We passed an ancient, many-gabled inn, large, low, and comfortable,
bearing the name of the Devonshire House, as does our own hotel, for the
Duke of Devonshire is a great proprietor in these parts. A mile or so
beyond, we came to a gateway, broken through what, I believe, was an old
wall of the Priory grounds; and here we alighted, leaving our driver to
take the carriage to the inn. Passing through this hole in the wall, we
saw the ruins of the Priory at the bottom of the beautiful valley about a
quarter of a mile off; and, well as the monks knew how to choose the
sites of their establishments, I think they never chose a better site
than this,--in the green lap of protecting hills, beside a stream, and
with peace and fertility looking down upon it on every side. The view
down the valley is very fine, and, for my part, I am glad that some
peaceable and comfort-loving people possessed these precincts for many
hundred years, when nobody else knew how to appreciate peace and comfort.
The old gateway tower, beneath which was formerly the arched entrance
into the domain of the Priory, is now the central part of a hunting-seat
of the Duke of Devonshire, and the edifice is completed by a wing of
recent date on each side. A few hundred yards from this hunting-box are
the remains of the Priory, consisting of the nave of the old church,
which is still in good repair, and used as the worshipping-place of the
neighborhood (being a perpetual curacy of the parish of Skipton), and the
old ruined choir, roofless, with broken arches, ivy-grown, but not so
rich and rare a ruin as either Melrose, Netley, or Furness.
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