ON THE FEEDING OF ANIMALS. On the provision of food which the Creator has made for animals, depends the replenishment of the earth; for, without that, fecundity would have been in vain. Yet we forget to note this perpetual miracle, the feeding of those myriads which crowd the world, because it is before us every day. It requires considerable familiarity with natural history, and perhaps a still wider stretch of imagination, to cast over creation that rapid and comprehensive glance which would display this perpetual, this this hourly miracle, in all its force. Amid all which creation displays of contrivance, resource, power, there is nothing more calculated to astonish us than this fact, simple as it may appear to the superficial, the unceasing and unfailing supply of food to the uncountable myriads of all forms, sizes, and propensities, which crowd this world of land and water. And it is God who spreads this table daily, hourly, for every one of these multifarious beings, of which, out of many hundred thousand forms, all differing, all feeding in various ways, not a single species only, but hundreds, thousands, can be named, each exceeding in its numbers, at any moment, all the men who have lived in the earth since the creation. Most truly do they all wait on Him, and receive their meat in due season, In what manner can he who has never yet considered be taught to contemplate this subject? Will he reflect on the labours by which he must feed himseif, or those through which others feed him the series of persons, and instruments, and toils which must precede, ere he can see on his table even a fragment of bread? Will he consider the labour and thought necessary to provide nourishment for the few animals which he has associated to himself? Can he imagine himself the keeper of even a hundred of those which he imprisons for his amusement? Will he stretch his imagination still further, and replace those hundreds by thousands, by tens of thousands, and then conceive himself taxed to feed them by his own contrivances? Should he conceive all this, and thousands of millions of times more than this, he will not then have approximated in the minutest degree; no, not by myriads of millions more, to the numbers that are fed every day, every hour, and so fed that not one perishes for want: fed under kinds which science cannot count, feeding in different ways, on different objects, all ever craving yet never wanting; and as they are fed to-day, having been fed from the beginning of the world, to be fed as long as it shall last. Does he but count the gnats which darken the air of a Summer evening,-God feeds them all as He feeds the lion and the elephant. Or will he attempt to number the multitudes of the ocean, swarming in every form of diversity and size, from the whale to that atom which the microscope barely discovers? Differ as they may, widely as they wander, various as are their desires, it is still He who prepares their table in the wilderness of the waters, that not one shall perish for lack of food. For this end was the machinery created, and for this was life imparted to live, and to eat, are one. It is the principle on which this multifarious creation is based. Man is the exception. Excluding him, no form of life need have been, but for this it is the reason for life, and the final cause of life. It is a simple principle: even thus slightly viewed, it will surprise him who never before considered the plan of creation. It will surprise him far more, when he reflects on the operose system, on the complicated means and the intricacy of contrivance, the thought, the wisdom, the power applied to the attainment of a purpose as simple as it is single. For this alone, (always excluding man,) does all else exist; everything that is, is but a preparation for this end. Materials, elements, chemistry, light, heat, mechanism, multiplicity of organic forms, the earth itself, the very sun, are, that animals may eat. It is, indeed, a system to excite surprise: but it would be even more surprising, could we believe that the Creator did not Himself feed His creation, did not contrive for that food which forms the end of His entire plan. To analyze the contrivance is, in deed, beyond our reach. It depends not on chemical laws which we can investigate it cannot be measured and resolved by geometry. We cannot disentangle that which involves so vast a mass, and such overwhelming numbers of forms, such an universe of lives, independent in themselves, yet mutually connected and dependent, under the control of a superior force; a multitude so enormous of powers and desires, of instincts that we see but in part, and of inclinations that escape us, It is a problem too complicated for human ingenuity to investigate, executed as it is: the very possibility of its execution could not have been conceived: yet it has been executed by Almighty wisdom and power, and the whole complex system proceeds for ever, with simplicity and regularity equal to its perfection. Is it, indeed, not a work of design, of design the most comprehensive, of forethought the most minute, of wisdom beyond the possibility of estimation, and of power which knows no bounds? No!-has it been said by that philosophy which, ever hating to believe in a Governor of the universe, has referred the whole of this marvellous system to chance. The mathematical doctrine of probabilities would labour long to demonstrate the possibility of such a system, on its own grounds: working out such an end, so regularly, so securely, through such a period of time, and under so many changes in the earth, and its inhabitants, without error as without failure. But if we cannot analyze the whole, we know enough to oppose this worse than ignorant hypothesis, can see enough of design to leave no doubts respecting the entire one. The desires of animals prove, that to every one there is an allotted food: they are inclusive and exclusive: it is one of the adaptations which per vade all nature. The lion does not eat grass, nor does the ox prey as the tiger. It is said that variety exists, has happened, and that various kinds have chosen what pleased them. The insect races disprove In this we see, the beneficence at least, of the this, There is a single food for a single insect: no Creator of all these races, though we should see no other one desires that: it desires no other, refuses all more nor is it a small, or a careless, or a casual else, If this is not design, where shall we seek it? effort of goodness, when so much forethought has The philosopher himself feeds twenty animals, with been exercised and such arrangements made. To different kinds of food, feels his difficulties, and prides eat, is the proper business, and nearly the sole hap- himself on his knowledge: yet he refuses to acknow. piness of the inferior animals: all else is compara- ledge the contrivance and providence of Him who tively trivial, or else supplementary. To be born, to feeds millions for ever, with ten thousand sorts of eat, to die, to revive in a posterity, such is the course food; ever supplying their wants, ever consulting their of animal life: but, of all these, to eat is the centre tastes, without error, and without failure. How and the purpose, for this is the designed happiness. would He act otherwise, when this was His prime and ultimate intention, the object of all that He has effected in the universe? But systems for the Creator and His creation are for ever formed by those who know neither Him nor His works: but let them learn at least, before they teach. And let him also who takes no note of creation, learn to see. It is because of the beauty and regularity of this system that his want of thought discovers neither. Its very perfection is the source of his neglect or denial. In his philosophy, that which never fails, is a necessity; and that philosophy forgets how wisdom and contrivance are proved. He acknowledges that order, regularity, and certainty, are proofs of design and wisdom in the works of are proofs of design and wisdom in the works of man; and will not see them in those of God. Under this system of food has the earth been filled with the animal forms by which it is inhabited. To many, vegetables alone have been appointed; while there are entire tribes, such as the more minute and more imperfect marine animals, living entirely on animal food. In some, there is the inclination with the power, to feed in both modes: but whether there are animals, which can, like vegetables, feed upon sub-elementary matter, on air and water, has not been determined. Whatever might be inferred from the analogy of plants, it is hitherto not probable, because the minutest Infusoria require at least solutions of compound matter for their existence, and almost all the minute and the least perfect animals of the ocean, possess organs of some kind for apprehension. From the plant to the vegetable-eating animal, and back again to the plant, the circle is simple: while it is an essential part of the whole system of feeding, that it consists in a perpetual circulation, more or less complex: though the final term of the utmost complication of circles, is, as far as we yet know, to return everything to the plant, that it may recommence as the initiator of food. The intermediate agents between the two systems of life, are the earth, or the water, and the atmosphere; that wonderful laboratory, in which everything appears to be lost, receiving but to return again, as the earth does, if more visibly. The carcass which has been dissipated by the winds or burnt on the funeral pile, will as surely return to revive in future plants and future food, to give existence to future animals, and to perform the same round for ever, as that which has been buried in the ground, or the perished straw which forms the treasure of the agriculturist. [Abridged from MACCULLOCH'S Procfs and Illustrations of the Attributes of God.] REVENGE from some hateful corner shall level a tale of dishonour at thee, which no innocence of heart or integrity of conduct shall set right. The fortunes of thy house shall totter; thy character which led the way to them shall bleed on every side of it; thy faith questioned; thy works belied; thy wit forgotten; thy learning trampled on. To wind up the last scene of the tragedy, cruelty and cowardice, twin-ruffians, hired and set on by malice in the dark, shali strike together at all thy infirmities and mistakes. The best of us, my dear lad, lie open there; and trust me, trust me, when to gratify a private appetite, it is once resolved upon, that an innocent and a helpless creature shall be sacrificed, 'tis 'an easy matter to pick up sticks enough from any thicket where it has strayed, to make a fire to offer it up with.- -Sterne. LIFE is contracted within a narrow and barren circle, year after year steals somewhat away from their store of comfort, deprives them of some of their ancient friends, blunts some of their power of sensation, or incapacitates them for some function of life.BLAIR. ON PRIZE-FIGHTING. PRIZE-FIGHTING has happily greatly declined in this country; the only one, we believe, where the brutal and disgusting practice has been cultivated. This must rejoice the heart not only of every Christian, but of every civilized being; but the practice, though checked, has not disappeared from amongst us. More than one case of death from fighting has very recently occurred. In In one of these fatal prize-fights, which took place John Brown, seem to have been equally matched; near Newcastle, the parties, Robert Forbister and they fought for a purse of twenty pounds, and the combat lasted one hour and twenty-five minutes. the last round Brown received a blow from his antagonist on the jugular vein, and instantly fell; he was carried to a public house and died the same evening. Thus did this unhappy man quit life in a state of mind too dreadful to contemplate as that of a dying man; engaged in an act which no Christian can sories to this dreadful event by subscribing, encouDo those who were accesjustify or even extenuate. raging, or even looking on at this combat, ever pray? Do they ever go to a place of worship, and there entreat God to preserve them from sudden, that is, unprepared death; and yet-vile abuse of the worst, -for their amusement, venture to expose a fellowcreature to such an awful danger! There are, however, persons, we blush to say it, silly enough, and, worse still, wicked enough, to defend prize-fighting. It helps, say they, to keep up national courage, to keep up the English mode of resenting an injury. We do not suppose that any of our readers will suspect us of valuing such arguments highly enough to think them deserving a serious answer, or supposing, even if they were true, that they could extenuate in the slightest degree so barbarous and unchristian a practice. A sufficient answer to all such false defences of prize-fighting would be contained in the reply they must give to the single inquiry, Whether prize-fighting is a Christian mode of settling a quarrel or repelling an affront? Neither this or any other country, as long as it performs its duty by extending legal protection to the person and property of the lowest, as well as the highest individual, will ever, we may be assured, want courage for her defence, whenever a proper occasion calls for it. Who, let us inquire, would not prefer to trust his defence at a period of peril, to a sober and steady Christian neighbour, than to a brawling, fighting ruffian? Who would not place the greater confidence in the vigilance, firmness, and fortitude of the former, than on the noisy violence of the latter? The following extract from a little book, containing a narrative of the sufferings and perils which the writer, himself a private soldier, passed through in Spain and Portugal, while serving in those countries under the Duke of Wellington, will, perhaps, strengthen our remarks with those who require experience to build their opinions on. "I have," (says this simple but interesting writer,) "known some of those bruising fellows in the army, indeed, every regiment has its bully; but although they are always forward enough to abuse and tyrannise over their fellow soldiers who are not of the fancy, I never knew one of them that displayed even ordinary courage in the field; and it was invariably by fellows of this description, that outrages, such as those perpetrated at Badajoz, were committed." B. LOOKING GLASSES AND MIRRORS. THE Mirrors of ancient times were formed of polished metal, those of the Jewish women, as we learn from Scripture, were of brass. It is doubtful at what time, and by whom the covering of mirrors of glass with quicksilver and tin was first accomplished; like other inventions, probably, this was discovered by several artists, perhaps at the same time, and independently of each other. The manner in which the manufacture is at present carried on, is as follows:a slab of stone of any requisite size, is ground perfectly level and smooth; this slab is surrounded by a frame-work of wood, which rises several inches above it; but the slab itself is so fixed, that its surface is raised from the back of the frame, so as to leave a kind of groove, or gutter, all round, between the stone and the wood. The slab, with its frame-work, is mounted so as to form a table, but so adjusted by means of screws, that it can at any time have its surface thrown into an oblique position. The table being thus prepared, its surface is covered with tin-foil, and mercury being poured over it, a hare's foot is used to spread it over the surface of the tin, and cause it to amalgamate with the latter metal; more quicksilver is then poured on it, until the surface is covered to the depth of nearly a quarter of an inch. The plate, or plates of glass, (for it is not necessary that the table should be occupied by one plate alone,) are rendered perfectly clean, and a piece of smooth paper is laid over the edge of the frame nearest the workman, dipping into the mercury. The workman holds this paper in his right hand, and taking the clean glass in his left, lays it flat upon the paper and slides it gently into the mercury, causing the edge to dip just below its surface. When the whole of the plate has passed on to the mercury, it is gently floated to the furthest end of the frame; another plate is treated in the same way, until the table is wholly covered. Leaden weights covered with green baize, and each weighing seven pounds, are then placed upon the glass nearly close to each other; these are allowed to remain on from twenty-four to thirty-six hours; they are then removed, and the table being gently raised by means of the adjusting screws, the superfluous mercury flows along the gutter towards the lowest corner, at which place there is a hole, furnished with a plug, through which it is drawn off to be used on another occasion. The plates of glass are left for a few hours more, to drain, and then, being lifted off the table, are placed on a shelf resting against the wall, to get rid of the fluid mercury that still remains; this shelf is also provided with an inclined gutter to carry off the liquid metal. The loose weights used in this mode of silvering, are considered by some manufacturers to be dangerous, as they are likely, at times, to slip out of the workman's hand by accident; to obviate this danger an apparatus has been invented, in which a steady pressure, by means of screws, is substituted in the place of that produced by the weights. The engraving represents a section of one of these machines:-A A is a wooden clamp, which embraces at each of its ends the frame-work of the table; there as many of these clamps as the table is feet in length. The length of each clamp is furnished with screws, placed seven inches apart, which, on being turned, press on square pieces of wood covered with leather, which are attached loosely to their lower ends; it is to be observed that the screws of each clamp are so placed as to be opposite the intervals between those of the clamps on either side: this produces a more equal pressure than would be the case if the screws of each the plate is lifted from the table the instant it has the In silvering the commoner kinds of looking-glass, sustaining any previous pressure. Concave and contin-foil attached, and set on its end to drain, without vex glasses are silvered on models made to fit them exactly. amalgam is prepared and poured into the globe, In silvering globes of glass, a metallic which is moved about in all directions until the amalgam has attached itself to the surface of the glass; this succeeds best when the glass is made hot. There are various methods for making this amalThree ounces of bismuth, half an ounce of tin, and gam, the two following may be taken as examples: half an ounce of lead, are to be melted together, and when somewhat cooled, three ounces of mercury are to be added. Or, one ounce of tin, one ounce of lead, and two ounces of bismuth are to be melted, and afterwards mixed with ten ounces of mercury. The reflecting glasses of sextants are covered with a reflecting substance, which is nearly pure lead. ON HEALTH. SLOW wand'ring on the margin of the deep, I breathe the cheering gale of health once more; And see the billows gently dash the steep, That rears its bold head on the sandy shore. Fresh looks the landscape with the dews of dawn; A blueish mist swims o'er the softened grove; The wanton deer bound lightly o'er the lawn, And ev'ry copse resounds with notes of love. The village-clocks proclaim the passing hour; The tall spires glitter to the early sun; The ploughman, whistling, quits his low-roofed bow'r, And now his peaceful labour is begun. Yet not this ocean, cheered with many a sail, Nor all these rural sounds, and pastures fair, To solace worn disease could aught avail, Or from his bosom chase the clouds of care. The merry morn no rapture could impart, Nor converse sweet of friends his hours beguile; In vain could beauty warm his aching heart, Or on his cold-wan check awake a smile. Yet oft we slight thy worth, O, blessed Health! Poor mortals as we are, till thou art flown; And thy sweet joys, more dear than fame or wealth Touch not our hearts, but pass unfelt, unknown. Thy joys, without whose aid whate'er of blest, Ör great, or fair, the heavens to man ordain, Is dull and tasteless to the unthankful breast, Love loveless, youth old age, and pleasure pain. REV. E. HAMLEY. LONDON: JOHN WILLIAM PARKER, WEST STRAND. PULLISHED IN WEEKLY NUMBERS, PRICE ONE PENNY, AND IN MONTHLY PARTS Sold by all Booksellers and Newsvenders in the Kingdom. PRICE SIXPENCE. Time-hallowed pile! no more, no more, And the fox nestles in those halls. THERE are very few structures in Great Britain of higher interest, in a topographical and historical point of view, than Ragland Castle, once one of the most magnificent edifices in the kingdom. As a castellated ruin it is now without an equal, and its name is immortalized by its association with some of the most stirring passages of our national history. A castle is supposed to have been erected here by Sir William ap Thomas and his son, William, Earl of Pembroke, in the reign of Henry the Fifth, traces of the architectural style of that period being observable in the present fabric*. Collins, however, informs us, in the pedigree of Herbert, that Sir John Morley, Knt., Lord of Ragland, resided here in the reign of Richard the Second, consequently between the years 1377 and 1399. His daughter and heiress afterwards married into the family of Herbert, from whom it came.to the noble family of Somerset, in whose possession it still remains. Other accounts state, that it came to the Somersets by the marriage of Sir Charles Somerset to Elizabeth, the grand-daughter of the Earl of Pembroke, and heiress to his son, William, Earl of Huntingdon. Sir Charles (who was Lord Chamberlain to Henry the Seventh,) was created Earl of Worcester in 1514, and died in 1526. Various alterations and additions, by successive proprietors, especially the Earls of Worcester, between the eras of Henry the Fifth and Charles the First, are attested by the fashion of the arches, doors, and ornamental parts of this "beautiful and castle-like seat," as it is termed by Camden, corresponding with the progressive styles of the intermediate ages. The last addition to the fortress, the citadel, and outworks, was probably made by the gallant Marquis of Worcester, in the reign of Charles the First. Let us first glance at one or two of the most striking events in the changeful history of Ragland. In the reign of Edward the Fourth, the Earl of Richmond, afterwards Henry the Seventh, is said to have been detained a prisoner at this castle by Lord Herbert, in obedience to the orders of that monarch. Here, also, did the unfortunate Charles the First "find an asylum in his wanderings," after the fatal battle of Naseby, in 1645. He was received and entertained during the several visits which he made to Ragland at this period, in the most princely and sumptuous style 404 In 1642 Henry, first Marquis of Worcester, raised for the service of the distressed monarch, an army of 1500 foot and 500 horse, which he placed under the command of his son, the Earl of Glamorgan, and maintained at his own expense. Indeed, the devoted loyalty and indomitable spirit displayed by this great and truly excellent man in support of the royal cause, is deserving of the highest praise; and it would be difficult to find " a character in which Christian fortitude was more strikingly exemplified, or from which a more useful lesson may be learned of humility and resignation." The amount of losses sustained in consequence by himself and family, have been estimated at £900,000! After the surrender of Ragland, the woods and forests belonging to the marquis were destroyed, and his estates confiscated, amounting to £20,000 per annum. Upon the retreat of the king from Monmouthshire in September, 1645, the venerable marquis, then in his eighty-fourth year, recalled the remains of his army from the Principality, where, in different parts, they had maintained an unequal contest with the forces of the Parliament, and shut himself up in Ragland Castle, with a garrison of 800 men*, which he obstinately and heroically defended against an army under the command of Sir Thomas Fairfax, during a protracted siege of ten weeks; this fortress having the glorious distinction of being the first that was fortified, and the very last in England that held out for royalty. The capitulation of the castle took place on the 19th of August, 1616, on terms honourable both to the besiegers and the besieged, when the gallant marquis marched out at the head of his garrison with all the honours of war. There is a window still shown, at which it is said a girl in the fortress made a signal to introduce the besiegers. all the castellated remains at present existing in England, combines "much of the strength, solidity, and martial aspect of a fortress, with the taste and elegance of a private residence." A small avenue leads to the only remaining outer gate, originally called the "White Gate," where the general view of the castle is truly magnificent; from thence the visitor is conducted across the terrace, which is covered with closely-shorn turf to the principal entrance, a splendid Gothic portal with a lofty-pointed arch, unquestionably the finest part of the whole edifice, and flanked with two massive hexagonal towers, partially covered with a luxuriant drapery of ivy, which has been so judiciously trained as to add much to the picturesque effect, by exhibiting many architectural ornaments of great beauty. A third tower, formerly called the "Closet Tower," appears to the right, which considerably heightens the grandeur and imposing aspect of the whole. This tower formerly contained the library, comprising a large and valuable collection of books, but which most unfortunately were entirely destroyed. The summits of these towers are elegantly machicolated, after the Moorish fashion, for the purpose of pouring down molten lead on assailants. The gateway was formerly defended by strong doors and two portcullises, the grooves for which still remain. The grand entrance leads into the "Pitched-stone Court," an oblong square, formerly paved, as the name denotes, but now covered with turf. Some of the principal apartments of the castle and the culinary offices surrounded it. In this court was a deep draw-well, the water of which came from a spring about two miles off, but it is now filled up. A high curtain-wall on the east side, connected the "Closet" and the "Kitchen" towers, strengthened by a tower in the centre; it is in this part that the breach was made which occasioned the surrender of the castle; it is now nearly levelled to the ground. The Kitchen tower, of great strength and solidity, (the walls being nine or ten feet in thickness,) is remarkable for two very large fire-places, but the kitchen itself is apparently small for so large an establishment, being only twenty feet square; there are also the remains of ovens. Beneath is an arched apartment of a similar size, called the "Wet Larder." A communication from the kitchen led to the buttery-hatch, and from thence to the banqueting-room, &c. The beautiful bay-window of the stately hall, or banqueting-room, looks into the court at the south-western extremity, and from its simplicity of style and exquisite symmetry is greatly admired. Its form is a half hexagon, sixteen feet high, and the same in width; the transoms and tracery are well executed, and from the cupola above, the ivy hanging down in graceful negligence, adds greatly to its elegance and general effect. It appears to have been The castle was afterwards dismantled, and the massive erected in the time of Elizabeth. A Gothic porch leads citadel blown up by order of Cromwell. In addition to the from the paved court into the grand hall, sixty-six feet long injuries it received on that occasion, and during the siege, and twenty-eight feet broad, which, even in ruin, bears meit subsequently underwent very considerable dilapidations, lancholy evidence of its former splendour. It is said to have by the numerous tenants being allowed to take the stone had a curious geometrical roof of Irish oak, with a 'dome for building-purposes, and even the steward constructed above for the admission of light. At the eastern extremity several new farm-houses of the materials. To such an are sculptured in stone the arms of the first Marquis of extent was this system of destruction carried, that no less Worcester, surrounded by the legend of the Order of the than twenty-three stone stair-cases were removed, and there Garter, with the motto of the family beneath, Mutare vel can be little doubt, that if the grandfather of the present timere sperno-" I scorn to change or fear." The firenoble owner of this magnificent ruin had not laudably in-place presents a striking vestige of baronial hospitality; it terposed, by ordering that not a single stone more should is ten feet wide and eight in height, with a chimney of be removed, scarcely a vestige of the edifice would have peculiar structure, the flues for the smoke diverging up the remained at the present time. chimney-jambs, caused by a window a little above, appa rently in the chimney. At the opposite end of the hall there is an aperture, which formerly led to a Minstrel's Gallery, where the Cambrian Bards were accustomed to pour forth their dulcet strains. The walls of the hall have, within these few years, been cruelly defaced by a daubing, to imitate wainscot, on the occasion of a grand entertainment given by the gentry to Lord G. Somerset, one of the members for the county. It was also used by the neighbouring villagers as a fives'-court not a great many years ago. Such are the mutations of time! The aged marquis afterwards went to London, where, contrary to the express stipulation made with Sir Thomas Fairfax, he was committed to the custody of the Black Rod. He died under confinement, during the month of December (1646) following, in the eighty-fifth year of his age, and was buried at Windsor, That this amiable and distinguished nobleman fell a victim to the cruel usage and treacherous conduct he experienced at the hands of the Parliament, there cannot be a doubt, His son, Edward, second marquis of Worcester, celebrated as the author of "A Century of Scantlings and Inventions," from which the idea of the steam-engine is supposed to have been taken, died in 1667, and his remains lie deposited in a vault on the north side the chancel of Ragland church. The family estates were recovered at the Restoration, without, however, any compensation being made for the enormous losses sustained on behalf of the royal cause. The castle stands on a gentle eminence, called Tyn y Ciros, or the Cherry Hill, about a quarter of a mile from the village and church of Ragland, which are pleasantly situated in a fertile and well-cultivated country, between Monmouth and Abergavenny, on the high road to Carmarthen and Milford. At a distance, the castle is almost hidden by the umbrageous foliage of the surrounding trees, and it is not until near at hand, that the visitor becomes aware of its great extent and beauty. The effect is much increased by the elaborate finish of the masonry, which is almost uninjured by time. It has been well remarked, indeed, that Ragland, perhaps the most interesting and beautiful of Besides his own family and friends, the officers alone were no less than four colonels, eighty-two captains, sixteen lieutenants, six cornets, four ensigns, four quarter-masters' and fifty-two esquires and gentlemen. + Ragland is supposed to have derived its name from the Welch word Rhaglaw, the governor, whence the corruption to Rhaglan, and afterwards Ragland. The provincial language, as in the adjoining county of Glamorgan, is the Guentian, one of the threee dialects of Wales, in which many of the Welsh odes were composed, and which was considered next in purity to that of the Gwynedd. A door on the west side of the hall leads into the chapel, now dilapidated, which stood on the east side of the "Large Court" or "Fountain's Court," so called from the statue of a horse surrounded by a marble fountain constantly running with pure water, which formerly stood in the centre. The site of the chapel may be traced by some of the groins rising from grotesque heads that supported the roof; several steps remain of a stone staircase which is supposed to have led to the pulpit. At the upper end are two ancient whole-length figures in stone, several yards above the ground. The Fountain Court is 100 feet long by 60 |