ivy-grown, peaceful ruin. The banqueting-hall, all open to the sky and
with thick curtains of ivy tapestrying the walls, and grass and weeds
growing on the arches that overpass it, is indescribably beautiful. The
hearthstones of the great old fireplaces, all about the castle, seem to
be favorite spots for weeds to grow. There are eight large round towers,
and out of four of them, I think, rise smaller towers, ascending to a
much greater height, and once containing winding staircases, all of which
are now broken, and inaccessible from below, though, in at least one of
the towers, the stairs seemed perfect, high aloft. It must have been the
rudest violence that broke down these stairs; for each step was a thick
and heavy slab of stone, built into the wall of the tower. There is no
such thing as a roof in any part; towers, hall, kitchen, all are open to
the sky. One round tower, directly overhanging the railway, is so
shattered by the falling away of the lower part, that you can look quite
up into it and through it, while sitting in the cars; and yet it has
stood thus, without falling into complete ruin, for more than two hundred
years. I think that it was in this tower that we found the castle oven,
an immense cavern, big enough to bake bread for an army. The railway
passes exactly at the base of the high rock, on which this part of the
castle is situated, and goes into the town through a great arch that has
been opened in the castle wall. The tubular bridge across the Conway has
been built in a style that accords with the old architecture, and I
observed that one little sprig of ivy had rooted itself in the new
structure.

There are numberless intricate passages in the thickness of the castle
walls, forming communications between tower and tower,--damp, chill
passages, with rough stone on either hand, darksome, and very likely
leading to dark pitfalls. The thickness of the walls is amazing; and the
people of those days must have been content with very scanty light, so