book I have quoted,
and I hope you will admire the profamty and snobbishness with which
his sketch concludes:—
“ The spectator stands upon the edge of a precipice, the depth of which is most
awful (!), and the river winds at his feet. The right side screen is Piercefield ridge,
richly wooded; the left is a belt of rocks, over which appear the Severn, and the
fine shores between Thombury and Bristol, rising behind each other in admirable
swells (!) which unite in most graceful curves. The first foreground is to the eye a
view from the clouds upon earth (!), and the rich contrast of green meadows to wild
forest scenery. The farm of Llancaut clasped in the arms of the winding river,
backed by hanging wood and rock. Thus there is a bay of verdure, walled in by
Nature’s colossal fences (!) wood, hill, and rock. * * On the undergrounds herds
of cattle, browsingin silent melancholy (!), some laving in the water, others retiring
to sheltered banks. * * The further horn of the Crescent tapers off into a craggy
informal mole, over which the eye passes to the second bay. This terminates in
Chepstow Castle, the town and the rocks beyond all mellowed down by distance
into that fine hazy indistinctness which makes even deformities combine in har-
mony with the picture (!). In the middle distance the widening sea spreads itself,
and from it the shores of Somerset and Monmouthshire steal away into the horizon.
Lastly, all this union of large and bold objects, from being comprised within a cir-
cumference of a very few miles, unites the landscape and the prospect, together
with the forest and the park character, of unimpeded expanse ; for the enclosures
are few in any part, and by distance are almost diminished into imperceptible
streaks. Thus the reproach of mappishness does not attach to this exalted exhi-
bition of the divine taste (! ! !).”
“ I am not a sentimental journeyer, and so, despite the elegant pre-
diction of the guide-book, the Wyndcliff view did not excite in me ‘ an
involuntary start of astonishment,’ nor did it ‘elevate my mind into
instantaneous rapture. Enough to feel it is a fitting climax to the beau-
ties of the Wye, and I hope that my mind’s eye may long find pleasure
in a look at it. Another view vve had, however, which, I rather think,
will live still longer in my memory, and this was Tintern Abbey as seen
by a cigar-light! Whoe’er would Tintern view aright must visit ir, by
pale moonlight: but unluckily it happened that the moon was nor, shining
on the night when we were there, so as we couldn’t get the moonlight,
we tried the substitute of match-light, and admired the fine old ruin by
the aid of a fusee. You can fancy how the grandeur of the venerable
Abbey was enhanced by this ingenious device in pyrotechnics, and what
subli me emotions were evoked by the effect.
“ Some people say that England has no scenery worth seeing, while
others when they travel only travel for excitement in the way of risking
life by scaling breakueck precipices, or scrambling over ice chasms
where a slip is certain death. Now, were a cockney tourist, not being
a good boatman, to try a passage down the Wye in a wager-boat or
coracle, he would see much pleasant scenery without much fear of
drowning, and yet with quite sufficient danger just to stimulate his
nerves. So recommending this excursion to all those who feel inclined
for it, believe me, my dear Punch,
“ Yours, ever so much,
“Wye-ator.”
half-dozen, from the Samson of eleven to