Transcribed from the 1803 J. Nichols and Son edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

A
TOUR
THROUGHOUT
SOUTH WALES
AND
MONMOUTHSHIRE.

COMPREHENDING

A GENERAL SURVEY

OF THE

PICTURESQUE SCENERY, REMAINS OF ANTIQUITY, HISTORICAL
EVENTS, PECULIAR MANNERS, AND COMMERCIAL SITUATIONS,
OF THAT INTERESTING PORTION OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.

By J. T. BARBER, F.S.A.

ILLUSTRATED WITH A MAP AND TWENTY VIEWS, ENGRAVED
FROM DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY J. NICHOLS AND SON, RED LION PASSAGE,
FLEET STREET;

FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.

1803.

To RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, Esq. M.P.

SIR,

Highly admiring that transcendent genius and ability which renders you conspicuous among the foremost characters of the age; nor less venerating that manly independence which has dignified your political career, it must be my regret, in dedicating this Work to you, that it is not more suitable to the rank of merit to which it is inscribed.

I am, SIR,
With great respect,
Your most obedient Servant,

J. T. BARBER.

Southampton-street, Strand,
London, Feb. 15, 1803.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The intention of this Work is, to point out and describe such objects as command general interest throughout the country.—The usual plan of Tours only comprising a particular route, unless that precise line be retraced, a Tourist is obliged to encumber himself with several books, to enable him to gain all the information that he requires. The Author has felt this inconvenience in several excursions through Great Britain; and has therefore selected from the best authorities an account of those few parts which he had not an opportunity of visiting; in order that this Work may exhibit a general survey of Southern Cambria.

CONTENTS.

ERRATA. [0]

Page 66, for Lamphey Castle, read Lamphey Court.

68 and 80, for Habberston, read Hubberston.

98, after horizon, read the sea.

131, in the note, for Druslwyn, read Gruslwyn.

DIRECTIONS for the PLATES.

INTRODUCTION.

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS—A SKETCH OF WELCH HISTORY—ANCIENT BUILDINGS.

SECT. I.

In making the Tour of South Wales and Monmouthshire, the Admirer of picturesque beauty dwells with peculiar pleasure on a tract of country comprising the greater part of Monmouthshire, and bordering the Severn and Bristol channel, to the western limits of Pembrokeshire. In this enchanting district, a succession of bold hills, clothed with wild forests, or ornamental plantations and delightful valleys, present themselves in constant variety: many fine estuaries and rivers, picturesque towns, and princely ruins, also adorn the scene, whose charms are inconceivably heightened by the contiguity of the Bristol channel, which washes the coast; in some places receding into capacious bays; in others, advancing into rocky promontories of the most imposing grandeur.

The Statistical Enquirer finds equal subject of gratification, in the uncommon fertility of several valleys, and the woody treasures of numerous hills, bearing myriads of oaks, and other first-rate timber-trees. The mineral wealth of the country, and its convenient coast for traffic, are likewise subjects of high consideration; and, while the statist applauds the late rapid strides of manufactures and commerce in this district, he may discover sources hitherto latent for their increase.

The Historian cannot fail of being interested while treading on the ground where Britons made their latest and most vigorous efforts for independence, against successive invaders; nor the Antiquary, while traversing a country replete with Monuments of the Druidical ages; military works of the Romans, Britons, Saxons, and Normans; and the venerable relics of numerous religious foundations.

Beyond this stripe of country, from ten to twenty miles in width, forming the southern extremity of Wales, and an intermixture of rich scenery (particularly in the neighbourhood of Brecon), with prevailing dreariness on the eastern frontier, South-Wales exhibits a tedious extent of hills without majesty, valleys overrun with peat bogs, and unprofitable moors. Beside the superb ruins of St. David’s, the course of the Tivy near Cardigan, and the scenery about the Devil’s Bridge, it has little to entice the attention of the tourist: the towns, for the most part, are miserably poor, and travelling accommodations very uncertain; the roads, too, are wretched beyond any thing that a mere English traveller ever witnessed. It is, therefore, a subject of no small gratification, that the chief beauties of South-Wales are found in a compact route; abounding with good towns, respectable accommodations, and very fair roads. This part of the country may be explored in a close carriage, though the better mode of travelling is, certainly, on horse-back. The pedestrian may claim peculiar advantages in his way of getting on; but I do not conceive, that a man enduring the fatigue of trudging day after day through miry roads, can maintain an exhilaration of spirits congenial with the beauties that surround him.

SECT. II.

The geographical situation and present limits of Wales are unnecessary to be here described. Of its history, the first certain accounts that we collect are on the invasion of the Romans, when Wales appears to have been divided into three principalities: the Silures, the Ordovices, and the Dimitæ. The Silures possessed all that tract of country bounded by the Severn, the Tame, and the Towey; which, comprehending the counties of Monmouth, Glamorgan, Brecknock, Radnor, Hereford, and part of Gloucester, Worcester, and Caermarthen shires, comprised the greater part of South-Wales. The Dimitæ inhabited that part of South-Wales westward of the Towey; and the Ordovices, North-Wales, including Anglesea.

The Romans having subdued Britannia Prima, i.e. the Southern part of England, advanced to the conquest of Wales, by them denominated Britannia Secunda; in this, however, they met with an unlooked-for opposition; the inhabitants were vigorous and brave; and the country, wildly piled together with mountains, forests, and morasses, presented an aggregation of difficulties, that would have discouraged a people less ardent in their enterprizes: nor did they succeed, until after a long warfare and a severe loss. The Silures and Dimitæ fell under the yoke in the reign of Vespasian, when they were vanquished by Julius Frontinus. The Ordovices were not finally subdued until the time of his successor, Agricola, who, according to Tacitus, exterminated the whole nation.

The Romans retained possession of this country until A.D. 408, when they withdrew their legions, and the most warlike of the British youth, for the defence of their central dominions. The inroads of the Scots and Picts, which immediately followed, do not appear to have materially affected the Welch; nor did the Saxons, though at constant war with them for several centuries, acquire any settled dominion in the country: yet they more than once partially overran Wales, obliging it to pay tribute; and in the reign of Edward the confessor, Harold, at the head of a great army, entering Wales, defeated Prince Griffith, sovereign of North-Wales, and, establishing himself in Gwent [6] (Monmouthshire), began a Palace at Portswit, which was, however, destroyed by Griffith before its completion.

From the departure of the Romans, in 408, to the inroads of the Anglo-Norman chieftains in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, Wales was divided into numerous petty sovereignties or lordships, of varying name and extent, but tributary to an imperial Prince; though sometimes that dignity was split into two or three branches. These chiefs were usually at war with each other, or with their Princes, who seldom obtained tribute when their means of enforcing it was questionable.

The Anglo-Norman dominion in Wales was brought about in a manner wholly different from former conquests. William the First and his successors, finding sufficient employment in securing their English possessions, invited their chiefs, holding lands in the neighbourhood of Wales, to make incursions against the Welch lords, upon their separate interests. The Norman leaders thereupon, by creating feuds among the native powers, siding with one or the other party, and breaking with them on convenient opportunities, contrived to fix themselves in various parts of Wales; whence their conquests extending, by degrees, overspread the greater part of the country. The lands thus obtained became the property of the conquerors, who, under the title of lords marchers, were allowed to exercise an uncontrolled jurisdiction within their demesnes: but power acquired on such principles could only be retained by force; every petty despot secured himself in a fortress, and hence arose the extraordinary number of castles with which Wales is crowded, amounting, according to a native author, [7] to 143. The Welch princes still held a considerable tract of country, frequently overthrew the intruders, and even carried their arms into England; but in the defeat of the brave Llewelyn, by Edward the First, Wales lost every remnant of its independence, and became definitively united to the crown of England.

In the reign of Henry the Eighth Wales was divided into twelve shires, and Monmouthshire was included among the English counties; the feudal despotism of the lords-marchers was then abolished; and Wales, participating in the equal shelter of English jurisprudence, has proved itself as zealous in defending the common interests of the empire, as it was formerly conspicuous in struggling for its particular freedom.

SECT. III.

Among the numerous memorials of history and antiquity which distinguish Wales, castles and religious buildings possess the chief claim to attention; and, as Wales is an admirable field for the study of the civil and military architecture that prevailed in the middle ages, I shall give a slight sketch of the progress of those arts, so far as it seems applicable to the present purpose.

On the overthrow of the Romans by the Goths and Vandals, the arts vanished before the scourge of war; and the standard mode of architecture which adorned the Greek and Roman empires could no longer be executed in its original perfection. The general forms, indeed, were imitated, but without an observance of symmetry: the execution was rough and clumsy; the pillars were excessively thick, and the arches heavy; and where ornament was attempted the performance was very uncouth. Such was the state of architecture (a mere corruption of the Roman) that succeeded the devastations of the Goths, and has been called Saxon and Norman: the term Gothic, however, would certainly be more appropriate.

At the beginning of the twelfth century, a new style of architecture made its appearance, distinguished by pointed arches and clustered columns [9]. Though at first coldly received, and but sparingly introduced among the rounded arches and massive columns called Saxon, it soon gained an undisputed footing.

About the latter end of the reign of Henry the Third, we find it acquire a more ornamental and distinct character. The pillars, which before were rounds and encircled with slender detached shafts, were then formed in entire reeded columns; the arched roofs also, which only exhibited the main springers, then became intersected with numerous ramifications and transomes. The decorations continued to increase until toward the close of Henry the Eighth’s reign, when the light of science again dawned over Europe, and the relics of Greece and Rome were rightly considered as models of genuine taste; the classic elegance of the five Orders then appeared, intermixed with the Gothic; it soon became universal, and is now adopted in all superior buildings throughout Europe. Further characteristics of style might be pointed out, and lesser variations defined: but I do not presume to inform the antiquary; and the distinctions already drawn will be sufficient for the cursory tourist.

Castles appear of no generally chosen figure, except such were founded by the Romans, who preferred that of an oblong square, unless there were special reasons to the contrary. Small castles consisted of a single court, or ward, whose sides were usually flanked by towers. The great hall, chapel, and domestic apartments, built from the outer wall into the court, occupied one or more sides. The citadel, called also the Keep and Dungeon, was a tower of eminent strength, wherein the Garrison made their last stand, and where prisoners were sometimes confined: the citadel was often detached from the walls, and built on an artificial mound encircled with a ditch. The barracks for the soldiers in garrison was generally a range of building near the gatehouse, or principal entrance. The latter building contained apartments for the Officers of the castle, and the portal was furnished with one, two, or three portcullisses. [11] A wet or dry moat surrounded the whole; and, advanced before the drawbridge that crossed it, there was often an outwork called a barbican. Large castles were only a repetition of these courts upon somewhat of a larger scale, connected with each other (Chepstow castle consists of four). In fortresses of the first class, an extensive embattled wall sometimes encircled the mass of fortification already described, at some distance, inclosing a considerable tract of ground, as at Caerphilly in Glamorganshire. [12] Castle walls appear in some instances built of solid masonry; but their general construction is of grout work. For this purpose, two slight walls were built parallel, from six to twelve feet asunder; the interval was then filled up with loose stones and rubbish, and the whole cemented together with a great quantity of fluid (according to some authors boiling) mortar: the mass soon acquired a sufficient firmness, and in the present day it possesses the adhesion of solid rock. This method was used by the Romans, and adopted by succeeding ages; but the arches were turned, and the angles coigned with hewn stones, which, after the Conquest, were brought from Caen in Normandy.

CHAP. I.

VOYAGE FROM BRISTOL TO SWANSEA—SWANSEA CASTLE—MANUFACTORIES—WELCH BATHING—OSTERMOUTH, PENRICE, AND PENNARTH CASTLES—SEAT OF MR. TALBOT—ARTHUR’S STONE, A LARGE CROMLECH.

In company with a brother artist, I entered Bristol with an intention of commencing my Cambrian tour in the neighbourhood of Chepstow; but an unthought-of attraction induced us to relinquish this project.

Returning from a ramble through the town, by the quay, we were agreeably amused with a fleet of vessels that was about to quit the river with the ebbing tide; some of them were already in full sail floating down the stream, and others getting under weigh. The spirited exertions of the seamen, and the anxious movements of numerous spectators, devoting their attention to friends or freight, gave animation to the scene, which was rendered particularly cheerful by the delightful state of the morning. On a sudden we were saluted with a duet of French-horns from a small sloop in the river; a very indifferent performance to be sure, yet it was pleasing. This sloop was bound to Swansea; and we learned that the wind was so directly favourable, that the voyage would in all probability be completed the same afternoon. We were now strongly disposed for an aquatic excursion; nor did the laughing broad faces of about a dozen Welch girls, passengers, alarm us from our purpose: so by an exertion we collected our portmanteaus and some refreshments in due time, and engaged in the voyage.

Leaving Bristol, and its romantic but ruined suburb Clifton, we entered upon the remarkable scenery of St. Vincent’s Rocks. A bolder pass than is here formed I scarcely remember to have seen, even in the most mountainous parts of Great Britain: on one side, a huge rock rises in naked majesty perpendicularly from the river, to the height of some hundred feet; the immense surface is tinted with the various hues of grey, red, and yellow, and diversified by a few patches of shrubs, moss, and creeping lichens. A range of rocks equal in magnitude, but of less precipitous ascent, clothed with dark wild forest trees and underwood, forms the opposite boundary of the river; attempering the menacing aspect of impendent cliffs, with the softer features of sylvan hills.

The grandeur of the river’s banks diminishes until near the Avon’s junction with the Severn; when the commanding height of Kingsweston-hill, adorned with the groves, lawns, and plantations of Lord Clifford’s park, rises conspicuously eminent, and engages a parting interest. We soon entered the Severn, here an expansive estuary, and so far a noble object; but deriving little importance from its shores, which, except in the neighbourhood of Aust, are a mere undulation of corn-fields and pastures. The display of cultivation, though gratifying, is certainly inferior in picturesque merit to the grand features of cliffs and mountains which distinguish the shores of Pembrokeshire, and the western coast of Wales.

For some time we were well entertained with our voyage; when satisfied with external objects, we found amusement in the cooped-up circle of our companions, and entered upon a general meal, without the assistance of knives or plates, with much good humour: nor was there a lack of wit, if we might judge from the continued bursts of laughter that sallied on the occasion. But the scene presently changed: the wind, at first so favourable, shifted to the opposite point, increasing from a pleasant breeze to a fresh gale; the sun no longer played on the surface of the water; the sky became overcast; and “the waves curled darkly against the vessel.” From the seamen, with looks of disappointment, we learned, that the prospect of a short voyage was at an end; and that, if the wind continued as it was, we might be kept at sea for several days: the badness of the weather increased towards evening, when a deluging rain came down, and continued the whole night. This calamity was further aggravated by a noisy old woman on board, who grated our ears with a horrible scream whenever a wave broke over the vessel, or a flash of lightning illuminated the scenery of the storm; filling up the intervals with the cheering narrative of ships that were lost in the very track of our voyage. It was to no purpose that we endeavoured to joke away her fears, or to make them less eloquent; but Time, that great resolver of difficulties, transferring the disorder of her imagination to her stomach, quieted her alarm. At length the increasing rain forced every one for shelter towards the cabin: this was a hole about two yards by one and a half; not quite the latter dimension in height, and filthy to a degree that I shall not attempt to describe: into this place as many were squeezed as it could possibly contain.

Among our female companions were two genteel young Welch-women of considerable personal attractions, whose vivacity and good-nature had essentially contributed to the entertainment of the day: one of these was peculiarly bewitching; her’s was

—the faultless form
Shap’d by the hand of harmony; the cheek
Where the live crimson, through the native white
Soft-shooting, o’er, the face diffuses bloom,
And ev’ry nameless grace; the parted lip,
Like the red rose-bud moist with morning dew,
Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,
The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast;
The look resistless, piercing to the soul.

These damsels preferring the certainty of a wetting upon deck to the chance of suffocation in the cabin, we made it our business to defend them as much as possible from “the pelting of the pitiless storm.” Our travelling coats were fashionably large; so that each of us was able completely to shelter one, without exposing ourselves; a bottle of brandy too, that we had fortunately provided, helped to counteract the inclemency of the weather, and we were for some time thoroughly comfortable. The rain at length, penetrating our coverings, obliged us to seek a fresh resource; but to discover one was no easy matter; for the cabin had not a chink unoccupied, and there was not a dry sail on board to make use of. In this predicament it fortunately occurred to one of the ladies, that before the hatchway was closed she observed sufficient room in the hold for three or four persons who were not very bulky to lie down: to this place we gained admittance; and, although the angles of chests and packages formed a very inappropriate couch for the tender limbs of our friends, yet the retreat proved highly gratifying; and, after a short time spent in pleasing conversation, we enjoyed a refreshing sleep.—Unhallowed thoughts, be silent! voluptuous imaginations, conjure not up, from this pressure of circumstances, motives or actions that are unholy! It is true, the girls had charms that might warm an anchorite, and were filled with the glowing sensations of youthful passion; yet they were virtuous; nor had the tourists, although encountering temptation, a wish to endanger the possessors of qualities so lovely for a transitory enjoyment.

When we issued from our burrow the next morning, the rain continued; but the wind had abated, and become more favourable. The other passengers remained in the cabin, and nothing can be imagined more distressing than their situation. No less than ten women had squeezed themselves into the hole, where they lay all of a heap, like fish in a basket. The heat and confinement had rendered the sickness general: I shall forbear to describe the evidence of its effects; but briefly remark, that, overcome by pain and fatigue, they appeared all in a sound sleep, half released from their clothes, and with such an intermixture of heads, bodies, and limbs, that it required some ingenuity to trace the relation of the several parts. The two old French-horn players were lying at the door soaking in the rain, but also asleep. From such a scene we gladly withdrew, and in a few hours found ourselves at the entrance of Swansea Bay, finely encircled with high varied hills; on our left were the two insulated rocks called the Mumbles, at a small distance from the main land, where the whitened town of Ostermouth [21] appeared issuing from the water, beneath a lofty dark hill. At the bottom of the bay, the superior extent of Swansea lined the shore, backed by an atmosphere of cloudy vapours produced from the numerous furnaces in its neighbourhood. At length I trod on Cambrian ground, and paid my half crown, with a willing engagement to forfeit a hundred times the sum, if ever I should be again caught on board of a Swansea Hoy. [22]

Swansea is a tolerably neat town, although irregularly built. It has long been a winter residence of the neighbouring gentry, and a favourite resort in summer for bathing; but its increasing opulence arises principally from the prosperity of its manufactures and commerce.

In company with Major Jones, a worthy magistrate of the town, to whose polite attention I stand indebted for much local information, I obtained a complete survey of Swansea Castle, (situated in the middle of the town), which, although much contracted from its former grand dimensions, is still of considerable extent. The principal feature of the building is, a massive quadrangular tower, remarkable for a range of light circular arches, encircling the top, and supporting a parapet, which forms a connexion with turrets at each angle. This parapet affords a pleasing bird’s-eye view of the town and surrounding country. The tenantable parts of the castle comprise the town-hall; a poor-house; a jail; a new market-house; numerous store-cellars; a blacksmith’s and other shops and habitations; a Roman Catholic chapel; and a pigeon-house. The Gothic structure has been so far metamorphosed in its application to these purposes, that it is almost impossible to trace the original plan of the building; but the large apartment used for Romish worship has been either the baronial hall or the chapel: I think, the former.

During my stay in Swansea, an intoxicated man fell asleep on the parapet of the castle, and, rolling off, fell to the ground at the depth of near 80 feet. The poor fellow was a servant in the castle: and, missing his room in winding up the turreted stair-case, unconsciously extended his journey to the summit of the castle. Nothing broke his fall (unless the roof of a low shed reared against the wall, and which he went clearly through, may be considered as a favourable impediment), and yet, incredible as it may seem! the only effect produced on the man, was a slight broken head, and a restoration of his faculties. He bound up his head himself, made the best of his way to a public-house, took a little more ale, and then went soberly to bed. I should scarcely have believed this miraculous escape, had I not seen the broken tiles and rafters through which he fell, and heard the attestations of numerous witnesses of the accident.

Swansea Castle was built A.D. 1113, by Henry Beaumont, Earl of Warwick, a Norman leader who conquered Gowerland, a tract of country bounded by the Neath and Loughor rivers, from the Welch; but it was soon after besieged by Griffith ap Rhys ap Theodore, a native chief, and a great part of the out-buildings destroyed. It is now the property of the Duke of Beaufort, Lord paramount of Gower.

A large tract of country northward of Swansea is covered with coal, copper, and iron-works, the operations of which are much facilitated by a canal passing among them. The dismal gloom of the manufactories, hanging over the river Tawe, is pleasingly contrasted by the whitened walls of their appendant villages, springing from the dark sides of the hills that rise above the river. Conspicuous above the other resorts of the manufacturers is Morristown, a neat newly-created village; and on the summit of a steep hill Morristown castle, a quadrangular building, which is the habitation of upwards of thirty families; these buildings owe their origin to Mr. Morris, a gentleman, who, in partnership with Mr. Lockwood, conducts one of the leading works. The introduction of Major Jones obtained me a view of Messrs. Freeman’s copper manufactory: we took care to be there at noon, when the furnaces are tapped and all the interesting processes gone through. The effect in passing through these dismal buildings, contrasted by the vivid glare of the furnaces, and the liquid fire of the pouring metal, is to a stranger very striking. I was much surprized at the quantity of condensed sulphureous vapour that yellowed the roof of the building. Sulphur often forms the greatest bulk of the ore; yet no means are employed to collect the vapour, which might easily be managed, and could not fail of turning to a source of profit: at the same time, it would save the health of the workmen, and spare the vegetation, which appears stinted for a considerable distance by the noxious effluvia.

We left these sulphureous chambers to enjoy a purer air on the sea-shore, where another curiosity awaited us. As we were strolling on the sands, about a mile above the town, we remarked a group of figures, in birth-day attire, gamboling in the water: not suspecting that they were women, we passed carelessly on; but how great was our surprize, on approaching them, to find that the fact did not admit of a doubt. We had not paused a minute, before they all came running toward us, with a menacing tone and countenance, that would seem to order us away. Though we did not understand their British sentences, we obeyed, and very hastily too, on finding a volley of stones rattling about our ears. This hostile demonstration, we afterwards found, arose from a suspicion that we were going to remove their clothes, a piece of waggery often practised by the visitants of Swansea, to enjoy their running nudiores ovo. The girls knew that we were not their countrymen, or we should have passed unconcerned; unless, indeed, acquaintances, who would have made their usual salutation, and perhaps joined in the party’s amusement. In our subsequent rambles on the beach these liberal exhibitions of Cambrian beauty afforded us many pleasing studies of unsophisticated nature:

“Graceful, cleanly, smooth and round;
All in Venus’ girdle bound.”

From Swansea we made an excursion across the sands to Ostermouth castle, about four miles distant, situated on an eminence near the coast. The principal walls of this ruin are little injured by time, and most of the apartments may be readily distinguished; the general figure is polygonal, and the ramparts are conspicuously lofty, but unflanked by towers, except at the entrance: a profusion of ivy overspreading the ruin rather conceals than adorns it. This building is supposed to have been erected by the Norman conqueror of Gowerland, and has almost ever since remained the property of that Lordship.

From some high hills behind Ostermouth, an extensive view is obtained over the peninsula of Gower, and the two noble bays of Swansea and Caermarthen, which its projection divides: the general aspect of the peninsula is wild and dreary. Not far distant, near the little bay of Oxwich, are the ruins of Pennarth castle, a fortress built soon after the Beaumonts conquered Gowerland; and on the opposite side of the bay stands the more picturesque ruin of Penrice castle; so called after the Penrice’s, a Norman family that settled there in the reign of Edward the First. This castle is comprised in an extensive domain belonging to Mr. Talbot, which occupies a great part of the peninsula; and here Mr. Talbot has erected an elegant villa, with all the appendant beauties of wood and lawn, lake, and promenade. But, unless with a view to improve the estate, one can scarcely imagine what motive could induce this gentleman to desert his former residence at Margam, possessing all the allurements of favoured nature, and situated in the midst of an agreeable neighbourhood, to force exotic elegance upon a bleak unfrequented coast, and fix his abode far from the usual haunts of society.

About three miles northward of Penrice, upon a mountain called Cum Bryn, near Llanridian, is a table-like monument, or cromlech, [29] called Arthur’s stone: it consists of a huge flat stone, supposed to weigh near twenty tons, supported upon six or seven others about five feet in height; the smaller stones are placed in a circle.—A few miles farther, near the mouth of the Loughor, is Webley castle, which was described to me as a place of considerable antique strength, and as being still entire and partially inhabited. The difficulty of access to this castle, and its out-of-the-way situation, prevented our visiting it; similar reasons also prevented our seeing a curiosity at Wormshead point, a bold promontory jutting far into the sea, and divided from the main land at high-water by the sea’s overflowing its low isthmus. Near the extremity of the point is a cleft in the ground, in which if dust or sand be thrown, it will be returned back into the air; and a person applying his ear to the crevice will hear a deep noise, like the blowing of a large pair of bellows: this effect is reasonably attributed to the concussions of the waves of the sea in the cavernous hollows of the cliff. An old author, I think Giraldus Cambrensis, speaks of a similar phenomenon in Barry island, near the coast between Cardiff and Cowbridge; but at present no such effect is produced at that place.

CHAP. II.

LOUGHOR—LLANELLY—PEMBREE-HILL—KIDWELLY, AND ITS CASTLE.

Having satisfied ourselves with the peninsula of Gower, we entered upon a zigzag excursion, round the coast of South-Wales, to its northern boundary, purposing to return to Swansea by a midland route. My friend had bought an excellent travelling horse, though aged, and a little foundered, for twelve pounds. I was not so fortunate; the few others that we met with for sale, were miserable poneys, and at a price double their value in London: I was, therefore, constrained to engage a poor little hack, at two guineas for a fortnight’s use; and thus mounted we set forward over a high romantic district to Loughor, the Leucarium of Antoninus, now a poor village; but still exhibiting the ruined keep of its castle, on a raised mount surrounded by a moat. From this place, soiled with the filth of neighbouring collieries, we had a river to ford to the opposite shore. This task is by no means enviable; for, in addition to fording a rapid current over a rough stoney bottom, large hollows are formed by vessels at low water, which, not appearing, sometimes entrap the unsuspecting traveller, who may think himself well off if he escape with only a ducking: we thanked our stars when we got across; and, wading through a miserable road, and a region of collieries, arrived at Llanelly (pronounced Llanithly). About half way between the ford and this town, we observed Capel Ddewy, a small ruin, picturesquely accompanied by a yew-tree; and near it the remains of some deserted furnaces.

In this ride we proceeded at an uncertainty, till we were fortunately assisted by an agreeable matron, who was churning at the door of her cottage. Now, as the noise of her employment prevented our hearing each other, she was obliged to leave off; but, that the interval of a few moments from labour might not pass unproductively, she caught up her knitting needles at the same instant, and advanced the fabric of a stocking while she gave us our directions. Such instances of persevering industry were frequent throughout the principality; but more particularly so from hence westward, where not a female was to be seen unemployed in knitting, however she might be otherwise at work, in carrying loads or driving cattle.

Llanelly is a small irregular town, and contains an old seat of Sir John Stepney’s, which, though deserted by the family, afforded habitation to numerous tenants, till the mischievous operation of the window-tax, in driving them out, left it to moulder in decay. The high square embattled tower of its church is remarkable, in being much wider at the base than upwards, forming a sort of cone. This town, however, offering no objects to detain us, we proceeded without halting, and in a few miles ride gained the summit of Pembree hill.

Here a marine view of great extent burst upon us; the grand sweep of Caermarthen bay appeared beneath, terminated on one side by Wormshead point, and on the other by the insulated rock of Caldy in Pembrokeshire; the opposite shores of Somerset and Devon formed the distance, faintly skirting the horizon beyond a vast expanse of sea, studded with numerous vessels. Looking internally, the country exhibited a strong undulatory surface, variously chequered with wild heaths and rich cultivation. Descending the hill, we approached the neat regular-built town of new Kidwelly, situated in a narrow well-wooded valley.

The castle forms a noble object, adjoining the ruins of old Kidwelly on the opposite bank of the river. Leland says, “the old town is prettily waullid, and hath hard by the waul a Castel; the old town is nearly al desolated but the cartel is meately well kept up.” This description applies very well to the present appearance of the place; for, though the castle is uninhabited, it continues tolerably entire. This fortress was built soon after the Conquest, by Maurice de Londres, one of the twelve Norman knights who conquered Glamorganshire; and, after undergoing the usual vicissitudes of sieges, partial demolition, and different masters, fell to the crown of England. We were disappointed of an internal examination of this fine ruin, as the key of the entrance could not readily be obtained, and we were pressed for time to reach Caermarthen before dark. The continuance of our route led us on a steep woody bank, above the romantic course of Kidwelly river; but it soon deviated to the superior attractions of the Towey; following whose expansive water and verdant accompaniments, and crossing a long antique bridge, we reached Caermarthen.

CHAP. III.

CAERMARTHEN—FEMALE LABOURERS—LLANSTEPHAN CASTLE—A FORD—LAUGHARNE CASTLE—FINE MARINE VIEWS—NEW INN—TENBY.

The situation of Caermarthen, one of the most wealthy and polite towns in Wales, can scarcely be enough admired; rising above a noble river, and commanding a full view of one of the most beautiful vales in the kingdom. Internally, there is less to commend; as most of the streets are very steep, and irregularly built; yet there are many good private houses, belonging to the neighbouring gentry that resort here in the winter months; and a handsome town-hall and some other buildings do credit to the public spirit of the town, though a solitary church may reflect but little on its sanctity. Very small remains of the castle, now built up into a gaol, appear; or of the walls that formerly encompassed the town. The trade of the place is much facilitated by its fine river, which conveys ships of a good size up to the bridge.

Caermarthen is the Kaervyrdhin of the Britons, the Maridunum of Ptolemy, and the Muridunum of Antoninus. The ancient Britons reckoned it the capital of all Wales: here they held their Parliaments, or Assemblies of wise men, and here fixed their Chancery and Exchequer. When the Normans overran Wales, this town severely felt the miseries of war, being often besieged, and twice burnt by the Welch princes; Gilbert Earl of Clare, however, at length fixed his power at Caermarthen beyond the reach of their attempts. This place gave birth to the famous Merlin in the year 480: he appears to have been a man of extraordinary wisdom and learning, which, no doubt, occasioned him to be looked upon as a magician in that dark age, and transmitted as such to posterity by Monkish writers, who always looked with an evil eye upon knowledge possessed out of their craft. Here also was born Lewis Bayly, chaplain to James the First, afterwards Bishop of Bangor, and author of the celebrated “Practice of Piety.”

From our comfortable quarters at the Green Dragon, we set out early in the morning; and, on leaving the town, were more interested than pleased, in noticing several fine young women who were acting as scavengers, while one, whose elegance of form defied even her awkward habit to conceal it, was bending beneath the fatigue of wheeling away the filth in a barrow. In the same point of view, seated behind a counter, a brawny-fisted fellow was folding up ribbons and laces. How odious is the employ of men-milliners! How shameful, that men, who might gain a prosperous livelihood in a thousand ways, should interfere with almost the only eligible means which the limited powers and habits of women capacitate them to adopt for a maintenance! Driven from their natural employ, they must either have recourse to a cruel drudgery which they were not formed, and are generally unable, to endure; or wander after subsistence in the paths of shame and misery, at once a disgrace, a burthen, and a terror to society. But does our censure more properly fall on these men, for entering into the pretty dalliance of women’s affairs, in preference to masculine pursuits requiring intellectual and bodily exertion? or on the ladies, who encourage men, rather than their own sex, in the fiddle-faddle arrangement of their caps and tuckers?

Passing this group, we soon left the high road, and struck off into a narrow imbowered lane, up a laborious ascent, toward Llanstephan Castle. On arriving at the top of the hill, we were amply repaid for our toil by a most enchanting view over the Vale of the Towey: a stripe of the richest verdure, intersected with numerous hedgerows and ornamental plantations, arose on each side of the river; above which, a parallel range of high-wooded and cultivated hills formed the boundary of the valley. The extensive town of Caermarthen; the lofty spire of its church; the ruined castle, and the long old bridge, with several barks lying near it; were conspicuous objects at a short distance in the picture; which was considerably enlivened by several gentlemen’s seats, and their appendant decorations. The town of Abergwilly, on the banks of the river, with the bishop of St. David’s palace, an ordinary building, would also have appeared in the distance; but the termination of the valley was denied us, by the morning mist not having cleared away. Pursuing our route, we took every opportunity that intervals in the hedge afforded, of renewing our treat, and discovered new beauties at each succeeding station.

At length we parted with this agreeable scenery; and soon after, on a sudden turn of the lane, came within view of the picturesque ruin of Llanstephan castle. A farming party also appeared at this instant, proceeding with goods for Caermarthen market. This group was opened by a robust young fellow driving a couple of cows; he wore the general dress of the country, a short blue coarse cloth coat, and breeches of the same open at the knees; but he also possessed the luxury of shoes and stockings. A sledge loaded with sacks of grain followed; drawn by a horse, on which a lusty wench sat astride, as the peasant girls generally do in Wales; cloathed in a brown jirkin and petticoat, but with her lower extremities uncovered. She urged on the horse by kicking him with her bare heels, while her hands were busied in knitting. Two other buxom bare-legged girls followed on foot, with their fingers similarly employed, and with large baskets of eggs and poultry on their heads. But a word on the sledge, the common farming carriage in Wales.—This is a most simple contrivance, consisting of two rude poles, between which the horse is placed; their ends trail on the ground, toward which extremity there are two or three cross bars; a few upright sticks from these complete the carriage. A comely dame, seated on horse-back, and accommodated with a sort of side-saddle made with cross rails, was probably the mistress; she closed the rear; and her superior condition was evident, in her dark blue worsted stockings, ponderous shoes, and small brass buckles.

Llanstephan castle crowns the summit of a bold hill, whose precipitous base is washed by the sea. Its broken walls inclose a large area; and, furnished with several encircling earthen ramparts, appear to have possessed considerable antique strength. From numerous stations it offers a truly picturesque appearance; and in the approach charmingly combines with the surrounding landscape; which, ever varying, is sometimes confined to the woody character; at others, exhibits the wide estuary, the rocky promontory forming its opposite shore, and the boundless sea.

This castle is said to have been built by the sons of Uchtred, prince of Merionethshire, anno Domini 1138; but soon after fell into the hands of the Normans and Flemings; in 1145 it was taken from them by Cadelh, son of Rhys Prince of South Wales; and so vigorously maintained, that the utmost force which the foreigners could raise was unable to retake it. However, by the year 1189 it must have been in the possession of the English, as Caradoc informs us that it was then taken from them by Prince Rhys.

The village, a neat humble place, is snugly situated beneath the “Castle-cap’d hill” in a woody hollow; whence we traversed a lofty ridge, commanding extensive views, to a neighbouring estuary, formed by the Tave near its junction with the sea. As the tide was out, we could not avail ourselves of the ferry, but had ample directions where the water might be crossed; yet, unfortunately, on arriving at the sands, the description of circumstances received for our guidance proved so general, that we were unable to select the route intended; and the broad current ran with such threatening rapidity into the sea, only half a mile distant, that it would have been highly dangerous to have ventured in upon hazard. Ignorant how to proceed, and unwilling to return three or four miles for fresh directions, we gladly observed a couple of young women trudging on the sands in a direction toward us. The proper place for fording was now pointed out, where, it was said, the water would scarcely cover our horses’ knees; we deemed it most prudent, however, to let the natives go first, and they accordingly entered the river, using the precaution of raising their drapery. We followed close; but the lasses had considerably underrated the depth of the water, for it took both them and our horses above their middles; yet so carefully were their clothes held up, that not a thread was wetted. On reaching the opposite shore, their petticoats were suffered to descend: my friend and I then looked at each other, passed an observation, returned our thanks to the damsels, wished them a good morrow; and under an overhanging rock of red granite, crowned with the ivy-mantled remains of Laugharne castle, reached the town, an irregularly built little place, seated on a low bank of the estuary.

Laugharne castle, though not very extensive, and not generally striking for picturesque disposition, has a noble aspect toward the town. The foundation of this Castle is not transmitted to us in the Welch annals, but is, doubtless, of high antiquity; it was occupied, and probably built, by the Normans and Flemings on their conquest of these parts; afterwards, in the year 1215, it was besieged and taken by Llewelyn: Leland says, “it longid some time to the Earl of Northumberland.” An interesting ride, upon a high boundary of the sea, brought us into Pembrokeshire, at a place called New Inn.

In this progress, extensive views ranging over the Bristol channel were continual; but one coup d’œil,

High from the summit of a craggy cliff
Hung o’er the deep—

was eminently striking! magnificently beautiful! The whole sweep of Caermarthen bay, with its several estuaries, high cliffs, and swelling shores, appeared beneath us, extending in one direction to the extreme point of Gower, and in the other to the isle of Caldy in Pembrokeshire; at the latter termination, the picturesque whitened town of Tenby, romantically built on a tongue of rock projecting into the sea, seemed issuing from the waves. From the grand amphitheatre of this bay, the eye roamed, over a vast tract of sea, to the shores of Somerset and Devon, hear fifty miles distant, faintly penciled on the horizon, and terminated by the advancing swell of Lundy Island. Further westward, the setting sun appeared in conjunction with the sea, there widening into the Atlantic Ocean; its golden effulgence glittered in reflexion from the waves, and diffused itself over the whole scenery: numerous barks in the bay, sailing on different tacks, caught partial gleams of illumination; and a large fleet of ships, entering the channel at a remote distance, seemed little more than dusky spots on the glistening expanse: the tout ensemble formed one of the most pleasing marine pictures that I ever saw.—The sea, viewed under its ordinary circumstances, from a low situation, engages little interest; the angle of vision is then intersected by the aqueous segment at the distance of four or five miles; and, with little more breadth of water than one meets with in a river or lake, the prospect finishes in a mere hard line. The case is far otherwise when it is viewed from a high mountain, particularly if that mountain be a bold promontory, and the view bursts upon the spectator on a sudden: a world of waters then meets his astonished sight; the immense object presses on his mind an inconceivable emotion; and an image is at once stamped of the genuine sublime. Filled with the vast idea, he contemplates with awe and veneration the magnitude of his Creator’s works, and sinks into a proper estimate the puny achievements of man.

From New Inn, a small collection of cottages on the beach, with a large old mansion, lately modernized, but seemingly of the foundation of Elizabeth’s time, and where (it is to be observed) there is no house of public entertainment, as the name would imply, we passed, among numerous collieries belonging to Lord Milford, towards Tenby. This town is curiously situated on the ridge of a narrow rock projecting into the sea: a sandy tract connects it with the main land; which being sometimes overflowed, the town becomes insulated. The streets of Tenby are inconveniently steep; yet its romantic situation, and commodious sands for bathing, have lately rendered it a place of fashionable resort. It has a number of good lodging-houses, with a respectable hotel; and, when we were there, boasted an overflow of genteel company. The quay was well lined with vessels, and the whole carried with it an air of opulence. Here was formerly an important fishery, but that concern is now much diminished; yet the exportation of coals, has greatly increased, and that article has become the staple commodity of the place. The remains of Tenby castle (a Norman structure) are very inconsiderable: the broken walls appear toward the extremity of the cliff; and below them, I understand, there are some large natural caverns.

CHAP. IV.

MANORBEER CASTLE—AN ADVENTURE—A DILEMMA—CAREW CASTLE—LAWRENNY—PEMBROKE—ITS CASTLE—LAMPHEY COURT—STACKPOLE COURT—BOSHERSTON MEER.

On a tempestuous day, a day fraught with trouble and alarm, we left Tenby, and took the Pembroke road traced on a ridge of hills, which command extensive views over almost the whole of Pembrokeshire, and a great part of the Bristol channel; but a heavy atmosphere frowned on the scenery, and threatened a violent storm. Leaving the high road, we descended toward the sea coast in search of the gloomy remains of Manorbeer castle, and found the ruin wildly situated as described by Leland, “between two little hillettes,” whose rocky bases repelled the fury of an angry sea. This fortress appears to have been of Norman erection; it fell to the Crown in the reign of Henry the First; a grant from James the First presented it to the Bowens of Trelogne; from them it descended by marriage into the family of Picton Castle, and in the year 1740 was the property of Sir Erasmus Philips, Bart. The ponderous towers and massive fragments of this castle denote its original strength and importance to have been considerable; yet now, deprived of “the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war,” it exhibits a scene so wild and desolate, as might disclaim all intercourse with man: rank grass clothes every projection; “the thistle shakes its lonely head” from the windows, the sea-bird screams through the hall and adders creep where many a warrior stalked. From our reverie over this gloomy relic of feudal despotism, we were alarmed by a vivid flash of lightning; a loud clap of thunder succeeded, which, reverberating through the ruin, had a most impressive effect: the storm became violent, and seemed to shake the mouldering battlements of the ruin; “from their hills the groaning oaks came down, the sea darkly tumbled beneath the blast, and the roaring waves were climbing against our rocks.” A deluging rain now poured down, and drove us in search of a shelter; the fragments of a spiral staircase offered a descent to a subterraneous part of the castle, and we entered the dark recess of a dungeon, whose mysterious gloom and earthy exhalations might stir up fancy to create things worse

“Than fables yet have feign’d, or fear conceiv’d.”

I thought I heard a voice; my friend thought so too: we listened, but soon smiled at the conjecture; it was probably the hoarse roar of the sea or “eddying winds:” but the damp air of the dungeon threw a chill over us, that was even worse than an exposure to the rain; and we were returning, when a repetition of the noise that we heard before stopped us: we listened, and distinctly heard more than one human voice; the words were undistinguishable, but the tone severe and menacing; all was again silent. My friend and I looked at each other, but neither ventured to impart his thoughts. Conjecture, however, did not remain idle. Was this a horde of those barbarous men that we had heard of as inhabiting these coasts, who, by setting up false lights, betray the unsuspecting mariners on rocks and shoals, and then plunder the wreck, often murdering the crew who may attempt to defend their property? Or was it a gang of smugglers? for such men were known to conceal their stores in unfrequented ruins, and other wild seclusions. We were inclined to favour this latter opinion; but derived little satisfaction from it, on considering that they were scarcely inferior to the former in ferocity; and that if they discovered us, every thing was to be apprehended from a brutal policy, to preserve the secret of their hidings place.

Our reflections were broken off by a further noise, and we plainly heard a hoarse cautioning voice utter, “Only you mind, and we shall have ’em both.” We again appealed to each other’s countenances, but no confidence appeared in either; in silence, I threw out the tuck of my stick; my friend drew a sword from his; for we were so far armed against attack. Again all was hushed; and we ventured to raise ourselves from the dungeon, in order to catch a glimpse of the people with whom we had to deal; when a strong flash of lightning illuminated the whole ruin; and from an aperture near its base; we saw two men emerge; the one armed with a gun, the other with a spade:—I thought I had never seen two such murderous-hooking fellows: we shrunk to our concealment instinctively; yet not without an apprehension that we had been seen. But our sensations may be easier imagined than described, when within a few yards one of them was heard to say, “Why did you not bring your gun? I shou’dn’t wonder if one got away:” which was answered by, “Only you make sure of one, and I’ll engage to knock the other’s brains out.”

Now knowing the worst, we determined on sallying out; if possible, to reach a little village that we had observed at no great distance; or, if discovered, to endeavour upon closing in with the gunsman before he could take aim! We sprang forward together, and had nearly reached the great entrance when the gun went off; and in the same moment I saw my friend extended among the fragments of the ruin:—without stopping, I rushed on toward the ruffian, hoping to use my stick with good effect before the piece could be re-loaded; when, passing under the portal, down the crevice where formerly the portcullis was suspended, a large fox darted and passed before me. A loud voice now exclaimed, “Dang it you’ve missed hur;” and with no less joy than astonishment I beheld my friend brandishing his sword behind me; we said nothing, but pushed on together, and, suddenly turning an angle, met the villains face to face. Again joy and astonishment struggled for pre-eminence;—they recoiled from us, and, dropping their weapons, with a loud yell darted out of sight!

Such dastardly conduct may appear irreconcilable with the ferocious design of which we suspected them; but cowardice is no stranger to cruelty; and the direct tenor of their expressions forbade a rising suggestion that they intended us no harm. Gathering up the gun and spade as trophies of our victory, and remounting our horses, which remained as they were left, tied up in a nook, we proceeded to the neighbouring village, or rather two or three cottages. By the way I learned, that upon the report of the gun, my friend fell in consequence of turning short upon the slippery fragments of the ruin. On our approaching the village, a number of men, women, and children, appeared crowding together with great eagerness; and we were no sooner perceived, than an evident alarm pervaded the cluster, in which was included the two ruffians. However, the peaceable demeanour of the tourists, and the superiority of numbers on the side of the natives, united in procuring a parley; when it evidently appeared that a double misconception had taken place: the men in whose countenances we had read the prognostics of homicide, turned out to be two honest young farmers, who had traced a couple of notorious robbers that had long infested the neighbourhood (a brace of foxes) to their retreat in the castle ruins. This account brought with it a new application of the sentences that we had heard, and we were ashamed of our misconstruction; but the men were not behindhand with us; for, as they frankly declared, from our sudden appearance, they took us either for ghosts or devils. The gun and spade were now returned; and, instead of a deadly encounter, an exchange of good wishes took place, on our leaving the villagers in the pursuit of our journey.

By the time we had reascended to the turnpike, the evening was closing apace; and this circumstance, with the uncomfortable state of the weather, made it a great object with us to take up our night’s quarters as soon as possible. Pembroke was eight miles distant, Carew (called Carey) only two or three, as we were informed by some country-people; we therefore struck off into a bridle-road for the latter place, under their direction; but soon found ourselves at a loss which to choose of three roads that presented themselves; yet, seeing no one of whom we could enquire, we were obliged to advance at hazard; and, after a long ride through mire and loose stones, on meeting with a cottager, were directed to return all the way back, and take a different route. This vexatious task performed, we found ourselves again at a loss, and again took a false route. We were now completely enveloped in the darkness of night; the weather continued stormy; and our craggy road hardly wore the distinctness of a track. In this forlorn condition we slowly paced on, not exclaiming like Ossian’s chief, “Let clouds rest on the hills, spirits fly, and travellers fear; let the winds of the woods arise, the sounding storms descend; roar streams, and windows flap, and green-winged meteors fly; rise the pale moon from behind her hills, or inclose her head in clouds, night is alike to me, blue, stormy, or gloomy the sky.” Alas! it made a sensible difference to us; but at length a distant glimmering of light appeared between the trees, which we gladly traced to a lonely cottage. Here, on our calling out, a tall raw-boned man opened the door, and discovered three others who were regaling round a blazing hearth: these were all miners in a neighbouring coal-work. The uniform black appearance of this group, their long matted, hair half hiding their faces, which caught a ferocious turn from the strong partial light of the fire, was not calculated to inspire prepossession in their favour; but, though in the exterior repulsive as their cheerless occupation, their hearts were not estranged from sensations of benevolence; and yet, so little had they of refinement, as to offer no complimentary condolence on hearing of our difficulties; even yet more unfashionably by actual services they relieved them. “Masters,” said one of the men, “if you’ll but step in a minute while I finish my mess of porridge, I’ll put you into the right road; it can’t be darker than it is; do sit down, and let me put your horses in the cow-house; I suppose you wou’dn’t like our fare (it was a mess of barley and greens stewed with a bit of meat or bacon); but mother can give you a drop of good mead, and some decentish bread and butter.” This invitation, with the manner in which it was conveyed, offered a relief that neither of us was inclined to reject; for, indeed, we had tasted nothing since breakfast, and besides found that some barley might be had for our horses. So seating ourselves in the chimney corner, we partook of the refreshments brought us by an old withered matron, who finished a scene forming a lively counterpart to that of the cavern in Gil Blas. Our dame soon took a leading part in conversation; she gratefully expatiated on the bounty of Providence in sending us a plentiful year, and lamented the misery that prevailed last winter, when, she declared, they were all starving, and many of her neighbours died outright of hunger. This statement I found general throughout the country. We left this humble but hospitable roof with regret; nor was it without much difficulty that we could prevail on our hostess to accept of a trifling acknowledgement for her favours.

We again set forward through mire and darkness, conducted by one of the men, who beguiled the time with stories of ghosts that had been seen at Manorbeer castle. At length it became somewhat lighter, and we parted with our friendly guide upon his shewing us the strait road to Carew. “Cold and comfortless,” we knocked at the inn door (for inn is the name of every alehouse in Wales); when, to put a finishing stroke to the troubles of this eventful day, we learned that they had neither beds for us nor stabling for our horses; but we had previously heard, that the village boasted two inns, and accordingly went to the other: a similar information, however, awaited us here; with the additional intelligence, that there was not a stable in the village, and only one spare bed, which was at the other alehouse; there was no alternative; we were constrained to turn our tired and hungry horses into a field, and go back to the first house.

Here our apartment served not only “for parlour and kitchen and hall,” but likewise for bed-room: every thing was in unison, the discoloured state of the walls and furniture; the care-worn looks of our host and hostess; our scanty fare, consisting of hard barley bread and salt butter; with nauseating ale, that even our keen appetites rejected; all betokened poverty and wretchedness: while in the bed, which extended from one side of the room to the other, two children were sending forth the most discordant yells; the one suffering a violent toothache, and the other crying because its brother cried. After enduring this scene of purgatory upwards of an hour, we were shewn to our bed: it was a recess built in an adjoining room, and furnished with a bag of straw, which was kept in its place by a couple of boards crossing the niche. In the same room was another bed, where two more pledges of our landlord’s tender passion continued to torment us. Vexed with accumulating plagues, we threw ourselves half undressed on the bed; but our evil destiny had yet more troubles in store;—the sheets were wringing wet; so that we had reason to expect that on the morrow we should be laid up with colds or fevers; but this apprehension was soon superseded; for a legion of fleas attacked us at all points with such persevering ferocity, that we were kept in motion the whole night; a number of rats also, by gamboling among our straw, while others were busy in grating a sally port through the partition, held us in the fidgets; and thus the danger of obstructed circulation was avoided. We had just left off cursing rustic accommodation, and the itch for travelling which had led us to these sufferings, when the door opened; no light appeared, but the sound of footsteps, softly treading, passed near us. Suspecting foul play, we instantly sprang up, and caught hold of a poor ragged girl, who acted as maid of the inn, and was going to sleep with the children in the other bed.

This kind of rural accommodation may appear very diverting in a narrative; but to those accustomed to better fare, it will be found a very serious evil. Indeed, from this specimen we afterwards made it a rule to finish our day’s journey at a good town; in consequence of which salutary resolution, except in one or two instances, we were never without a comfortable lodging. This caution is very practicable in South Wales, as the most interesting part of the country is well furnished with accommodation.

On issuing from our house of mortification, we were regaled with a fine view of Carew castle, situated on a gentle swell above an arm of Milford-haven. Its extensive remains shew it to have been rather a splendid palace, than a mere fortress; and it evidently appears the work of different ages. The North front, a portion-looking over the river, is scarcely castellated, but exhibits the mode of building in use about the time of Henry the Eighth. From the level of this front, the windows, square and of grand dimensions, project in large bows: internally, this part is highly ornamented; and a chimney-piece with Corinthian columns appears among the latest decorations of the structure. The great hall, built in the ornamented Gothic style, though much dilapidated, is still a noble relic of antique grandeur. Other parts of the building are of more remote date, and most of the walls are remarkably thick and of solid masonry: a peculiarity to be noticed; as the Welch castles are chiefly constructed of grout-work. [62] The subterraneous dungeons are remarkably extensive, and assimilate with the grandeur of the general design. This castle was anciently a residence of the Welch princes, and given by one of them (Rhys ap Theodore), with extensive lands, as a marriage portion with his daughter, to Gerald de Cario, an Anglo-Norman chieftain, and ancestor of the last proprietor of the castle; who, according to the tradition of the neighbourhood, died a hundred and seventy years ago; since which time the castle has been left to decay.

Here many a lofty tower of once menacing aspect lies hid in a leafy umbrage. The spacious hall, that in feudal ages glittered baronial splendor, is now engrafted with ivy, or in mouldering fragments lies an undistinguished heap with the common earth: where once was attuned the sweet song of minstrelsy, is now heard the hoarse note of the raven; no more the high-wrought arras shakes mysteriously from the walls, but an unaffected profusion of ivy mantles the forsaken apartments; beasts graze where dark-plumed barons sat arrayed; and the hallowed chamber of “my lady bright” is become the resort of bats and screech-owls.

Here the enthusiast, while scanning Gothic halls and “cloud-cap’d towers,” may feel his mind transported to the ages of chivalry, and image all the pageantry of feudal shews! Or, in more humble mood, may look upon their faded grandeur, and venerate a silent monitor of human ostentation.

As we admired the picturesque beauty of this scene, or indulged in the moral reflections to which it gave rise, we forgot our inconveniences and fatigue, and cheerfully returned to the inn. Our horses were in waiting: poor animals! they had no intellectual set-off to solid ill fare that they met with; but, unrid of the previous day’s mire, proceeded with us on the road to Pembroke. On leaving the village, we observed a Gothic cross on the side of the road, about twelve or fourteen feet high, and apparently formed of a single stone: it was carved all over with knots and scrolls, but we did not stop to examine it minutely. On ascending a hill, we had a grand view of the castle: indeed, it is from the south and south-west alone that its important dimensions fully appear: hence also we saw the elevated mansion of Lawrenny, seated on a lofty bank of an arm of Milford-haven, and beautifully accompanied with wood and lawn. This place, particularly excelling in natural beauties, is considered as one of the first seats in Pembrokeshire; and we understood that it had received much improvement from the taste and liberality of Mr. Barlow, the present proprietor. A ride on an elevated ridge, which but for the morning mists would have commanded extensive views, brought us to Pembroke.

The town of Pembroke principally consists of one wide street built along the ridge of a hill (washed by an arm of Milford-haven), and terminated at one extremity by its castle. Although of late declining in commercial importance, the aspect of the town is neat and genteel. Leland says of this town in his time, “it is welle wauled and hath iii gates, est, west, and north; of the wich the est gate is fairest and strongest, having afore hit a compasid tour, not rofid; in the entering where of is a Portcalys, ex solido ferro.” Of these erections there are now but very imperfect remains; we observed, however, that the north gate was still in tolerable repair.

Pembroke castle is a noble ruin, seated on a cliff above the river. Caradoc of Llancaroon says, that it was founded by Arnulph, son to the Earl of Shrewsbury, anno 1094; but Giraldus Cambrensis fixes the time of its erection in the reign of Henry the First, and the rounded arches that occur in the building determine its foundation not to have been later than that prince’s reign. The most remarkable features of this ruin are, the grand entrance, which is still entire; and the juliet, or high round tower, the antient citadel, which has still the “Rofe of stone almost in conum; the top whereof is covered with a flat mille stone;” as described by Leland. The walls of this tower are fourteen feet in thickness; its diameter within is twenty-five feet, and its height to the top of the dome seventy-five feet: from mortices in the walls, this tower appears to have been divided into four floors. The ruined chapel also is a conspicuous object viewed externally;—and immediately underneath it, in the body of the rock, is the Wogan, a grand cavern deemed natural: if it be so, however, Nature has taken more pains in turning it correctly circular, and raising its elevated roof, than she generally is found to have done in works of this kind. Its diameter is fifty-three feet; and just within the entrance we observed a spiral staircase which led through the rock to the chapel within the castle. From the foundations of an outwork, which we traced among shrubs and brambles on the margin of the river, opposite the cavern’s mouth, it appears to have been less a place of concealment than an avowed sally-port, or regular entrance from the river. The castle is remarkable in history for having been the birth-place of Henry the Seventh; and also for the gallant defence that it made for Charles the First.

About two miles from Pembroke, near the road to Tenby, is Lamphey Court, an episcopal palace belonging to the see of St. David’s; and, after the alienation, a residence of Lord Essex’s, the favourite of Elizabeth. This dilapidated structure is chiefly remarkable for a light parapet, raised on arches encircling the building, similar to the one noticed at Swansea. From Pembroke, a road extends southward through an uninteresting district to Stackpoole court, the seat of Lord Cawdor, situated in a deep romantic valley near the sea-coast. The mansion is worthy of its noble owner; and the finely-wooded park and grounds exhibit a more luxuriant verdure than might be expected so near a sea-beat promontory. A short distance westward, upon the coast, is St. Govin’s chapel; and near it, a well of the same name, thought by the country people to be miraculous in the cure of several disorders. We have since regretted our not visiting the sea-cliffs in this neighbourhood, which we are told assume a very grand and romantic appearance. In the same neighbourhood we find described Bosherston-meer, “a pool of water so deep that it could never be sounded; yet before a storm it is said to bubble, foam, and make a noise so loud as to be heard at several miles distance. The banks are of no great circumference at the top, but broader downwards, and at a considerable depth is a great breach towards the sea, which is about a furlong distant, and is supposed to have a subterraneous communication with it.” [67]

CHAP. V.

LITTLE ENGLAND BEYOND WALES—MILFORD-HAVEN—WELCH BEAUTIES—HAVERFORDWEST FAIR—THE TOWN, CASTLE, AND PRIORY—PICTON CASTLE—HUBBERSTON—MILFORD.

In the reign of Henry the First, a colony of Flemings, driven from their country by an inundation, were permitted to settle in the western neighbourhood of Milford-haven. These were often attacked by the Welch, but unsuccessfully: they soon extended their territory over a great part of the county, and, in conjunction with the Normans, carried their arms as far as Llanstephan. Camden calls this district, “Little England beyond Wales;” and the difference of appearance, customs, and language, between the inhabitants of southern Pembrokeshire and their neighbours, is strikingly obvious at the present day. The tourist in Caermarthenshire will scarcely meet a peasant who speaks a word of English; but in an hour’s ride, towards Pembroke, he will find it universally spoken. I remarked this to mine host at Carew; who exultingly assured me, that Pembrokeshire was out of Wales; that he (a native of the place) was an Englishman; and that for his part he did not understand any thing of the Welch gibberish.

The men, tall and well made, evidently incline more to the English character than the Welch; yet they possess some personal traits distinct from either: I imagined, indeed, in many of the peasantry a resemblance to the present inhabitants of Flanders. Although this corner of the principality is the most remote from England, it is the most civilized. This may be accounted for, from the commercial habits brought over by the Flemings (which still continue) introducing the manners of other nations; an advantage denied to the generality of the Welch, whose ancient (perhaps wholesome) prejudices disinclined them to extensive commerce.

We took our final departure from Pembroke, on the road to Haverfordwest, not without often looking back on the princely relics of its castle, towering above the river: but, crossing a ridgy eminence, our attention was diverted by the appearance of Milford-haven.

This noble harbour, immortalized by the strains of our great dramatic poet, is of an oblong figure; about ten miles in length, and from one to two in width. It is justly considered as the best and safest in Great Britain, and inferior to none in Europe; abounding with the best anchorage, and having five bays, ten creeks, and thirteen roads. Two forts that were erected in the time of Elizabeth on the opposite points of the entrance, called Nangle and Dale blockhouses, are now neglected.

As a picturesque object, Milford-haven is chiefly interesting for its noble sheet of water: its peaceable shores, rising in gentle hills, may please from their flowing outline; but, uncloathed with wood, and unbroken into crags or precipices, their sameness fails to interest an eye habituated to bolder scenery. The mouth of the haven, turning suddenly southward, gives it from most points of view the appearance of a lake. It very strongly reminded me of several of the lakes in Cumberland; but, although its surface is greater; the lakes far transcend it in the accompanyments of rock and wood, and a sedgy margin that mixes its verdure with the water: whereas the haven is surrounded by a broad stripe of mud, except at high tide: this defect, however, is constituent to all estuaries and tide rivers. More richly decorative in their scenery are the three branches of Milford-haven, which diverge at the extremity of the great bason, and distribute fertility and beauty over the principal part of Pembrokeshire. [71] It was our intention to have crossed these branches at Lawrenny and Landshipping, and to have taken Picton castle and Slebatch in our way to Haverfordwest; but, not having a whole day before us, considering the time due to the several objects, and learning that the ferries were uncertain, we recollected our sufferings at Carew, and by taking the direct road to Haverford avoided the risk of being again benighted. [72]

We were detained at the ferry near an hour; for the embarkation and passage of three carriages and their horses from the opposite side occupied all the boats during that time. But, although restless enough ourselves, we were not the most anxious part of a company that was waiting for a passage: several young men and near twenty young women, all dressed in their holiday-clothes, were panting for the amusements of Haverfordwest fair: perhaps a description of these lasses may convey some idea of Pembrokean beauty.

Health, contentment, and cheerfulness, combined, formed their predominant expression: yet it might be truly said, in the words of Gray,

“O’er their warm cheeks and rising bosoms move,
The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love,”

A roundish oval circumscribed their faces; their eyes, not over large, of a dark blue, unstrained by the wakeful vigils of fashionable revelry, displayed all the native brilliancy of those interesting organs; their noses, though of the snub kind, were well formed; and pretty pouting lips were ever ready to distend into a smile, on which occasion rows of ivory appeared, such as could hardly be matched out of Pembrokeshire. [73] The tendency to embonpoint, so characteristic of the Welch woman, was by no means displeasing in these young and elastic subjects; whatever was lost in elegance, was compensated in another point of view; their necks, of the most luxuriant prominence,

“With youth wild throbbing”—

were modestly handkerchiefed to their throats; yet did the thin gauze covering, closely embracing the proud distensions of nature, only the more bewitchingly manifest the beauties which it was appointed to conceal. Their other proportions were in unison, and, as a jockey, who was also going to the fair, coarsely, but clearly, observed, “full of hard meat.” In truth, among them, it were no difficult matter to find what Homer would, call—ϑαλερῂν παρακοιτιν. The dress of the Welch women, however, is not calculated to set off their persons: a close mob cap has little grace, especially when surmounted with a round felt hat; and their very long waists, and brown or plaid cloth jackets and petticoats, but render the rotundity of their foundations more unpicturesque. It cannot at present be said, that:

—“their tender limbs
Float in the loose simplicity of dress.”

yet, as the smart girls begin to imitate our English modes, in the course of a few years every contour of nature may be as free public inspection in Wales, as it is at present in the polite circles of the metropolis.

Crossing the ferry, we left this interesting group; and, in proceeding up a high bank of the haven, enjoyed a fine view of its expansive surface, and grand undulating shores. About half-way to Haverfordwest a new scene burst upon us, consisting of a wide luxuriant valley, watered by a large arm of Milford-haven. We were denied a distinct view of this scene by a hazy atmosphere; but are informed that it is uncommonly rich and extensive in clear weather. On approaching the town of Haverfordwest up a laborious ascent, we passed through the fair, which is held just without the town. Black cattle and horses were the chief objects of the meeting, which had scarcely any diversions; no shews: nor any jugglers, except a recruiting party, and two or three cattle jobbers, or middle men, who agreed upon the price of the market, while the actual buyers and sellers stood gaping at each other, in amazement how such prices could be obtained! Perhaps they had to learn, that for an indispensable commodity, exclusively held by a set of men whose interests are common, any price may be obtained! But we had some rural sports: a party of rustics were dancing on the green, to the notes of a miserable scraper; yet of him it could not be said,

“Old Orpheus play’d so well he mov’d old Nick;
But thou mov’st nothing but thy fiddle-stick,”

for the reeking brows of his company very plainly evinced the laborious agitation that he had excited. Close by, a game at see-saw seemed to create much diversion among the bye-standers. We joined in the throng, and were entertained with a good-natured dispute between a comely lad and as blythe a lass as any the fair could boast: they were in the midst of their acquaintance; and we learned from one of them, that on the following Sunday they were to be married: he wished her to ride with him at see-saw, and she persisted in refusing; he hauled her to no purpose, until a sharp-looking little girl said, that if she were in his place she would put off the wedding for a fortnight, to be revenged; a loud laugh succeeded this, at the expence of the bride-elect; but the allusion to matrimony forced no downcast confusion on the lass; perhaps her rosy dimples were painted with a deeper hue; yet the suffusion arose rather from a glowing idea, than a sensation of unnecessary shame: wherefore should she be ashamed of the approaching fulfilment of her long-cherished wishes?—I do not know whether she feared that her lover might adopt the advice of her mischievous friend, or whether it was the natural compliance of the sex disqualifying them for stout denial, that acted upon her; but she at length yielded. Alas, poor damsel! she was not yet an adept at see-saw; and a verification of Buxoma’s mischance was witnessed by the whole Company:

“Cuddy.—Across the fallen oak the plant I laid,
And myself pois’d against the tott’ring maid.
High leap’d the plank, adown Buxoma fell:
I spy’d—but faithful sweethearts never tell.”

The town of Haverfordwest irregularly built on the steep bank of the river Hia, may now be considered as the capital of Pembrokeshire; as well on account of its superior extent and opulence, as from its having lately become the place of the grand session. But the streets are narrow and dirty, and so steep as to be seriously dangerous. A few good houses, among which is a residence of the dowager lady Kensington, start up here and there; but in such situations, as to convey no look of importance to the place. However commerce may have diffused wealth through this town, and proclaimed it the successful rival of Pembroke; yet, compared with the clean, placid, and respectable mien of the latter, it ensures no pre-eminence of esteem from the tourist: it may, indeed, present to him the idea of a purse-proud shop-keeper, strutting before a decayed gentleman.

The castle, seated on a cliff adjoining the town, is said to have been built by Gilbert Earl of Clare, in the reign of King Stephen, and was occupied by the Flemings. Though still possessing considerable portions of its former importance, yet, engrafted with modern additions to fit it for the county jail, it has little picturesque attraction. A wall connected with the castle, which once surrounded the town, is still in part standing: a good quay, a custom house, a free school, a charity school, and an alms house, are among the public concerns of this town. Of three churches that it boasts, that of St. Mary is a neat building; and its spire, covered with shingles and warped from the perpendicular, has a curious effect. A short distance southward of the town, near the river, are some remains of a priory of Black cantons, founded by John de Haverford.

An excursion of three or four miles led us to Picton castle, the noble seat of lord Milford, whose extensive domains cover a great part of the surrounding country. This may be considered as one of the most antique residences in the kingdom, having been built by William de Picton, a Norman knight, in the reign of William Rufus. Upon his line’s becoming extinct, it descended to the Wogans, then to the Dones, and afterwards to the Philipses of Kylsant; and during the Civil Wars, Sir Richard Philips made a long and vigorous defence in it for King Charles. It is one of the very few castles that escaped the dilapidations of Cromwell, and is also remarkable for having been always inhabited; yet the alterations and additions of successive occupiers have not deprived it of its embattled figure. The extensive and delightful plantations of this seat unite with those of Slebatch, a handsome house built by the late Mr. Barlow, and now in the possession of Mr. Philips.

In another excursion from Haverfordwest, passing Johnston, an old seat of Lord Kensington’s, to the obliging communications of which nobleman I feel myself greatly indebted, we reached Hubberston Haikin, a fishing town in Milford-haven, whence the Waterford packets depart from Britain. This is a poor place, and ill-supplied with accommodation for travellers; but at the still smaller town of Milford, on the opposite side of the river, we were informed, a good inn is established. Near Hubberston are the small remains of a priory, consisting chiefly of the gate-house; but of what foundation or order no legend informs us.

CHAP. VI.

JOURNEY OVER THE PRECELLY MOUNTAIN TO CARDIGAN—EXTENSIVE PROSPECT—CARDIGAN—ST. DOGMAEL’S PRIORY—ANOTHER ROUTE FROM HAVERFORDWEST TO CARDIGAN, BY ST. DAVID’S—THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. DAVID’S—GRAND RUINS OF ITS PALACE—A LOGGAN, OR ROCKING STONE—RAMSAY ISLAND—FISHGUARD—NEWPORT—KILGARRAN CASTLE—SALMON LEAP—NEWCASTLE.

The choice of our journey from Haverfordwest [81] to Cardigan was a matter of some difficulty; we were desirous of traversing the Precelly Mountain, but could not think of leaving the ruins of St. David’s unexamined. At last we hit upon the expedient of each taking a different road: my companion, having the better horse, took the circuitous route by St. David’s; and I, the direct road over the mountains.

Proceeding upon this arrangement two of three miles, I halted to take a retrospective view of the country. Haverfordwest new wore a singular appearance, with its houses piled on each other; but, accompanied by a fine river well furnished with vessels, and by its bridge and massive castle, it presented an agreeable picture. At some distance westward, the lofty tower of Roche castle was conspicuous; and partly in the same direction, the Trogan rocks, rising from the verdure in abrupt crags, so as to be generally mistaken for stupendous ruins. Turning to the east, within a short distance appeared an ancient encampment called St. Leonard’s rathe, crowning a bold eminence; this work is circular, and, from the height of its vallum and depth of its ditch, may be attributed to the Saxons.

As I advanced from this spot I parted with the beauties of the country: no objects of interest occurred; the unadorned views became compressed in narrow limits, until at length they were shut up in mountainous hollows. In this dreary track stands a poor solitary house called New inn, half way between Haverford and Cardigan: however, I here obtained part of a goose for my dinner, and then proceeded up the Precelly Mountain.

This mountain, reckoned the highest in South Wales, is part of a great ridge crossing Pembrokeshire in a direction East and West. On gaining the summit, a prodigious extent of prospect burst upon me. In front, a wild hilly tract, yet not undiversified with patches of cultivation, stretched nearly to the northern confines of South Wales, where the pale summit of Plinlimmon, in Montgomeryshire, might be just distinguished from the atmospheric blue: more westward, beyond a vast expanse of sea, like a doubtful mist rising from it, appeared Bardsey island, and the neighbouring shores in Caernarvonshire; and looking across the miserable country about Fishguard and St. David’s, my guide assured me, that “on a very clear day a very good eye might discover the mountains of Ireland;” but, I confess, it was not my good fortune to discover any such appearance. On looking backward, the whole of the interesting country that I had travelled in the neighbourhood of Milford-haven appeared in one comprehensive though distant display. From dwelling a considerable time on these extensive scenes, I traversed an uninteresting country made up of lumpy hills, and left Pembrokeshire in crossing the handsome old bridge of Cardigan.

Cardigan (in Welch chronicles Abertivy [84]) is a neat respectable town, though many of its streets are narrow and steep, seated on the north bank of the river Tivy, near its junction with the sea: the river is navigable for ships of small burthen up to the quay, which enables the inhabitants to carry on a pretty brisk trade with Ireland. This town, though small, is governed by a mayor, thirteen aldermen, and as many common councilmen. The ruins of its castle, appearing on a low cliff at the foot of the bridge, are very inconsiderable, scarcely showing more than the fragments of two circular bastions overgrown with ivy; yet it was once a large and important fortress. Its foundation is ascribed to Gilbert de Clare, about the year 1160; but it was soon after taken, and in part destroyed, by Rhys ap Gryffith. [85]

Here are also the remains of a priory of Black monks, which was dedicated to St. Mary, and was subordinate to the abbey of Chertsey in Surrey.

Near Cardigan, in the year 1136, the English army, commanded by Ranolph earl of Chester, was shamefully worsted, and the two barons Robert Fitz Roger and Pain Fitz John, with 3000 others, slain on the spot, besides a great number drowned by the fall of a bridge. In this battle the English soldiers appeared to be planet-struck, surrendering themselves prisoners to mere old women; and the general with a few men made their escape not without great difficulty.

Early in the morning after my reaching Cardigan, I made an excursion in search of St. Dogmael’s Priory, about a mile and a half distant. This fragment of antiquity is very much dilapidated, and boasts scarcely any picturesque appearance; the few parts standing are converted into barns, sheds, and habitations; but enough remains to shew the original extent of the church; which was cruciform, of no considerable dimensions, and of the early Gothic style; in the cemetery adjoining the ruin, and the village church,

—“a church-yard yew,
Decay’d and worn with age,”

has a pleasing characteristic effect: and here the scene, finely interspersed with wood, and overlooking the Tivy, is undoubtedly picturesque. This priory was founded for Benedictine monks by Martin de Turribus, a Norman chieftain, who first conquered the surrounding territory called Kames or Kemish, and deluged it with the blood of its natives. This was a common trick for cheating the devil, practised by the organized plunderers of that day. After pillaging a country, and enslaving or massacreing the legitimate proprietors, they hoped to expiate their crime, and quell the rising qualms of conscience, by appropriating a part of their booty to a monkish foundation—to a set of idle jugglers, scarcely less inimical to the rights of society, though less ferocious, than themselves.

Returning to the inn, I rejoined my fellow-tourist, who had just completed his circuit of between forty and fifty miles round the coast: of this route I learn the following particulars:

From Haverfordwest the road passes neat the elevated ruin of Roche castle; thence extends through a wild dreary country, near St. Bride’s dangerous bay, and crossed the romantic creek of Solva to the once flourishing city of St. David’s, now in appearance an inconsiderable village. This deserted place occupies a gentle eminence on that projecting rocky cape called St. David’s head. In a sheltered hollow beneath the town, are the noble ruins of the Metropolitan episcopacy of Wales; yet the Cathedral of St. David’s, though long a mouldering pile, having lately undergone a thorough repair, with a just attention to the antique style of architecture, now appears in renewed magnificence. This venerable structure is cruciform, of large dimensions, and of the early Gothic architecture, though not without much of the high-wrought fret-work additions of later ages. The nave alone wears all the simplicity of its original construction; the tower, highly ornamented, rises from the middle of the church to the height of 127 feet; Bishop Vaughan’s chapel behind the choir, and the dilapidated one of St. Mary’s, exhibit all the elegant tracery of the ornamented Gothic; as does also the chapter-house, and St. Mary’s hall, now a ruin. Among the numerous ancient monuments that are to be met with in the church and its chapels, those of Owen Tudor, and Edward Earl of Richmond, father of Henry the VIIth, both situated near the middle of the choir, are worthy of notice.

The episcopal palace is a superb ruin, surmounted with a light parapet raised upon arches, in the style of Swansea castle and Lamphey court. “The area of the great court is 120 feet square; on the east side of which is the Bishop’s hall, 58 feet in length, and 23 in breadth; the King’s hall, on the south side, is 88 feet by 80. This grand saloon is said to have been built expressly for the reception of King John, on his return from Ireland in 1211.” But we are informed by Godwin, that the palace itself was not erected until about the year 1335: which must be an anachronism, unless the story of King John be unfounded. The first hall is a grand room; but the latter has been particularly splendid. Over the fine arched entrance are the statues of King John and his queen; and at the cast end is a curious circular window with bars diverging from the centre, still in a perfect condition. The chapel containing the remains of a font, and kitchen amply furnished with four chimneys, are also entire: nor are the forsaken apartments deficient in proofs of the regal splendor assumed by the Romish pastors of Christian humility.

Many ruinous buildings, once habitations of ecclesiastical functionaries, surround the cathedral; yet sufficient are kept in repair for the diminished number of officers now appointed: the cathedral service is, nevertheless, performed with an attention that would do credit to more eminent establishments. The whole of these buildings are inclosed by a wall eleven hundred yards in circumference.

St. David’s is supposed to have been a Roman station, the Octapitarum of Ptolemy; and here St. Patrick is said to have founded a monastery to the honour of St. Andrew in the year 470: to this place St. David translated the archbishopric of Wales, from Caerleon, about the year 577, and founded the cathedral, which was afterwards dedicated to him; but the primacy was withdrawn, and annexed to that of Canterbury, in the reign of Henry the First. Here also a college was founded for a master and seven priests by John Duke of Lancaster, in conjunction with his wife and the Bishop of the diocese, in the year 1369.

At the extremity of St. David’s promontory is a disjointed craig; so large, that it is supposed a hundred oxen could not drag it away; but so placed on smaller stones, as to have been easily rocked by the pressure of a man’s hand. [91]

In druidical ages, this formed the grand ordeal: if a man was to appear guilty, the priests managed that he should apply his pressure near the axis, and the stone remained immoveable; but if his peace or priest offerings were deemed commensurate to his sins, he was instructed to lean near the extremity, and it easily gave way. Near this head-land is Ramsay island, a fruitful little spot, and once particularly so in holiness, if we may credit ancient histories, which state that no less than twenty thousand saints lie interred in it. The dangerous rocks called the Bishop and his Clerks, near this island, are covered with wild fowl in the breeding season.

The road continues on a barren tempestuous waste to Fishguard, a miserable fishing town, only remarkable for the late descent of 1400 French invaders, who, after a few days possession of the neighbourhood, surrendered to the Welch peasantry, headed by Lord Cawdor. Newport, a few miles farther, is another poor fishing town, at the bottom of a small bay: the ruined castle, seated on a hill above the town, was built by the Anglo-norman settlers in 1215, but afterwards nearly destroyed by Llewellyn. In Nevern churchyard, near Newport, is the shaft of a stone cross about thirteen feet high, curiously carved all over with scrolls and knots. At Pentere Evau, in Nevern parish, is a circle of rude stones, 150 feet in circumference; in the midst whereof is a cromlech [92] of great dimensions: in the same parish is another altar monument, called Llech-y-drybedh, having a furrow in the flat stone, which might be to carry off the blood of the victims. In Grose’s Antiquities, five stone altars are stated to be in this neighbourhood, and also four barrows; one of which, on being opened, was found to contain five urns full of burnt bones. Nothing worthy of particular notice occurs from this spat to Cardigan.

We projected an aquatic excursion, to explore the scenery of the Tivy; but, the tide not answering, we were obliged to desert the river for two or three miles, and proceed by land to Kilgarran. The Tivy above Cardigan becomes environed by high hills, whose approaching bases contract the bed of the river, changing its character from a broad and majestic, to an impetuous eddying stream: the sides of these hills rise from the water in almost perpendicular steepness, yet clothed with trees from the river’s brink to their ridgy summits. In the midst of this imbowered glen, a naked rock, crowned with the truly picturesque remains of Kilgarran castle, proudly advances, and forms a striking contrast to the dark rich verdure that prevails in the other accompanyments of the river.

The position of Kilgarran castle is nearly on all sides self-defended; but on the isthmus that connects the projecting rock with the main land, two ponderous round towers seem to have formerly defied the assault of war, as they now do that of pilfering dilapidation. The broken walls, watch-towers, and apartments that compose the minor parts of this fortress, bespeak it to have been of no great original extent, or highly ornamented; yet the scattered relics, variously interwoven with ivy, offer an appearance from most points of view highly imposing and grand.

The foundation of the castle is uncertain, and the styles of different ages appear throughout the building. According to Carradoc, this fortress was erected about the year 1222, when Marshall Earl of Striquil (Chepstow) vanquished the Welch under their Prince Gruffydth, and gained an undisputed footing in these parts. The town of Kilgarran is diminished into one street, thinly inhabited by labouring farmers and fishermen.

In a romantic hollow, a mile or two higher up, the Tivy, throwing itself over a ledge of rock in one bold sheet, though not more than six feet in depth, forms a salmon leap generally esteemed the most remarkable in Wales. The salmon, in its course up the river, meeting with the fall, coils itself into a circle, and by a sudden distension springs up the precipice, and cleaves the torrent with astonishing vigour; [94] yet it is frequently baffled, and greatly amuses the spectator with its repeated attempts to overleap the cataract. We were not entertained with this display of strength and agility on our visit, but were much interested by the curious means employed in catching the fish. The fisherman is seated in a sort of canoe, called a coracle, formed of open basket-work of thin laths, covered with a horse’s hide, or a well-pitched piece of sail-cloth: the vessel is of a figure nearly oval, about four feet and a half long and three wide, yet so light as to be carried with ease on the man’s shoulder from his home to the river: in this he whirls among the eddies of the river; with a paddle in one hand, he alters or accelerates his course with surprizing dexterity; while with the other he manages the net, the line being held between his teeth. In this way the fishing in most of the rivers of Wales is pursued. Coracles have been peculiar to British rivers from time immemorial. Lucan very clearly describes them; and in latter times, Sir Walter Raleigh relates, that “the Britons had boats made of willow twigs covered on the outside with hides.”

Near the water-fall is a manufacture of iron and tinned plates, belonging to Sir Benjamin Hammet. Two or three miles higher up the river is Newcastle, a small irregular town situated upon its banks, and graced with the venerable ruins of a castle, but of no great antiquity. Thence a road of twenty miles extends through a dreary uninteresting country to Caermarthen.

A more romantic and sequestered path than is traced beside “the hollow stream that roars between the hills” from Lechryd bridge to Llangoedmor on the north margin of the river, can scarcely be imagined; continuing upwards of two miles, beneath the umbrage of its high and well-wooded banks, and commanding delightful landscapes of the sombre kind at every turn. In the parish of Llangoedmor, we learned, there were several monuments of the druidical ages: one is a remarkably large cromlech; the flat stone being eight or nine yards in circumference, with one edge resting on the ground: there is a smaller monument of the same kind near it; also a circle of rude stones about twelve yards round; and five beds of loose stones, each about six feet over. Llechly gowress (the stone of a giantess) in the parish of Neuodh, also near Cardigan, is another very large cromlech; and near it is a parcel of large hewn stones nineteen in number; which, it is said by the vulgar, cannot be counted.

CHAP. VII.

LLANARTH—ABERAERON—LLANSANFRIED—LLANRHYSTID—AN ENQUIRY INTO A STRANGE ASSERTED CUSTOM RELATING TO THE MODE OF COURTSHIP IN WALES—LLANBADARNVAWR—ABERISTWYTH, AND ITS CASTLE.

We left Cardigan on the road to Aberistwyth, and soon entered upon the same dreary kind of country that we noticed in the north and north-west of Pembrokeshire. At the poor village of Blaneporth, on the left of the road, is a large circular area encompassed by a moat, which is most probably the remains of a British fortification. Castel-Yn-dalig, a mile or two further, is a similar work, but much larger and less distinct. Thence we began to ascend a tract of lofty hills (leaving Penrhyn church on our left near the sea-shore [98]), and, gaining a considerable eminence, enjoyed an uninterrupted view over the whole sweep of Cardigan’s extensive bay. This bay, from its southern limit, Strumblehead near Fishguard, stretching northward, extends a vast gulph into North Wales, and is at length terminated by Bardsey island in Caernarvonshire: it often proves a shelter to ships in the Irish trade, and contains several good harbours. The effect of this extensive display from the great elevations that we traversed was extremely striking; stretching from beneath us to a remote horizon the sea, exhibited a silvery surface of immense magnitude; while the shores presented an endless variety of bold advancing promontories, overhanging cliffs, and high swelling mountains wild and desolate; yet here and there a stripe of green meadow appeared on a favoured slope, and a few woody plantations disclosed themselves through picturesque hollows. In the distant boundary of Caernarvonshire, the projecting and receding hills about Pulhelly bay were conspicuous; opposed to these, the superior magnitude of Cader-Idris arrested the attention, towering among the craggy summits of the Merionethshire mountains. From the bay our view roamed over a dreary uninteresting tract of country, to a ridge of mountains, whose broken outline mixing with the clouds defined the entrance of North-Wales; where, proudly rising above competition, the confederated mountains, forming the pile of “Mighty Plinlimmon,” appear in all their majesty.

The consideration of these distant objects, and the attention demanded by a stumbling horse, were my chief employments from Cardigan to Aberistwyth: yet the general tediousness of our ride, upon a rocky track here called a turnpike, had some relief as we passed through Llanarth, a market-town, consisting of half a dozen huts seated in a romantic hollow; and Aberaeron, about four miles further, a neat village near the seashore, pleasingly situated at the entrance of an abrupt well-wooded valley. Near its picturesque bridge there is a more comfortable inn than might be expected in so retired a situation; and, as it afterwards appeared, the only tolerable one between Cardigan and Aberistwyth. From this place the road, bordering the sea-shore, became more level; and we soon came within view of the fragments of a castle on the beach, the greater part of which appears to have been washed away by the action of the sea. This fort was probably erected by the Normans to cover their landing or retreat, when, in the reign of William Rufus, they fitted out a fleet, and, descending on the coast of Cardiganshire, conquered or ravaged the maritime country to a considerable distance. Most of the principal towns then fell into their hands, upon which they affected the government; but, as a measure of no less necessity than policy, assigned their power to Kadugan ap Bledin, a British chief of high authority, who strictly adhered to their interest. His son Owen however, rashly attacking the Normans and Flemings who had lately settled in the neighbouring territory southward, was, with his father, obliged to fly into Ireland. Henry the First then entrusted the country to Gilbert Clare, who raised many fortifications within the district. Kadugan and his son Owen were nevertheless soon after restored to their lands; but this son, committing fresh incursions, was slain by Gerald of Pembroke, whose wife Nestra he had carried away. Old Kadugan became a prisoner in England for a length of time, but was in the end restored to his estates; when he was suddenly stabbed by his nephew Madok. Henry the Second afterwards gave this tract of country to Roger de Clare; whose son Richard earl of Clare being slain in a contest with the Welch, Rhys, prince of South-Wales, attacked and vanquished the Anglo-Normans with great slaughter, and reduced them under his dominion. But by degrees Cardigan returned to the hands of the English until the final conquest of the country by Edward the First.

We soon after passed through the dreary village of Llansansfried, where a monastery is conjectured to have existed; and about two miles further entered Llanrhystid, which place is assigned to be the site of another.

As we entered the latter village, “the dark mists of night” fell over us. We therefore finished our day’s journey at the Red Lion inn, a tolerably decent ale-house, where we were presently joined by a man in a labourer’s habit, whom we had observed on the road in very gallant intercourse with a peasant girl, and had rallied on the occasion; yet were we not a little surprized at finding him not only a man of extensive information, but a classical scholar and a well-bred gentleman. On his leaving the room, we had an opportunity of enquiring who this character was, and learned from our landlord that he was a native ’squire, who lived about ten miles distant, who till lately had been in orders and officiated in London; but on the death of his father had thrown off the gown and become a man of pleasure. “Though he is so shabbily dressed,” said our host, “it is only a frolic, for he is a very able man.” Now, as the term able in Wales is synonymous with rich in other places, we enquired the amount of his income, and found it to be near a hundred a year.

This gentleman proved a most agreeable and useful companion during the evening; but we were sorry to observe in him a professed Epicurean; the gratification of his appetites he declared to be his great object, and defended his practice on what he termed the fundamental principles of nature; nor was he in want of an ingenious sophism against every point of attack. We concluded that this gentleman’s habits would qualify him with due knowledge on a singular custom that is said to prevail in Wales, relating to their mode of courtship; which is declared to be carried on in bed; and, what is more extraordinary, it is averred, that the moving tale of love is agitated in that situation without endangering a breach in the preliminaries. Mr. Pratt, in his “Gleanings,” thus affirms himself an eye-witness of the process: “The servant-maid of the family I visited in Caernarvonshire happened to be the object of a young peasant, who walked eleven long miles every Sunday morning to favour his suit; he usually arrived in time for morning’s service, which he constantly attended; after which he escorted his dulcinea home to the house of her master, by whose permission they as constantly passed the succeeding hours in bed, according to the custom of the country. This tender intercourse continued without any interruption near two years, when the treaty of alliance was solemnized.” Our companion, like every one else that we spoke with in Wales on the subject, at once denied the existence of this custom: that maids in many instates admitted male bed-fellows, he did not doubt; but that the procedure was sanctioned by tolerated custom he considered a gross misrepresentation. Yet in Anglesea and some parts of North Wales, where the original simplicity of manners and high sense of chastity of the natives is retained, he admitted something of the kind might appear. In those thinly inhabited districts, a peasant often has several miles to walk after the hours of labour, to visit his mistress; those who have reciprocally entertained the belle passion will easily imagine, that before the lovers grow tired of each other’s company the night will be far enough advanced; nor is it surprizing, that a tender-hearted damsel should be disinclined to turn her lover out over bogs and mountains until the dawn of day. The fact is, that under such circumstances she admits a consors lecti, but not in nudatum corpus. In a lowly Welch hut, this bedding has not the alarm of ceremony: from sitting or perhaps lying on the hearth, they have only to shift their quarters to a heap of straw or fern covered with two or three blankets in a neighbouring cornet. The practice only takes place with this view of accommodation.

At an early hour in the morning we left our “flinty couch” at Llanrhystid; though rendered, by a day of healthful fatigue, “a thrice-driven bed of down;” and, skirting the sea, the resumed the views of the preceding day. Advancing about two miles, we remarked, on a gentle eminence in a field to the left of the road; several rough-hewn stones patched over with the “moss of the centuries:” two of these, remaining upright, are massive paralellopipeds, from eight to ten feet high, standing within a yard or two of each other; among the other stones lying about in different directions, I could trace no indication of a circle; it has, however, been supposed to be a Druidical temple; although the two upright stones might rather seem to mark the “narrow house” of some departed warrior. We soon after descended into the abrupt vale of Ystwith, and crossed its river over a picturesque bridge, venerably mantled with ivy. [106] Our route continued over the high ridgy hills that divide the parallel vales of Ystwith and Rhydol, the latter of which presented an agreeable contrast to the dreary country through which we had travelled from within a few miles of Haverfordwest.—Here, among extensive meadows of the richest verdure, the meandering Rhydol wantons its fantastic course. On a gentle eminence near its banks, in the midst of the valley, appears the embowered town of Llanbadarn-vawr, a picturesque though deserted spot, yet once a Roman city, and afterwards the seat of an Episcopacy and Monastery established by St. Paternus in the beginning of the sixth century. The church is yet a handsome building. Between this town and the sea-coast is a small ancient fortification, consisting of a square area surrounded by a wall with a tower at one of the angles. A range of wild hills, backed by the stupendous Plinlimmon, forms the opposite boundary of this valley; and at its termination in the sea-coast, the town of Aberistwyth appears in a very picturesque light on the brink of the sea, with its ruined castle on a gentle rise to the left.

Aberistwyth is a less agreeable town on entering it, than as a distant object. Most of the streets are narrow and ill-paved; and the stone used being of a black colour, gives the whole rather a dirty appearance; but this remark is not applicable to some houses that have lately sprung up for the genteel company which resorts to it in the bathing-season. Nor must I mention the bathing at Aberistwyth, without observing, that it is conducted with more propriety than at any other watering-place that I have seen in England or Wales. The ladies’ and gentlemen’s machines are placed nearly a quarter of a mile asunder; and the indecency of promiscuous dipping, so disgusting at more fashionable resorts, is in consequence avoided: the bathing too is excellent, with a good sandy bottom at all hours of the tide.

The castle, seated on a craggy eminence projecting into the sea, westward of the town, is so much dilapidated, as scarcely to present a characterizing form: but there is an agreeable public walk traced through the ruin, which commands a view of the sea and the neighbouring coast; with the little port (common to the Rhydol and Ystwith rivers) well filled with fishing vessels just below the cliff. This spot is also enlivened by a tasteful residence of Lady Juliana Penn’s, lately erected near the ruin, with much appropriate effect, in the form of a gatehouse. Aberistwyth castle was founded by Gilbert de Strongbow, son of Richard de Clare, in the reign of Henry the First; but soon after its erection it fell into the hands of the Welch princes, and was destroyed in their intestine quarrels. Powell says, that the present castle was built by Edward the First, anno 1277, a short time before the complete conquest of Wales. It appears to have been a strong place, as a garrison of King Charles maintained it for some time after his death.

Among the mountains in the neighbourhood of Aberistwyth, a number of lead and silver mines were discovered about three centuries back; and in the reign of Elizabeth a company of Germans reaped a great fortune in the enterprize of working them. Sir Hugh Middleton, after them, was equally successful, netting 2000l. a month out of one silver mine. He was succeeded by a Mr. Bushel, who also gained immense profit from the works; insomuch that in the civil wars he made King Charles a present of a regiment of horse, and clothed his whole army. The company of mine-adventurers worked these mines also with success, until they fell out among themselves, to their own injury, and that of the mining interest throughout the country; and I believe that these works have been deserted ever since.

CHAP. VIII.

BARRIER OF NORTH AND SOUTH WALES—THE DEVIL’S BRIDGE—GRAND CATARACT OF THE MYNACH—CWM YSTWITH HILLS—HAFOD—ANCIENT ENCAMPMENTS—STARFLOWER ABBEY—TREGARRON—ROMAN ANTIQUITIES AT LLANDEWI BREVI—LAMPETER—LLANSAWEL EDWIN’S FORD—LLANDILO.

We were detained at Aberistwyth by the continuance of a violent rain which had deluged the neighbourhood for several days. At length a cessation of the storm allowed us to resume our journey, though not to perform a projected excursion to the summit of Plinlimmon, which is only free from clouds in very fair weather. Returning up the hilly confines of the valley, we again admired the meandering Rhydol, and its gentle accompanyment; but following its course, as we advanced through a wild romantic district, the character of the valley soon changed; dark wooded hills, aspiring to the dignity of mountains, advanced their shagged sides toward the stream, and, gradually closing to an impervious glen, shut up the river in their recess. Beyond these hills rose the broken line of mountains forming the termination of South Wales, where mighty Plinlimmon, lord of the boundary, raised his stupendous head in majestic desolation, though half concealed by eddying clouds: the whole scene exhibited unfettered nature in her wildest mood. A pouring rain that now fell over us circumscribed our desert prospects, while we proceeded over uncultivated hills, with scarcely a token of society, to the Devil’s Bridge.

The cataract that is here formed by the falls of the Mynach saluted us with its thundering roar, long ere we approached it; but, as we drew near, the strong verberation, rebellowed by surrounding cavernous rocks, seemed to convulse the atmosphere! We hastily put up our horses at the Hafod arms, a solitary inn; and in a few paces found ourselves on the bridge, suspended over a gulph at which even recollection shudders. This bridge bestrides a lane of almost perpendicular rocks, patched with wood, whose summits are here scarcely five yards asunder. At a terrific depth in the glen rages unseen the impetuous Mynach, engulphed beneath protruding craigs and pendant foliage: but on looking over the parapet, the half-recoiling sight discovers the phrenzied torrent, in one volume of foam, bursting into light, add threatening, as it breaks against the opposing rocks, to tear the mountains from their strong foundations; then, instantly darting into the black abyss beneath, it leaves the imagination free to all the terrors of concealed danger. With emotions of awe, nor without those of fear, we climbed down the side of the rock assisted by steps that were cut in it, and with some peril reached the level of the darkened torrent; where, standing on a projecting craig against which the river bounded, immersed in its spray and deafened by its roar, we involuntarily clung to the rock. The impression of terror subsiding, left us at liberty to examine the features of the scene. Nearly over our heads appeared the bridge attributed to the handy-works of the Devil; but a less cunning workman might have thrown an arch across a fissure of a few feet span; and indeed the native mason who, about 50 years since, built the bridge now used, standing perpendicularly over the old one, has constructed the best arch of the two. The original bridge was built by the Monks of Starflower Abbey near 700 years since. Nor is the singular appearance of these arches devoid of picturesque effect; being tastefully besprinkled with verdure, and relieved by the intervention of numerous branchy trees: while the naked black opposing cliffs, worn out into curious hollows by the torrents, exhibit as bold a rocky chasm as ever was traced by the pencil of Salvator.

On climbing from this hollow, we proceeded two or three hundred yards to the left of the bridge, and again descended a fearful track, to witness the grand falls of the Mynach. Under the direction of a guide, we reached the ordinary station with little difficulty, where the view of the cataract disclosed itself with considerable effect, in four separate cascades; though, from the great fall’s being divided by the intervention of a projecting rock, they appeared too much alike: the eye, accustomed to picturesque disposition, in vain sought to fix itself on a pre-eminent feature. I wished to get lower, but it seemed impracticable: emboldened, however, by the example of our guide, I clambered upon the edge of an immense perpendicular strata of rock, to nearly the lower channel of the torrent; when the cataract appeared in the most perfect disposition imaginable: the great fall displayed itself in uninterrupted superiority, and the lesser ones retired as subordinate parts. The perpendicular descent of this cataract is not less than two hundred and ten feet; the first fall is not more than twenty feet; the next increases to sixty; the third diminishes to about twenty; then, after a momentary pause, the torrent bounds over a shelving rook in one tremendous fall of one hundred and ten feet, and soon unites with the Rhydol, here a similar mountain torrent.

This grand cataract receives no inconsiderable augmentation of terrific appearance from the black stratified rocks forming the glen down which it thunders; nor can the beholder, however firm his mind, divest himself of terror, while, near the bottom of an abyss for ever denied a ray of sun, he views the menacing torrent bursting before him; or contemplates its foaming course tearing at his feet among craigs that its fury has disjoined. If he ventures to look up the acclivitous rock, more real danger threatens his return, when a devious balance or false step would ensure his certain destruction. Yet from the horrors of this gloomy chasm some favoured projections relieve the imagination, ornamented by the light and tasteful penciling of the mountain ash, intermixed with vigorous sapling oaks; while here and there a tree of riper years, unable to derive support from the scanty soil, falls in premature decay a prostrate ruin.—I have seen water-falls more picturesquely grand than the cataract of the Mynach, but none more awfully so, not even excepting the celebrated fells of Lowdore and Scaleforce in Cumberland.

Climbing from this scene of terrors, I rejoined my companion, and at the Haford Arms obtained a change of clothes; a comfort which, although wet to the skin for several hours, I should still longer have denied myself, had not the approach of night forced me from the Mynach’s interesting scenery. Our active hostess quickly provided a tolerable dinner of mutton chops; and, cheered by a good peat-fire and a bottle of wine, we listened to the torrent’s roar without dismay. On the following morning we did not neglect to revisit the romantic glen. The weather was fine; and, the effect of the late rains having subsided, the bulk of the torrent had much diminished; yet did the scene gain in beauty what it lost in terrific grandeur; for the intermingling foliage, darting from opposite sides of the glen, and reflecting various tints and degrees of light, softened the asperitous black rocks, and spread a lively net-work over the gloom.

Upon our preparing for the renewal of our journey, a material difficulty occurred; my poney was so completely knocked up, that he had not, as the jockeys phrase it, “a leg to stand on.” The alternative in this case was to buy another; and upon enquiry I found that my landlord had one to dispose of, which was forthwith produced. This was a good-sized poney, with plenty of bone, but ill-made; he had, however, an excellent character: his knees too were sadly broken; but a circumstantial tale shewed that to be the effect of accident, and not habitual awkwardness: upon the whole, he did not seem dear at the price demanded, which was only five guineas: a bargain was therefore struck, the saddle transferred from the invalid to the back of my new purchase; and after given directions for the return of the former, which by the way incurred an expence more than his value, we set forward for the celebrated grounds of Hafod, about two miles distant.

Our road lay on the steep bank of the Mynach, commanding a full view of the glen, and its romantic bridge. Then ascending the Cwm Ystwith hill, through a current of clouds, we gained from its summit an uninterrupted view of the whole range of North Walean mountains, stretching from the English counties to the great bay of Cardigan: the intervening hollows were concealed by fields of mist; so that the uncultivated heights exhibited a scene as rugged as when

“—Nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,
And wild in woods the noble savage ran.”

We now took a farewel view of the Mynach’s glen, and quitted its interesting scenery, with such sensations as one feels in losing a friend whose intercourse has afforded both pleasure and improvement. We then descended to the vale of Ystwith, but unenlivened by its scenery, for a morning mist floated through the valley and spread a veil over its charms. A handsome park gate announced the entrance of Hafod, and the thundering of an unseen waterfall formed a grand symphony to the spectacle that we were soon to witness.—Almost immediately the cloud of mist disappeared, rising like a huge curtain before us, and discovered such an assemblage of beauties, of cheerful walks and silent glens, of woody precipices, shadowy glades, garden thickets and waterfalls, that, considered with the barren wilds of the surrounding country, it secured a second Paradise rising from a newly-subsided chaos. This charming place, occupying a deep narrow valley, watered by the Ystwith, is the creation of Col. Johnes, whose persevering genius has forced a mantle of wood upon rocky precipices where nature seemed to deny the access of verdure, and who in his elegant and useful projects of farther improvement gives employment to the country around. Upon a spot judiciously chosen, where the banks of the valley gently incline, and the coverture of lofty woods afford a shelter from the north-eastern winds, stands the mansion, with a sloping lawn in front, commanding a comprehensive view of the enchanting valley; which if Dryden could but see, he would wish to recall the line,

“God never made his works for man to mend.”

On putting ourselves under the direction of the gardener, we were first led to the kitchen-garden, furnished with extensive forcing-houses, and replete with every necessary appendage. The flower-garden also displayed its appropriate charms; but from these atchievements of art we turned, without regret, to where the bold hand of nature reared the scene in stupendous majesty;

“There along the dale,
With woods o’erhung, and shagg’d with mossy rocks,
Where on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,”

we passed, enamoured with the incessant though congenial variety of our subject. After visiting the cold bath, a small sequestered building, a mazy walk romantically traced by the side of a brawling torrent, and amidst tangled shrubberies, led to a small cascade; and soon after a superior waterfall engaged our attention, where the whole volume of the Ystwith burst over a ledge of rocks in a composition truly grand and picturesque. But a scene of awful sublimity disclosed itself on exploring a dark cavernous passage in a rock and reaching its extremity, where a lofty cascade of transcendent beauty, throwing itself over a strata of black rocks, bounded close to the opening of the cave, and shrouded the aperture with its spray, as it became engulphed in a dark chasm beneath.

The towering mountains clothed with myriads of oaks, which environ this remarkable valley, afford a diversity of walks and combinations of view, to describe which words would be inadequate, and prove at best but tedious. A walk of twelve miles scarcely comprises a complete survey of the grounds, as we are told; but, being pressed for time, our perambulation was confined to a much smaller space; yet enough was seen to convince us that this is one of the most delightful rural retreats in the kingdom.

The mansion is a handsome modern edifice; in the Gothic style of architecture; which idea is perfectly consonant with the romantic cast of the scenery; and the general outline of the building is certainly pleasing: but we were sorry that Col. Johnes had not been better advised in the execution of this design, which though we had read of, in one place, as built “in the most correct taste,” and in another as “a mansion in the Italian style,” we found to be a heterogeneous jumble; wherein a bastard sort of Greek and Saxon architecture was blended with the prevailing Gothic. The house internally we understood to be richly fitted up, and furnished with an excellent library, but did not visit it; for, though the demand of five shillings for the gardener’s attendance was willingly paid, yet the same sum, which we found would be required by the housekeeper, appeared to us more than the show of any Welch house was worth.

There always appears to me something very unworthy in great men allowing their servants to exact the sums that they do from the spectators of their grandeur; but, such emoluments are taken into the account of a servant’s hire, and in some measure contribute to the support of the great man’s establishment: as far as they do this, they indirectly form part of his revenue; and in that view I consider the Grandee as somewhat of a mercenary showman, however magnifique.

A ride of nearly a mile extent, among delightful plantations, led us out of Hafod; when, crossing the Ystwith over a good stone bridge, we soon passed through a little romantic village on the road to Tregarron, from whence the country continued wild, without grandeur or interest, a succession of

“Barren heaths, and rushy meers,”

until the approach to Llandilo. In this mid-land route the hills were much less continuous than round the coast, and the valleys frequently extensive; but, overrun with peat-bogs, they neither displayed fertility nor beauty. About half way to Tregarron, a few hundred yards to the right of the road, were two considerable hills, each crowned with a large ancient encampment: we did not stop to examine them, but quickly turned off the road, over moorlands on our left, in search of the remains of Starflower or Strata Florida Abbey. We had no track to direct us; nor did a human creature appear for many miles: after a fruitless wandering, therefore, we gave up the object, with this consolation, that almost the only relic remaining is an ornamented circularly-arched gateway. Yet was this place, now lost in a trackless desert, once of high importance. Strata Florida Abbey (in British, Munachlog Ystrad flur) was founded anno 1164 for Cistertian Monks [123] by Rhesus Prince of South-Wales. In it many of the Welch Princes were buried, and their acts kept and recorded: it suffered considerably when Edward the First overran Wales, but was soon after repaired.

A sloppy ride brought us to Tregarron: a poor straggling ill-built town, situated in an abrupt hollow watered by an arm of the Tivy; yet, plentifully interspersed with trees, it forms a pleasing relief to the surrounding dreariness. Its church is a respectable old building, and it boasts the dignity of a mayor. Our inn here afforded us a capacious dish of eggs and bacon for dinner; but, though it was not more than ordinarily strong and greasy for the wilds of Wales, we grew delicate, and, leaving our meal almost untasted, pursued our journey on the turnpike road to Lampeter. About three miles from Tregarron, immediately on the left of the road, we observed a large mound encircled by a moat; but could not determine whether it was the site of an antient citadel, or monumental of a deceased chieftain. In the same neighbourhood is the church of Landewi-Brevi, where in 522, at a Holy Synod, St. David opposed the opinions of the Pelagians. A prodigious petrified horn which is shewn at the church is said to have remained there from that time; and in the year 1187 Bishop Beck founded a college on the spot. Several Roman inscribed stones appear in and about the church; but at a place some distance southward of it, called Kaer Kestilh (the field of the castles), a great number have at various times been discovered, as also coins and Roman bricks. Dr. Gibson considers this to be the Lovantinum of Ptolemy, in which opinion he is followed by Mr. Horsley: Yet is this spot, the site of a Roman town, and once occupied by its legions, now with difficulty traced among barren fields remote from habitation:

“No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.”

From a fatiguing day’s journey we gladly reposed at a better inn than might be expected in so poor a town as Lampeter; and the following morning sallied forth to visit a large old seat of Sir Robert Lloyd’s; which, we learned, “exhibited a striking appearance with its four great towers crowned with domes in the midst of well-planted inclosures, but now scarcely inhabited.” A thick mist denied us this view; so, crossing the long old bridge of Lampeter, we entered Carmarthenshire on our way to Llandilo. Nothing can be imagined more dreary than the first half of this ride; lying over an extensive range of lumpy hills, as remote from any thing picturesque as profitable. No tree, not a bush could be seen; and as we mournfully looked round, where, except the miserable road on which we travelled, no trace of society appeared, our disgusted sight would have even rested with pleasure on a furze bush. From such a region of sterility we gladly caught a gleam of cultivation, in some distant hills bordering on Brecknockshire; but more gladly still, on a sudden turn, we looked down on the pleasing little valley Llansawel, watered by a crystaline branch of the Cothy. The sun had now dispersed the mists through which we set out, and shone direct on the vale: from its verdant level high hills, enjoying different degrees of cultivation, rose on every side; and under one of them, at the further end of the valley, the well-whitened village sparkled through the intervening foliage.

This valley was immediately succeeded another called Edwin’s-ford, a delightful spot, whose high encircling hills are clothed with extensive plantations to their very summits. In the bottom, is a large old manor house belonging to Colonel Williams, beautified “above, below, around,” with leaded mercuries, shepherdesses, and sportsmen. Yet is this place, remaining in the genuine style of King William’s reign, with all its absurdities, more interesting; as shewing us a specimen of that time, than if it were patched up with modern improvements; or a new villa, of the packing-case mode of building that now prevails. We rode through the long avenues of trees that extend from the house; and, quitting the valley, descended to another, pleasingly decorated with wood, and the ruin of Talley church. A cheerful road, lined with

“Hedge-row elms and coppice green,”

now led us through a succession of swells and hollows, adorned with numerous plantations, particularly those of Lord Robert Seymour Conway’s, to Llandilo, a pretty market town, seated on a descent to the justly famed vale of Towey.

CHAP. IX.

CHARMING VALE OF TOWEY—DINEVAWR CASTLE—GOLDEN GROVE—GRONGAR HILL—MIDDLETON HALL—CAREG-CANNON CASTLE—REFLECTIONS AT A FORD—GLENHEIR WATERFALL—AN ACCIDENT—PONT AR DULAS—RETURN TO SWANSEA.

At Landilo we hastily put up our horses, anxious to feast on the beauties that disclosed themselves as we approached the spot; and, learning that Newton Park, the delightful seat of Lord Dinevawr, afforded the most extensive and picturesque views of the vale, we engaged the keeper’s attendance, and proceeded among waving lawns and woody gnolls to a bold hill, where,

“Bosom’d high in tufted trees,”

appeared the picturesque remains of Dinevawr castle. A winding path, cut through the leafy honours of this hill, conveyed us beneath their dark umbrage to the top. We here climbed a massy fragment of the ruin, and entered a falling apartment, which, according to our guide’s information, was once the lady’s dressing-room; where, reaching a Gothic window overhung with ivy, a prospect burst upon us, teeming with the most fascinating circumstances of verdant nature; a galaxy of picturesque beauty, at which remembrance becomes entranced, and description faulters! Immediately beneath, the expansive vale of Towey appears in the fullest display of its charms; a hue of the richest green marks the luxuriance of the soil through the course of the valley, which, continually intersected with dusky hedge-rows, boasts all the elegance of garden parterres. The translucid Towey here wantons in perpetual variety among gay meadows and embowering plantations, where the eye with pleasure traces its fantastic meanders until they disappear behind projecting groves. The rich wood that surrounds the castellated hill clothes a precipitous descent to the water’s edge, and, with other sylvan decorations of Newton park, forms the nearmost boundary of the vale. On the opposite side, a huge wild mountain rears its head in desolation to the clouds; and beneath it Golden Grove, [130] despoiled of its leafy grandeur, now appears in diminished beauty. Several smaller seats and whitened hamlets start up in the valley, and, glistening through their appendant groves, give life to the scene. A little westward, Grongar hill, immortalized by the muse of Dyer, and now the property of one of his descendants, advances on the vale and partly turns its course; but at some distance further, a rugged hill, bearing the mouldering fragments of Gruslwyn castle, proudly bestrides the plain and terminates the picture. Our view of this scene was favoured by the departing sun, which, just setting behind Gruslwyn ruin, threw a glowing tint over the landscape; its golden effulgence shone strongly on the varied hills, and gleamed on the lofty groves that adorned the vale; though the greater part of it was obscured in grandly-projected shadows. [131]

After a week’s journey through an extensive tract of country, with few exceptions as devoid of picturesque interest as of productiveness, to come at once upon a scene so pregnant with the bounty and beauty of nature, was a feast for the feelings of philanthropy and picturesque enthusiasm that I shall never forget; nor do I imagine that the coldest mortal could fail of feeling a lively interest in so delightful a change—We

“—cast a longing ling’ring look behind”

on leaving this scene to examine the ruined castle. The extent of the apparent remains would lead one to consider it as a place of small importance; but we traced the vestiges of a wall and ditch at some distance from the conspicuous ruin, which indicate it to have been of considerable dimensions. The most noticeable parts are, the apartment already mentioned; a massive round tower, the ancient keep; and a subterraneous passage. Giraldus saw a castle here; but that was destroyed in the year 1194, about six years after his Itinerary; it was, however, soon rebuilt, and became the royal seat of the Princes of South Wales; but frequently changed its masters, until it fell to the crown of England. Henry the VIIth made a grant of it to Sir Rice ap Thomas, Knight of the Garter, a lineal descendant of the Welch Princes, and ancestor of the present proprietor. It was inhabited until within these 50 years, when the combustible part of it was destroyed by fire.

The mansion, built on a level about half a mile from the castle, is a large quadrangular structure, with turrets at each corner crowned with domes: it has lately been modernized; but appears to have been founded about two centuries back.—An avenue of trees extended from hence to the castle, which has lately been broken into clumps, in harmony with the general laying-out of the park. The hills of its strongly undulating surface are profusely covered with wood, and the hollows enjoy a luxuriance of pasturage that can scarcely be equalled. On looking down some of these knolls, there appears no poetical licence in Dyer’s description:

“Below me trees unnumber’d rise,
Beautiful in various dyes:
The gloomy pines, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable yew,
The slender fir that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs;
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phyllis, Queen of Love!”

We often regretted that the picturesque ruin of the castle was excluded from our view by the lofty trees that surround it: the laudable jealousy with which Lord Dinevawr preserves the woody embellishments of his park appeared to us as extending too far in this instance; for were a few openings introduced, so as to exhibit from various points the grand dimensions of some ivied towers, a fine effect might be produced, and a picturesque contrast obtained to the numerous woody swells that abound in this beautiful domain.

The morning that we left Llandilo brought with it a scene of affliction to the surrounding country: one of those deluging rains which often do so much mischief in mountainous countries fell with unparalleled violence during the night; when the vast accession of water, unable to discharge itself by the ordinary channels, swept away trees, fences, small buildings, cattle, and poultry in its devious course. Several mills were destroyed; and many an industrious cottager, awakened by the flood eddying round his bed, saw himself at once dispossessed of the fruits of many years hard savings:

“Fled to some eminence, the husbandman
Helpless beheld the miserable wreck
Driving along; his drowning ox at once
Descending, with his labours scatter’d round,
He saw; and instant o’er his shivering thought
Came winter unprovided, and a train
Of clamant children dear.”

On the storm’s abating, we renewed our journey, and, over a handsome stone bridge crossing the swollen Towey, which had acquired a frightful hue from the red marle of the neighbouring land, followed its course upon the road to Llangadock. At the first turnpike we deviated to the right, up a steep track rendered almost impracticable by loose craigs, by the side of a romantic dingle, down whose dark hollow a small cascade trickled with very good effect. In our ascent, delightful views were obtained of the upper vale of Towey, stretching from Llandilo bridge to the vicinage of Llandovery. The distant groves of Taliaris and Abermarle parks adorned this view, which was only inferior to that from Dinevawr-castle. As we advanced further, the rich prospect withdrew, and we found ourselves entering upon the dreary wilds of the Black Mountains; our track then became indistinct, wandering among rocks, floods, and up-rooted trees, unenlivened by a single habitation or human face. At length a cottage appeared, and we enquired our way to Careg-cannon castle; but “Dim Sarsnic” [135] was all we could gather from the inhabitants. Thus constrained to proceed at random, we mounted a precipitous hill over a track that formed the bed of a torrent, and discovered the object of our search upon a bold rock, a considerable distance on our right: a little Welch farmer was also comprized in this view, working hard to repair the damages of the storm. We again enquired the best road to pursue, and again were answered with “Dim Sarsnic;” he however, signified to us that he would fetch some one, and accordingly ran over two or three fields, and returned with his daughter, a fine buxom girl who had picked up a little English at Llandilo market. Without intreaty she offered to be our guide; and, fixing in the ground a spade with which she had been clearing a water-course, blythely led us, through mountainous wilds, within a short distance of the object of our search.

As we ascended the rock, crowned with the frowning ruin of Careg-cannon castle, a tempestuous cloud that broke against it drenched us with a plentiful shower: we sought the shelter of the building, but the wind raged with such violence, that we shrunk from the mouldering battlements lest they should overwhelm us. On crossing the ruin through its “stormy halls,” we again recoiled on finding ourselves upon the brink of a tremendous precipice, which, except on the side by which we ascended, encompasses the castle in a perpendicular rocky cliff upwards of four hundred feet in height. Then climbing among the mossy fragments of the castle, we discovered an aperture in the ground connected with a long subterraneous gallery dug through the solid rock, and lighted by windows cut in the cliff, though not visible from any situation without. In exploring this strange recess, rendered more fearful by the loud shrieks of the wind, we advanced, not without sensations of awe: it terminated in a large gloomy cavern, fit scene for

“Murders, rapes, and massacres,
Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
Complots of mischiefs, treason, villanies
Ruthful to hear.”

In this place we waited the passing of the storm, conjecturing it to have continued formerly to some adjacent spot, so as to form a sally-port or secret communication from the castle. On our return we felt more at liberty to examine the features of the ruin, which proved of the simplest construction, totally without ornament or a single Gothic form, and consisting of one irregular court with towers at each angle. If the Britons had any castles of stone before the arrival of the Normans (a fact doubted by some antiquaries), I should imagine this to be one; although a late tourist, I know not on what authority, ascribes its erection to the time of Henry the First. The position must have been formerly impregnable, and its rough aspect marks it to have been constructed for the mere business of war. By

—a lonely tower,
—whose mournful chambers hold,
To night-struck Fancy dreams, the yelling Ghost,

we passed from this wild abode, and floundered among ditch-like tracks to recover the high road from Llandilo to Swansea. In a romantic hollow we were stopped by a branch of the Towey; which, though in ordinary times an inconsiderable rivulet, was now swelled to a deep and menacing torrent. Here we found a party of men and women peasants on the opposite side, in doubt whether it might be safely crossed; but at length one of the men stripped and waded over, thus satisfying us that the ford was practicable. The rest followed; the men first getting rid of the lower part of their dress;—a trouble avoided by the females, who, unused to the encumbrance of shoes and stockings, had only to hold up their clothes to the highest extent; and, thus prepared, the whole party moved toward us. Viewing this remnant of barbarity with disgust, we at the same time felt uneasy for the situation of the girls: but we might have spared ourselves that pain; their countenances proved them to be unembarrassed by the consciousness of shame; nor did their eyes wander from the precise line in which they were going. The transaction was to them a matter of perfect indifference.

It may reasonably be supposed, that the indecent customs of the Welch operate against the observance of chastity: yet seeing that the Welch are by no means deficient in that excellence, it may be supposed that were such scenes less frequent they would be so; but, as they are continually recurring, the imagination has no time to effervesce; it is at once saturated with naked facts, and on that principle the ebullitions of passion are kept under. On the one hand, those strong bulwarks decency and delicacy are done away; but on the other, the mind, fully informed, is not irritated by the conjurations of fancy; which may be a pretty fair set-off. Yet, without doubt, their strongest safeguard exists in the considerative defence; for the moral turpitude and political infamy of unchastity is recognized in Wales to an extent that can hardly be conceived in circles of modern refinement: even at this day, in districts not yet drawn within the imposing vortex of trade, [140] a golden age of innocence may be discovered, where bastardy is unknown, or known but in recorded instances, in which the man is properly consigned to equal disgrace with the female offender.

Our travelling continued in rocky tracks, at the rate of a mile an hour, until we recovered the Llandilo road; from which we soon turned off, on the right, to visit Glenheir waterfall, in the grounds of Mr. Dubaison, about five miles south of Llandilo. At this place the Loughor river pursues its course between steep banks clothed with various trees and shrubs. On one of the descents a walk is traced, with some ingenuity, in front of a small picturesque cascade formed by a tributary stream to the Loughor. This might be mistaken for the object sought; but, crossing a rustic bridge, the eye on a sudden encounters the whole river rushing beneath a portal of trees, and throwing itself over a ledge of black rock in a single fall of eighteen feet. The effect of the whole, seen through the gloom of pendent trees, is undoubtedly striking; though, it must be confessed, the sheet of water presenting the formality of an unbroken square is somewhat unpicturesque. The person who attended us pointed out the effects of the torrent at fifteen feet above its surface, to which height it was swelled in the morning by the late storm; a greater rise than was ever known before: the cataract then exhibited a scene more tremendously grand than imagination can picture, or words describe; yet some idea may be formed in conceiving so vast a bulk of water, bursting over the precipice, stunning with its roar, and filling the atmosphere with its spray; while up-rooted trees, the shattered fragments of buildings, and other ruins, swept headlong on by the irresistible torrent, would illustrate its terrors, and complete a spectacle great indeed! Yet, alas, at how high a purchase, appeared from the lamentations of the neighbourhood! Nor were we without a share in the general calamity; for, crossing the Loughor at a ford about two miles further, my poney on a sudden slipped out of his depth, and we had separately to swim for our lives to the opposite bank. This disagreeable business was much aggravated; for my books, papers, and some other articles which I carried in a leather-case behind the saddle, were completely soaked, and several drawings utterly spoiled. My companion, having a taller horse, escaped, with only his boots full of water. Here it may not be amiss to apprize the traveller through Wales, that these fords (frequently occurring) are not unattended with danger after great falls of rain: at such times, a careful enquiry should be made of the people near them: a precaution that would have saved us our ducking; for it afterwards appeared, that no other travellers had crossed the ford during the day, but avoided it by taking a circuitous route.

In this plight we jogged on upwards of eight miles, with the unwelcome gloom of the Black Mountains on our left, and a pleasant diversified country on our right, to the village of Pont-ar-dulas, but which we did not reach before evening. The comfortable inn at this place afforded us a change of apparel and good cheer, that soon dissipated the inconveniences of our journey. On the following morning we rose early, and then found the place to possess many traits of picturesque attraction, being seated near a rapid river, and agreeably interspersed with woods. Thence we had a pleasant ride to Swansea; where we rejoined a party of our friends at breakfast, after a fortnight’s excursion.

During our stay in this town, protracted to several days by its agreeable society, Mrs. Hatton, mistress of the bathing-house, and sister of the English Melpomene, exhibited her theatric powers on the humble boards of Swansea theatre. But, labouring under the misfortune of lameness, and the encumbrance of more human flesh than I ever before saw crowded in one female figure, she was obliged to go through her task, the recitation of Alexander’s Feast, sitting: notwithstanding which weighty drawback, the lady did not fail to exhibit a vivid tincture of the family genius. Here too we were gratified with the news of an event, before whose solid advantages the victories of a century sink, in a rational estimate, like glittering tinsel before massive ingots. I was awakened at an early hour by the loud huzzas of the towns-people, and the frequent discharge of cannon from vessels in the harbour. The ships displayed their gayest colours; and the people, in dancing through the streets, congratulated each other on the long wished-for blessing of Peace! The chagrin of two or three provision-monopolizers, and a few others whose interest was in opposition to the public weal, with the old subterfuge that it was not the proper time for peace, covering a real sentiment of endless war, passed unnoticed, nor formed a perceptible speck on the brilliancy of the people’s joy!

CHAP. X.

NEATH ABBEY, TOWN, AND CASTLE—THE KNOLL—BRITON FERRY—FUNEREAL RITES—ABERAVON—MARGAM—ABBEY RUIN—PILE.

Our tour now took an eastward direction. Crossing Swansea river by an exceeding good ferry, and passing a region of furnaces, we traversed a considerable hill to the neighbouring valley of Neath; a spot that might be deemed pleasing, were it not overhung with the smoke of numerous manufactories, and its soil blackened with coal-works and rail-ways. [145] Neath abbey is a short distance west of the town, and its remains are extensive. Besides the abbey church, the walls of the offices and other apartments are yet standing; but, undecorated with verdure, and partaking of the sable hue that impinges on every object around, it fails to create an idea of beauty or grandeur. As we were exploring the dark recesses of the ruin, a number of haggard forms on a sudden darted from various apertures, and eagerly pressed toward us. Their wan countenances, half hidden by black matted hair, bore the strongest expression of misery; which was further heightened by a scanty ragged apparel, that scarcely covered their meagre limbs: upon their whole appearance one might have asked with Banquo,—

“What are these,
So wither’d, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th’ inhabitants o’the earth,
And yet are on’t?—You should be women;
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.”—

The poor creatures were the wives of miners, and women that worked in the manufactories, who burrowed and brought up their families in the cells of the ruin. Unceasing drudgery, however, was unable to obtain them the necessaries of life; much less a taste of those comforts, to which the exertion of useful labour might seem to have a just claim. An old woman, bent nearly double with years,

“Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,”

gave us her account of the ruin. She shewed us the nuns’ dining-room, the roof of which is still entire, supported by Saxon, or rather early Norman pillars and arches. From the refectory we passed to what was once the dormitory, and were shewn a nauseous dungeon, in which, as the legend of the ruin relates, offending nuns were wont to be confined. This abbey was built by Richard de Granville and Constance his wife, in the reign of Henry the First, for Cistertian monks, and dedicated to the Holy Trinity: at the dissolution of monasteries its revenues were valued at 150l. per annum. The abbey-house, about a century and a half since, formed an admired seat of the Hobby’s family.

Neath, the Nidum of Antoninus, was formerly of greater extent and importance than at present; for, notwithstanding its flourishing manufactories, it now makes but a poor dirty appearance. The Castle, now an inconsiderable ruin, was built by Richard de Granville, one of Fitzhammon’s knights, upon the site of a British fortress of very antient foundation; and was taken and in part burnt by Prince Llewelyn A.D. 1231. The Neath river limits that tract of country called Gower; it also formed the western boundary of the Lordship of Glamorgan, which anciently extended eastward to the river Usk. The latter district fell under the dominion of the Normans in the following manner.

In the year 1090, Jestyn, lord of Glamorgan, having a difference with Rees, King of Wales, had recourse to arms, and solicited the assistance of Fitzhammon, an Anglo-Norman chieftain, to support his cause. The confederates were successful; but, as it generally happens when foreign aid is required in domestic disputes, the remedy proved worse than the disease; for, on the plea that the conditions of their compact had not been fulfilled, Fitzhammon collected his forces, attacked Jestyn, and deprived him of his life and territory. Fitzhammon shared the spoil with twelve knights who accompanied him, rewarding each with a manor. Now, as a dominion thus acquired must be supported by the iron arm of coercion, we find the first attention of the conquerors directed to rearing fortresses on their domains; and shortly afterwards an appendant creation of religious houses makes its appearance, as a salvo for the slaughter and injustice that purchased their greatness. To this foundation most of the picturesque ruins that we are about to examine in Glamorganshire, and part of Monmouthshire, may be traced: it will, therefore, be necessary not to lose sight of this point of history.

We did not fail to admire the Knoll, a castellated seat of Sir Herbert Mackworth’s, occupying the summit of a hill at the termination of a noble lawn. The fine views which its elevation commands, encompassed by hanging woods, and extensive plantations, its shady walks and picturesque cascades, render it a place deservedly attractive. Beneath the tufted hills of this estate, we passed from Neath in our way to Briton ferry; and soon remarked a single stone monument [150], a massive paralellopiped, on a height to our left: another immediately afterwards appeared in a field close to the road on the right.

From these monuments of other times, however, the rich hanging woods and open groves of Briton ferry attracted our interest, clothing that charming domain of Lord Vernon’s.

The extensive plantations spread over several bold hills westward of the Neath river, whose broad translucid stream here emerges in a fine sweep between high woody banks, partly broken into naked cliffs, and soon unites with the sea. From a delightful shady walk impendent over the stream, we branched off into an “alley green” that led us up a steep hill covered with large trees and tangled underwood: the ascent was judiciously traced where several bare craigs projecting from the soil formed an apposite contrast to the luxuriant verdure that prevailed around. On gaining the summit the charms of Briton ferry disclosed themselves in

“An ample theatre of Sylvan grace”

of more than common beauty; beyond which the Bristol channel, bounded by the aerial tint of its opposite coast, formed the distance. But from a roaming prospect the eye gladly returned to repose on the local beauties of the scene; the tufted knoll, the dark glade, and the majestic river. In returning, we passed the mansion, a very ordinary building; but paused on the neat simplicity of the village-church adjoining, and its well-ordered cemetery.

The custom of planting ever-greens over the graves of departed friends, and bedecking them with flowers at certain seasons of the year, is, here attended to with peculiar care; and to this pleasing tribute of affection, characteristic of Wales, David ap-Gwillim, a Welch bard who flourished about the middle of the fourteenth century, thus sweetly alludes in one of his odes:

“O whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender sprays thick of leaves remain; I will pluck the roses from the brakes; the flowerets of the meads, and gems of the woods; the vivid trefoils, beauties of the ground, and the gaily smiling bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the memory of a chief of fairest fame: Humbly will I lay them on the grave of Ivor!”

Shakspeare also, with exquisite tenderness:

“With fairest flowers while summer lasts
I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
The azur’d Harebell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander
Outsweeten’d not thy breath.”

Highly pleased with Briton ferry, we proceeded along the coast, and passed through the little town of Aberavon. Its copper and tin works added no charms to the verdant fertility of this part of the country, which appeared ornamented with several gentlemen’s seats, and well planted hills; but, grandly rising above comparison, “the mighty hill of Margam,” a steep mountain entirely shaded with oaks from the base to its “cloud-cap’t” summit, arrested our chief attention.

Margam park, belonging to Mr. Talbot, is chiefly to be noticed for its orangery; a magnificent pavilion of the Doric order, 327 feet in length, wherein the orange-trees are arranged in unfavourable weather: but on our visit, these trees, to the amount of a hundred and fifty, from six to ten feet high, and all in full bearing, were agreeably disposed in a sequestered part of the garden. [153] Margam abbey was until within these few years the mansion of the estate; but it is now pulled down: some low ruins, however, remain, and the walls of its elegant but neglected chapter-house. This structure is thus described by Mr. Wyndham, who visited the spot about thirty years since: “It is an elegant Gothic building, of a date subsequent to that of the church. Its vaulted roof is perfect, and supported by a clustered column rising from the centre of the room. The plan of this chapter-house is an exact circle, fifty feet in diameter. The just proportion of the windows, and the delicate ribs of the arches, which all rise from the centre column and the walls, gradually diverging to their respective points above, must please the eye of every spectator; and, what is uncommon in light Gothic edifices, the external elevation is as simple and uniform as its internal, there being no projecting buttresses to disturb or obstruct its beauty.”—“The preservation of this building led me to conclude, that much attention had been given to the lead that originally covered it; but, to my astonishment, I heard that the lead had long since been removed, and that the only security of the roof against the weather was a thick oiled paper, which by no means prevented the rain from penetrating and filtering through the work.” Mr. Wyndham concludes by trusting, that, as the present proprietor is a lover of antiquities, the deficiency would be corrected. But, unfortunately, the edifice was left to its fate, and the roof soon fell in: thus one of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture in this or any other country is lost to the eye of taste and science.

Just perceptible from the turf we traced the foundation of the Abbey Church, and the bases of four clustering pillars that most probably supported the tower; the steps of the altar were also visible, besprinkled with grass; and, turning over some fragments, we picked up part of the chalice for containing holy water, and several of those coloured glazed tiles which were used in the early Norman age for paving principal buildings, but commonly called Roman tiles. We were informed by Mr. Snook, the intelligent gardener of the place, who was present at the dilapidation of the abbey, that the pavement formed with these tiles was the lowermost of three which were then removed; and that on digging deeper they came to an immense heap of human bones. This pavement is still in many places remaining, though nearly concealed by a covering of moss. Many curious sculptured stones of high antiquity are to be met with in the park, and in the village adjoining; the church of which presents, in its elevation, a more pleasing symmetry and composition than any Gorman work that I remember to have seen. [155] A shady walk, carried beneath the leafy mantle of Margam’s hill, passes a ruined chapel, and a loggan or rocking-stone, in its way to the summit, where a prospect of uncommon extent greets the beholder. Eglis Nunne, about two miles south of Margam, now a farmhouse, was formerly a nunnery subject to that abbey.

Renewing our journey, we left Kenfig on our right, where some vestiges of a castle built by one of Fitzhammon’s knights are said to appear, and proceeded to Pyle. The inn here, built by Mr. Talbot, and which might be mistaken for a nobleman’s seat, affords excellent accommodation for travellers, who are frequently induced to make it their head-quarters while visiting the several objects in the neighbourhood.—Leaving Pyle, we soon found ourselves on Newton Down, and from its height discovered the range of hills forming the opposite boundary of the vale of Cowbridge, in which a bold hill crowned with Penline Castle was eminently conspicuous. On looking back, we were pleased with a comprehensive view of the country that we had lately traversed: beyond the wide bay of Swansea, the whitened habitations of Ostermouth caught our eye; the sulphureous clouds revolving from the works of Swansea and Neath were only divided by the projection of Kilway hill; and the picturesque knolls of Briton ferry appeared sunk into comparative littleness beneath the towering dimensions of Margam’s shady mountain.—Our tour now became thickly interspersed with baronial castles and other monuments of feudal times, interesting either by their historical events or picturesque decay.

CHAP. XI

OGMORE CASTLE—EWENNY PRIORY—DUNRAVEN-HOUSE—ST. DONATT’S CASTLE—LLANBITHIAN CASTLE—COWBRIDGE—PENLINE CASTLE—COITY CASTLE—LLANTRISSENT—BENIGHTED RAMBLE TO PONT-Y-PRIDD—WATERFALLS.

Ogmore castle is situated on the eastern bank of the river Ogmore, near the road to Cowbridge; its remains, however, are very inconsiderable, consisting merely of the keep and some outer walls. Caradoc, in his History of Wales, says, that the manor and castle of Ogmore were bestowed by Fitzhammon on William de Londres, one of his knights; from which its foundation may be dated prior to the Norman conquest. The manor courts are still held in a thatched hovel near it, which appears like an overgrown pig-stye. Here, according to the custom of the times, a religious institution followed the acquisition of power. William de Londres, or his descendant John, built Ewenny Priory, at the distance of a mile from the castle, and also near the road to Cowbridge: but in this the proprietor seems not to have lost sight of his worldly interest; for the strong embattled walls and towers that appear among the ruins of this building would lead one to consider it as intended not less for the purposes of war than of priestcraft; and its situation on the bank of the Wenny was admirably adapted for the defence of that part of his domain. In the hall of the house, a gloomy building, are several racks, which appear to have been used for the lodging of arms. The church is a venerable massive structure, wherein unornamented heavy arches repose on short bulky columns of the rudest workmanship: it contains a monument of Paganus de Turbeville, supposed to be the grandson of Fitzhammon’s knight of that name. The thick columns, plain capital, and circular arches of this edifice, denote it to be of the earliest Norman architecture; and might lead one to suppose it to be of Saxon origin, did not historical facts invalidate the conjecture. Leland says that it was founded for Benedictine monks; but neither he, Dugdale, nor Tanner, gives us the date of its foundation. A.D. 1141 it was made a cell of St. Peter’s of Gloucester.

Not far from Ewenny, on the sea-coast, is Dunraven-house, or castle, as it is called by Caradoc; a misshapen dismal building, only to be admired for its situation on a lofty sea promontory, commanding extensive prospects. William de Londres, Lord of Ogmore (says Caradoc) won the lordships of Kydwelhy and Carnewihion in Carmarthenshire from the Welchmen; and gave to Sir Arnold Butler, his servant, the castle and manor of Dunraven. It continued a long time in the possession of his descendants; but at length fell to the Vaughans, the last of whom, as tradition relates, was such an unprincipled wretch, that he set up lights, and used other devices to mislead seamen, in order that they might be wrecked on his manor. But his crimes did not escape punishment; for it is said that three of his sons were drowned in one day by the following accidents. Within sight of the house is a large rock called the Swancar, dry only at low water; to which two of his sons went in a boat to divert themselves: but not taking care to fasten their vessel, on the rising of the tide it was washed away, and they left to the horrors of their fate; which was inevitable, as the family had no other boat, nor was there any other in the neighbourhood. Their distress was seen from the house; and in the confusion their infant brother, being left alone, fell into a vessel of whey, and was drowned almost at the same instant with the other two. This was universally looked upon as a judgement for the iniquities abovementioned; and Mr. Vaughan was so struck with the transaction, that he immediately sold the house to Mr. Wyndham, ancestor of the present proprietor.—Two extraordinary caverns, about a mile westward of the house, we neglected to visit: the one called the Cave is described to be a passage worn through a projecting stack of rocks, running parallel with the sea-shore, and forming a kind of rude piazza, with an entrance to the south, of very grand effect. The other, called the Windhole, is a deep cavern, a little to the east of the Cave: its depth from the entrance measures seventy-seven yards. There are two or three small fissures through the roof of the cavern to the land above, a considerable distance from the edge of the cliff; over which if a hat be laid, it will be blown back into the air with considerable violence; but this only happens when the wind blows fresh from the South-east.

St. Donatt’s Castle, a few miles further on the coast, and about five south-west of Cowbridge, is an extensive structure, of much antique beauty, and is still partially inhabited. Its garden, descending in terraces from the south wall, was formerly much admired, but now

“Sunk are the bowers in shapeless rain all,
And the long grass o’ertops the mould’ring wall.

Although loftily situated, the castle is so surrounded with high groves, as only to be seen with advantage from some heights in the adjoining park: on one of them is a watch-tower, which affords a prospect truly grand and extensive. This castle is of very remote foundation, although the greater part of the building indicates the work of latter ages. We learn from Powell’s translation of Caradoc, that the castle and manor of St. Denewit, or St. Donatt, was apportioned to Sir William le Esterlong, alias Stradling, on the conquest of Glamorgan. The Stradlings, outliving the descendants of all the other twelve Knights, held it for 684 years; but they becoming extinct, the estate fell to Busy Mansell, Esq. [163]

Between St. Donatt’s and Cowbridge is Lantwit, a poor village, but once a large borough town. On the north side of its church are some old British relics, consisting of high carved stones; but whether sepulchral or otherwise is not determined. Llanbithian, or St. Quintin’s Castle, is situated about half a mile south of Cowbridge. The leading feature of this ruin is a massive gateway, now converted into a barn; which, as well as the other parts, denotes considerable original strength, and is said to have been built prior to the arrival of Fitzhammon. The castle and manor fell to the share of Sir Robert St. Quintin on the division of Glamorgan; but it passed from his descendants in the reign of Henry the Third, and is now the property of Lord Windsor. Cowbridge is a neat little town seated on the banks of a small river. [164]

Penline Castle, loftily seated on a bold hill, and commanding a prospect of uncommon diversity and extent, is about a mile distant from Cowbridge. From the lines of Edward Williams, a native poet, it may appear that it serves as a barometer for the neighbourhood:

“When the hoarse waves of Severn are screaming aloud,
And Penline’s lofty castle’s involv’d in a cloud;
If true the old proverb, a shower of rain
Is brooding above and will soon drench the plain.”

This structure is of very ancient date: in some parts of the building the stones are laid in the herring-bone fashion; a mode observed in the oldest parts of Guildford, Corfe, and others of the most ancient castles. The mansion near to the ruin was built by Mr. Sergeant Sey, and is now possessed by Miss Gwinit, by a bequest of the late Lady Vernon’s.

A retrograde movement, hastily performed in a shower of rain, brought us to Bridgend, a straggling little town, built on the opposing banks of the river Ogmore. From this place a road passes to the village of Coity and its dismantled castle. This ruin stands on a plain ground, and is prettily interspersed with various trees and underwood: its foundation is generally attributed to Paganus de Turbeville, one of Fitzhammon’s knights.—The continuance of our ride to Llantrissent boasted little interest; until, making a curve near the seven-mile stone, when the wide undulating vale of Cowbridge exhibited a most extensive tract of beautiful fertility: among the high hills circumscribing the vale, that sustaining Penline castle rose with superior importance. The whole laid out in rich pastures and meadows, continually intersected with tufted inclosures, and enlivened with embowered hamlets and detached whitened buildings, formed a coup d’œil of considerable interest.

The old town of Llantrissent appeared within a small distance of us, long before we arrived at it: for, perched upon the summit of a high hill of remarkable steepness, it was only by a circuitous road, then of sufficiently fatiguing ascent, that it could be approached. This place, comprised nearly in one narrow irregular street, and made up of poor Gothic habitations, has so little of modern appearance engrafted on it, that it may be interesting as a specimen of ancient times, but scarcely in any other respect. The castle is nearly all destroyed; the fragment of a lofty round tower, and the vestiges of its outworks, nearly concealed by tangled shrubs, being all the remains of it. The church is a large Norman edifice, and from the cemetery a wonderful prospect is obtained of the surrounding country: although a hazy state of the atmosphere denied us the whole of its extent, enough remained to assure us that it must be considerable.

Pont-y-pridd, or New Bridge, was our next destination. My companion went forward to secure accommodation at the Bridgewater Arms, a comfortable inn about half a mile beyond it, while I was engaged in sketching some subjects about Llantrissent; at which task I incautiously protracted my stay

—“until the approach of night,
The skies warm blushing with departing light
When falling dews with spangles deck’d the glade,
And the low sun had lengthen’d ev’ry shade.”

As I proceeded from Llantrissent, cultivation diminished; and from that fertile and populous district, bordering the Severn, I found myself entering upon the unfrequented wilds of the interior country. It soon became so dark, that I could but just distinguish the broken road that I was travelling; which, although a Welch turnpike, a modern farmer in England would be ashamed to own for his cartway. Not a human face or habitation presented itself, nor any relief from silence, except the uncheering note of the screech owl. At length, however, the distant murmur of a waterfall saluted me; which, growing louder as I advanced, presently accumulated to a hoarse roar; and, by the direction of the sound, it appeared that I was travelling on a precipice above the torrent. A plentiful shower falling at this instant did not add to the comforts of my situation; and I found by the motion of the horse, that I was on a steep descent; while his frequent slides and stumbles proved that he was on very rugged ground, and probably out of any track. In this dilemma imagination, ever active in magnifying concealed danger, pictured my situation as tottering on the brink of some such chasm as that of the Devil’s bridge. Here I might have exclaimed with Ossian’s Colma: “It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard on the Mountains; the torrent shrieks down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds.” But to remain under such apprehensions were worse than to encounter danger, and I slowly moved on in almost total darkness; until, making a sudden turn, I beheld the tops of the neighbouring hills illumined in a strange manner. In a few moments a gleam of light, transmitted by reflection through an opening in some trees, shone on my track, and discovered a dark huge figure standing at my horse’s head. I was scarcely collected from my surprize when my bridle was forcibly arrested, and a loud but unintelligible voice seemed to demand that I should stop. Already was I conceiving how to repel the attack, when the man, observing that I did not understand Welch, civilly accosted me in imperfect English, and assured me that I was on the edge of a precipice. Nor did he leave me with this service, but kindly led my horse to the little village of Pont-y-pridd, then within a short distance. Here, while regaling over a mug of ale, my conductor accounted for the light that surprized me: it proceeded from an immense bonfire of a party of colliers in some distant mountains, rejoicing at the blessing of peace. At this place I determined to fix my quarters; nor could the offer of a guide and lanthorn, to conduct me to the superior accommodation of the Bridgewater arms, induce me to tempt again the dangers of the night, or quit the coarse barley bread, salt butter, and miserable beer of the village alehouse.

Early in the morning my companion rejoined me, when we visited Pont-y-pridd, the celebrated bridge of Glamorganshire. This extraordinary piece of masonry consists of a single arch, whose chord is 147 feet, thrown across the Taffe. William Edward, an ingenious mason of this country, who built it, failed in two preceding attempts, which would have proved his ruin; but the gentry in the neighbourhood laudably supported ported his ingenuity, although at first unsuccessfully exerted, and enabled him to complete the present structure. The great beauty of this arch arises from the simplicity of its construction, and indeed from its very defect as a roadway; for the passage over the bridge is not sloped away into the adjoining roads, as it might be; but precipitately descends on each side, following the line of the arch. This circumstance, and its being defended with only a very low parapet, gives the bridge a remarkably light appearance. Situated in a romantic hollow, and abruptly jetting from the bold woody banks of the river, it looks a magic bow thrown across by the hands of fairies.

Two waterfalls in this neighbourhood deserve notice. One occurs about half a mile above the bridge. We proceeded to it through a delightful sylvan path on the bank of the river, and under the beetling brow of Craig-er-esk. The river is seen for a considerable distance struggling through a region of rocks, which in some places rise in large masses above its surface, and in others appear through the transparency of the stream shelving to a considerable depth; wearing throughout the odd appearance of a vast assemblage of cubes, variously heaped, but with one face constantly horizontal: at length the river breaks over a compact strata; yet only in a fall of eight or ten feet, which is divided into several streams. The white foam of the river, and the light grey tint of the rocks, afford a strong contrast to the mixed verdure and dark shadows of its banks; but upon the whole the subject is rather to be noticed for its singularity than for any leading points of picturesque beauty. More agreeably composed appeared to us the other cascade of the tributary river Rhayder, about two miles distant from the bridge. The dark rocks that occasion the fall; the surrounding craigs; the light and pendant foliage that adorns them, and the vigorous trees that emerge from the banks, are all disposed with the utmost symmetry, and form a highly-pleasing picture, though of inconsiderable dimensions.

CHAP. XII.

SCENERY OF THE TAFFE—STUPENDOUS RUINS OF CAERPHILLY CASTLE—THE LEANING TOWER—FINE VIEW FROM THORNHILL—CARDIFF CASTLE—ECCLESIASTICAL DECAY OF LANDAFF—THE CATHEDRAL.

From Pont-y-pridd we made another excursion toward Merthyr-tidvill; less to witness the lately-acquired importance of the town in consequence of the great iron-works established in its neighbourhood, than to trace the beauties of the Taffe through its romantic valley. At one time, a towering hill completely mantled with wood lifted its shaggy summit to the clouds; in succession, naked rocks perpendicularly descended to the water; or, through favoured hollows, a stripe of green meadow would gently slope and mix its verdure with the stream. As we advanced, the narrow valley still further contracted, and the river, confined by the approaching bases of the mountains, assumed the character of a torrent. Our road continued on one margin of the river, and a canal, singularly abounding with locks, kept pace with us on the other; to the Cyclopean region of Merthyr-tidvill. [173] We did not enter the town, but re-measured our steps to Pont-y-pridd; and about four miles below it bade adieu to the romantic course of the Taffe, in deviating up a steep confine of its valley towards the town and castle of Caerphilly.

The celebrated ruin of Caerphilly Castle soon appeared at some distance beneath us, occupying the centre of a small plain, which, with its surrounding amphitheatre of hills, presented a display of regular fences and cultivation that strikingly contrasted with the district that we had just left. The idea formed on a first view of this stupendous pile is rather that of a ruined town than a castle: it is by much the largest ruin in Britain, although its dimensions are somewhat inferior to those of Windsor castle. The high outer rampart, with its massive abutments and frequent towers, still in a great measure entire, conveys at once a clear impression of the great extent of the fortress. In entering upon an examination of the ruin we passed the barbican, [174] now built up into habitations; and, proceeding between two dilapidated towers, entered the great area of the castle:—a range of building, beneath the rampart on our right, once formed the barracks of the garrison. We then advanced to that pile of superior building, i.e. of citadel, hall, chapel, state and other apartments, which is generally considered as the castle, in distinction from the encircling area and its wall: clambering over the fragments of another drawbridge and its defending towers, we entered the first court, which appears to have comprised the citadel: thence we passed through a large gateway, with several grooves for portcullises, to the principal court of the Castle. The area of this court is seventy yards by forty: on the south side is that princely apartment, by some considered the hall, and by others the chapel: but, whichever it may have been, vestiges of much original beauty appear in the elegant outline of its four large windows; the grand proportions of the chimney-piece, and the light triplet pillars, with arches that go round the room. The appearance of mortice holes in the walls for the ends of beams, at the height of about the middle of the windows, led Camden to suppose that the cieling was projected from thence, and that an apartment above was lighted by the upper portion of the windows; but surely at a time when symmetry in building was so well cultivated, and where it appears to have been so successfully applied, such a ridiculous contrivance could not have taken place: more probably, as I conceive, from those mortices a support was derived for a lofty arched roof, or a gallery. [175] Eastward of the hall, is the curiosity of a leaning tower, a bulky fragment of the ruin between seventy and eighty feet in height, whose walls are of a prodigious thickness: it hangs nearly eleven feet out of the perpendicular, and is only held together by the strength of its cement. How or when this phenomenon happened no legend informs us; but it has remained in this state many centuries. As the adjoining towers, and all the standing parts of the ruin, remain perpendicular, the cause must have arisen from a local failure of the foundation: hence I am of opinion, that a solution of the phenomenon may be found in the effects of a mine, and which probably took place during the long siege which Hugh le Despenser sustained in this castle in the time of Edward the Second. Near this part of the ruin a place is shewn as the mint, with two furnaces for melting metal. From this chamber we ascended a spiral staircase to the corridor, still in very good preservation, which, lighted by small windows, and passing round the principal court, formed a communication with the different apartments. The external view of the western entrance of the ruin, with its ponderous circular towers venerably shaded with ivy, is remarkably striking; and, with the remains of its drawbridge and defending outwork, may be considered as the most entire part of the ruin. An artificial mound some distance off, but within the works of the castle, was most likely used for exploratory purposes.

From the great plan of this castle, and there being no direct evidence to the contrary, its foundation has been attributed to the Romans; and some ingenious arguments have been adduced to prove, that it was their Bullaum Silurum. But it sufficiently appears, that no considerable part of the present fortress was built by them, as the predatory army of Rhys Tycan took and rased Caerphilly castle in 1221. The best supported opinion is that of the Hon. Daines Barrington, who attributes the present erection to Edward the First.—Caerphilly has lately increased from an obscure village to a well-built little town; and the respectable appearance of its two inns may be in a great measure dated from the great increase of the visitants of the castle. [177]

We left Caerphilly, over to hilly boundary, on the road to Cardiff; where we noticed the singular appearance of some peasants digging coals from the surface of the ground. At the extremity of this tract, Thornhill, a grand elevation, afforded us a most extensive prospect, which, illuminated by an evening sun, formed a picture of uncommon brilliancy. The wide plain of Cardiff displayed for many miles, in every direction, a gratifying extent of Nature’s bounty, in an endless variety of cultivation, chequered with numberless hedgerows, and enlivened by several villages, whose neatly whitened walls glistened through their appendant foliage: the rich verdure was in one part varied by the russet hue of an extensive warren. At the extremity of this tract appeared the expansive Severn, in which the two islands of the steep and flat Holmes were conspicuous; and afar off the bold hills of Somersetshire closed the prospect. We slowly descended from the spot commanding this range of objects, and travelled on a good road towards Cardiff, with the episcopal ruins of Landaff at a small distance on our right.

On entering Cardiff, the capital of Glamorganshire, between the ivy-mantled walls of its castle, and the mouldering ruin of a house of White Friars, we were much pleased with the aspect of the town: nor were we less so on a closer examination of its neat well-paved streets; it appearing to us one of the cleanest and most agreeable towns in Wales. The high tower of its church, crowned with four transparent Gothic pinnacles, had long engaged our interest; but on a near view we did not find the body of the church to correspond with it; it being of an older date, a plain Norman structure. This, I believe, was the conventual church of the Franciscan Friars that are described as having occupied the eastern suburb of the town. The other parish church, for Cardiff is divided into two parishes, was undermined by the action of the river, about a century and a half since, and fell down. The house of the White Friars has been already noticed; and without the west gate stood a monastery of Black Friars. This town was formerly encompassed by a wall, and vestiges of its four gates yet remain. Cardiff, having the benefit of a good harbour, carries on a brisk trade with Bristol, and other places, and has of late considerably increased its commercial importance: but perhaps its chief interest with tourists will be derived from its castle.

Cardiff Castle, a seat of the Marquis of Bute, (Baron Cardiff and Earl of Windsor), was until lately a Gothic structure of considerable elegance; but having undergone a repair, without attention to the antique style of architecture, it presents a motley combination, in which the remaining Gothic but serves to excite our regret for the greater portion destroyed. The misguided direction of this work is prominently conspicuous in the enlargement of the building, wherein fashionable square windows appear throughout the lower apartments, while the original character of the edifice is imitated in the Gothic lines of the upper windows: a strange violation of common propriety, to raise an antique superstructure upon a modern foundation! The part of the castle which is kept up is a single range of building; and an elegant machicolated tower, overlooking the whole, still frowns defiance on the petty innovations beneath. The internal has been entirely new-planned, and a number of portraits of the present lord’s progenitors are ranged in the apartments, with the principal events of their lives, emblazoned in letters of gold; but they are for the most part indifferently executed. In front of the building is a spacious lawn, from the trim surface of which rises an artificial mound, bearing the mouldering ruin of the ancient keep, [181] carefully shorn of shrub and briar. In the tower, at the entrance, a dark damp dungeon is described to have been the prison of Robert duke of Normandy; in which he was confined near thirty years, after being deprived of his sight and inheritance by his younger brother Henry the First. But it is more probable that he had the whole range of the castle; for, independent of the improbability that any human creature could live so long in such a place, we have the authority of Odo Vitalis and William of Malmesbury, that Henry made his imprisonment as easy as possible; furnishing him with an elegant table, and buffoons to divert him. A high rampart incloses the whole; round the top of which a walk is carried, affording many pleasing views of the surrounding country.

When Robert Fitzhammon conquered and divided the lordship of Glamorgan with his twelve knights, he reserved the town of Cardiff, among other estates, for himself, and erected this castle: here he held his courts of Chancery and Exchequer; the former on the first Monday in every month, when his knights or their heirs were bound to attend, and were then entitled to apartments in the outer court of the castle; which privilege, says Sir John Price, their heirs or assigns enjoy to this day.

This castle has frequently experienced the vicissitudes of war. Soon after its erection, one Ivor Black, a little resolute Welchman, marched hither privately, with a troop of mountaineers, and surprised the castle in the night; carrying off William Earl of Gloucester (Fitzhammon’s grandson), together with his wife and son; whom he detained prisoners until he obtained satisfaction for some injuries that he had suffered. It was also taken by Maelgon and Rhys gyre anno 1282; and again by the parliamentary forces in the civil wars, after a long siege.

A pleasant walk over the fields led us to the episcopal city of Landaff, now in extent an inconsiderable village: this deserted spot occupies a gentle eminence in the great plain of Cardiff. The west front of the cathedral is an admirable relic of Norman architecture, with two elegant towers of extraordinary height, profusely enriched with the best sculpture of that age: here all the apertures are circularly arched; but the windows of part of the nave, yet remaining, are Gothic. Upon the chancel’s falling to decay some score years since, a great sum was expended in raising the present church upon the old stock; but surely such an absence of taste and common sense was never before instanced: beneath the solemn towers has sprung up a fantastic summer-house elevation, with a Venetian window, Ionic pilasters, and flower-pot jars upon the parapet. The same sort of window is coupled with the elegant line of the ornamented Gothic in other parts of the structure; and within, a huge building upon the model of a heathen temple surrounds the altar; which, with two thrones, darken and fill up nearly half the church. From this mass of inconsistencies we turned to the inspection of several ancient monuments, which were chiefly recumbent, and from several marks of recent damage appeared to be much neglected. [184a]

The cathedral, now in ruins, was built by Bishop Urban, anno 1120, upon the site of pile founded by St. Dubritius in the commencement of the sixth century, and dedicated to more saints than I have room to enumerate. Urban also built a palace here, which was destroyed by Owen Glendower: its high outer walls and gateway, however, remain, and form an inclosure to a garden. A large mansion adjoining, occupied by Mr. Matthews, is, I understand, attached to the bishopric. [184b]

CHAP. XIII.

ENTRANCE OF MONMOUTHSHIRE—ANCIENT ENCAMPMENTS—CASTLETON—TREDEGAR PARK—NEWPORT; CHURCH; AND CASTLE—EXCURSION TO MACHEN PLACE—PICTURESQUE VIEW FROM CHRIST CHURCH—GOLD CLIFF—CAERLEON’S ANTIQUITIES—ENCAMPMENTS—LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY—LANTARNAM—LANGIBBY CASTLE.

On quitting Cardiff, we soon entered Monmouthshire [185] in crossing Rumney bridge. The church of Rumney is a large Gothic edifice, with an embattled tower. Nearly opposite to it, on the left of the road, crowning a steep bank of the river, is an old encampment of an irregular figure, with a triangular outwork; and a short distance further, at Pen-y-pile, another occurs of a polyhedrous form. As we proceeded, the elevated mansion and extensive woods of Ruperah, an elegant seat belonging to a branch of the Morgan family, appeared finely situated beneath the brow of some hills bordering the vale of Caerphilly; and on a gentle hill below it, Keven-Mable, an ancient seat of the Kemy’s family. At the rural little village of St. Mellons, the old and new roads to Newport unite: we took the latter, which is the lowermost and nearest, traced on a range of gentle eminences skirting Wentloog level, an extensive fertile plain won from the sea. This wide flat, extending from the Rumney to the Usk rivers, is relieved by the intersections of hedges and drains, and has a sprinkling of white cottages; among which the towers of St. Bride’s, Marshfield, and Peterson churches rise conspicuously. Our route passed through Castleton, where there was formerly a castle; of which, however, only a small artificial mount, the site of its citadel, now inclosed in the garden of Mr. Phillips, and a chapel converted into a barn, remain. Gwern-y-cleppa park, the next object of our attention on the road, contains a ruin nearly hidden in an interwoven thicket, once the mansion of Ivor-hael (the generous), the pride of bardish song, who flourished in the commencement of the fourteenth century.

We entered Tredegar Park in succession, a very ancient seat of the Morgan family. This park is laid out in the obsolete style of groves and avenues; but possesses great room for modern taste, in the variety of swell and hollow composing its surface, the remarkable size and beauty of the oaks and Spanish chesnuts with which it is decorated, and the picturesque course of the rapid Ebwy, whose red rocky banks form a striking contrast to the surrounding verdure. The turnpike road passes through the park, and within a few hundred yards of the mansion, a huge quadrangular brick building, of the date of Charles the Second’s reign, with a high shelving roof, in which are two or three tiers of windows, similar to the weighing-house at Amsterdam. Internally, the house is convenient and well arranged, with state and domestic apartments, several of which are preserved in their original character. The most remarkable is the oak room; the flooring of which, forty-two feet by twenty-seven, was furnished by a single oak; and the wainscoting, formed of the same material, is much admired for its antique carving. A large collection of pictures, chiefly family portraits, is distributed through the house; but few of them are valuable as specimens of art. Among the extensive offices are several remains of the ancient castellated mansion, described by Leland as “a very fair place of stone.”

The Morgan family being one of the most ancient and considerable in Wales, the ingenuity of the bards has been excited to trace its origin: some have venally derived it from Cam the second son of Noah; but others refute this position, and modestly carry it no further than his third son. Without noticing several intervening personages contended to be the founders of this family, Cadivor the great, lord of Dyfed, who died anno 1084, appears to be the only one well supported in the appointment of its great ancestor.

From Tredegar Park we immediately crossed the Ebwy by a long narrow bridge, and presently entered Newport, a dirty ill-built town nearly comprized in one long street winding down a bank of the river Usk. The eminence on which its church is situated, at the upper part of the town, affords a very fine prospect of the surrounding country; at the extremity of the town appears its ruined castle, watered by the silvery Usk: an intermixture of wood and pasture clothes the surrounding hills and valleys: the wild mountains about Pont-y-pool are strongly contrasted by the fertile tract of Wentloog and Caldecot levels, and the noble expanse of the Bristol channel backed by the cultivated hills of Somersetshire. The church exhibits the architecture of several ages: its nave comprehends the original church, which is of the oldest mode of building, and may be considered as of a date prior to the settlement of the Normans: the chancel and ailes are of later architecture. The western doorway, connected with the ancient chapel of St. Mary, now converted into a burying-place, and which was formerly the grand entrance, exhibits a curious specimen of Saxon carving, in a circular archway, with hatched and indented mouldings resting on low columns with capitals of rude foliage. The church contains three ancient monuments; but its chief ornament is the high square embattled towers built by Henry the Third, in gratitude for the attachment of the townsmen to his cause during his contest with the barons. St. Wooloo, the patron of this spot, is held in high veneration by the natives. He retired from the pride and pageantry of kinghood, to lead a life of prayer and mortification: a lowly cottage was his dwelling; sackcloth his apparel; he lived by the labour of his hands; the crystal rill afforded his only beverage, and barley bread, rendered more disrelishing by a sprinkling of ashes, his constant food. He left this world for better fare in the next about the end of the fifth century.

Newport Castle is a ruin of very inconsiderable dimensions: its quadrangular area was only defended by a simple wall, except on the side next the river, where three towers still remain in a nearly intire state. There is an octagon tower at each extremity of this side; a large square one between them, with turrets at each angle, appears to have been the citadel, and contains a vaulted apartment called the state-room; at the bottom of this tower a handsome Gothic arch forms a water-gate, which has within it the groove of a portcullis: between this and the further tower was the baronial hall, the ruins of which yet remain. The pointed arches throughout this building testify it to have been a work posterior to the Norman era; though it is certain, that there was a castle at Newport in 1173, when Owen ap Caradoc, going to treat with king Henry without arms or attendants, was basely murdered by the soldiers of Newport castle. Jowerth ap Owen, his father, in revenge for this treachery, carried fire and sword to the gates of Hereford and Gloucester. Newport was formerly encompassed with a wall; but of this there are no remains; nor of the three gates mentioned by Leland, except some small vestiges of the one next the bridge. A large Gothic building near the castle, with a stone coat of arms over the door, now occupied as a warehouse, was formerly the murringer’s [192] house. In place of an inconvenient wooden bridge, a handsome stone one of five arches has been lately executed by Mr. David Edward, son of the mason of Pont-y-pridd: a canal was also just finished at the time of our visit, reaching from Pont-y-pool, by means of which its brisk and improving trade in coals and iron is much facilitated.

On the banks of the river, a short distance below the bridge, are the remains of a house of preaching friars; consisting of the spacious refectory, part of the church, and other buildings, now converted to private uses.—About a mile further southward, near the conflux of the Usk and Ebwy, are the small vestiges of Green castle, once a considerable fortress belonging to the duke of Lancaster, and described by Churchyard, who flourished in the reign of Elizabeth, as

“A goodly seate, a tower, a princely pyle.”

We made an excursion on the road to Caerphilly, which embraces several objects not unworthy of notice. About a mile and half from Newport is the Gaer, a large encampment supposed to be Roman, occupying the brow of an eminence near the Ebwy in Tredegar park. A short distance further is the little village of Bassaleg, the approach to which is very picturesque; where the Ebwy appears struggling in its bed of red rocks, and throwing its clear stream over a weir just beneath the bridge: above it rises the church, with its embattled tower finely relieved by intervening foliage. Here, according to Tanner, was a Benedictine priory, a cell to the abbey of Glastonbury; but of this no traces are evident; unless a ruin in the deep recesses of a forest about a mile westward, called Coed-y-Monachty, or the wood of the monastery, are its remains. On the summit of a hill overgrown with coppice, about a mile from Bassaleg, near the road to Llanvihangel, is a circular encampment called Craeg-y-saesson.

From Bassaleg the country continues undulating and fertile, to the vale of Machen, where the Rumney emerges from among wild hills and overhanging forests, and sweeps through the plain: a sprinkling of white cottages enliven the scene, which receives an additional effect from its picturesque church, and the steep acclivity of Machen hill, studded all over with lime-kilns. At the opening of the vale is Machen-place, once a respectable seat of the Morgans, but now tottering in decay, and occupied as a farm-house: some memorials of faded grandeur may here be traced in a circular apartment, with a rich stuccoed cieling, called the hunting-room. A pair of andirons weighing two hundred weight, formerly employed in roasting an entire ox, and an immense oak table, may also convey an idea of the solid fare and plenty of days of yore. We pursued the road no further; but, returning through Newport [195], and crossing its bridge, took the road to Caerleon.