The International Monthly Magazine | Page 4

any
thing of the old building remains, except the out walls about it. Out of
this ruin, is built a 'fair house,' which is now in possession of Sir
Nicholas Carew, master of the Buckhounds." Dr. Stukeley alludes to
this house, in a letter written in 1752; he speaks of the inveterate
destruction, and of "the gardener" carrying him through a "court" where
he saw the remains of the church of the Abbey. He says the "east end
reached up to an artificial mount along the garden wall; that mount and
all the terraces of the pleasure garden, to the back front of the house,
are entirely made up of the sacred rudera or rubbish of continual
devastations. Bones of abbots, monks, and great personages, who were
buried in large numbers in the church and cloisters which lay on the
south side of the church, were spread thick all over the garden, so that
one may pick up whole handsfull of them every where amongst the
garden stuff." Brayley mentions in his pleasant History of Surrey, that
this artificial mount was levelled in 1810, and its materials employed to
fill up a pond. Many human skulls and bones were found intermixed
with the chalk and mortar of which it had been formed. Fragments of
old tiles were also frequently found, and are still sometimes turned up.
No trace even of the "Abbey house" is left; it was purchased in 1809 by
a stock-broker, who in the following year sold the materials--and so
ends the great monastic history of Chertsey. Where are now its
spiritualities in Surrey?--its temporalities in Berkshire and
Hampshire?--its revenues of Stanwell, and rents of assize?--its

spiritualities in Cardiganshire? Alas! they have left no sign, except on
the yellow parchment--of rare value to the antiquary.
Those who desire, like ourselves, to investigate what tradition has
sanctified, will do well to turn down a lane beyond Chertsey Church,
which leads directly to the Abbey bridge, and there, amid tangled hedge
rows and orchards, stands the fragment of an arch, partly built up, and
so to say, disfigured by brick-work, and an old wall, both evidently
portions of the Abbey. In the wall are a great number of what the
people call "black stones," a geological formation, making them seem
fused by fire. Layers of tiles were also inserted in this wall, and where
the cement has dropped away they can be distinctly traced; there is also
an ivy, very aged indeed; it is so knotted and thick that it seems to grow
through the stones, the soil has so evidently encroached on the wall that
it is most probably rooted at the foundation. The pleasant market
garden of Mr. Roake covers the actual ground on which the Abbey
stood. The workmen frequently turn up broken tiles and human bones,
and there is no doubt that by digging deeper much would be discovered
that might elucidate the history of the past. At the farther end of the
market garden a vault has been discovered which is of considerable
length and breadth; but the water rises so high in it (except after a long
continuance of dry weather has sealed the land springs) that it is
impossible to get to the end without wading. An enormous quantity of
richly-colored and decorated encaustic tiles have been found here;
some are preserved in our local museum. But the most interesting
remains in this place are the "stews," or fish-ponds, which run parallel
to each other like the bars of a gridiron; these ponds do not
communicate one with the other, nor has the water any outlet: a little
care and attention might make them valuable for their old purposes; but
they are deplorably neglected. Occasionally you see the fin of some
huge fish, whose slow movement partakes of the character of the
stagnant water he has inhabited for years;--who can tall how many?
[Illustration: "THE GOLDEN GROVE."]
"THE GOLDEN GROVE."
"The Abbey River," as it is still called, travels slowly along its way,

fertilizing the meadows and imparting life and freshness to the placid
scene. The denizens of Chertsey have planted orchards, and in a few
instances gardens on its banks. One, the garden of Mr. Herring, is a
model of neatness, almost concealed by its roses and carefully tended
shrubs. We wandered from orchard to orchard, amid the trees and over
the uneven ground; all was so still and lonely that it required the
suggestions of an active imagination to believe it had ever been the
scene of contention by flood and field. From the Abbey Bridge the
richness of the meadow scenery is exceedingly refreshing, the grass is
deep and verdant, as it cannot fail to be, lying so low, and fertilized by
perpetual moisture.
During their wide-spreading magnificence, the abbots of Chertsey