time dashing from one rock to another, and at last was heard plunging into water.

Bidding adieu to Bristol, it was determined to ferry over the Severn at the Aust or Old Passage, in order to visit Piercefield, and Tintern Abbey, and then to shape our course according to circumstances.

Our passage over this fine river was safe and pleasant; and we were more delighted with the scenery which presented itself on all hands. The mountains of Wales had before saluted our view; but on landing in Monmouthshire, we found ourselves on the very confines of the principality.

Passing through the ancient town of Chepstow, situated near the efflux of the Wye, and over which it has a curious bridge, we soon reached Piercefield, the creation of Valentine Morris, Esq. but now the property of Colonel Wood. This is one of the most illustrious scenes that art and nature combined can produce. Stupendous rocks, vast woods, the meandering Wye, the expansive Severn, the town and Castle of Chepstow, with various other attractions,

present a picture unrivalled. The walks and rides are conducted in the happiest taste, and confer immortal honour on their projector. This place can only be seen on Thursdays; but no person who travels this way, should miss the opportunity of paying it a visit. Though much has been written on the subject, all description must be inadequate to the impression the spectator feels, as he strays amidst its romantic scenery, or enjoys its extensive prospects.

From hence we proceeded to Tintern Ab bey, a most beautiful ruin; situated in the bottom of a vale, about six miles distant. Never did eye behold a more venerable object, though time has despoiled its proudest ornaments. Nothing now remains except walls, arches, stone casements, and pillars; yet such is the charming simplicity and harmony of the whole, that the mind catt not contemplate it without rapture.

The sight of this fine ruin, and the delightful scenery of Wales with its numerous ancient castles, determined my father to take

a little excursion into the principality, before he directed his course homewards.

Accordingly, returning from Tintern, we struck into the high Newport Road, and passed through Caerwent, now a miserable village; but once a Roman station of great note, as is still evident from a tessellated pavement, whose site we inspected, and other remains of antiquity in this vicinity.

From hence the country becomes inexpressibly beautiful, and the landscapes. highly diversified; and we reached Caerleon, just as the setting sun warned us, that it was time to take up our lodgings for the night.

From that place, which was once a Roman city of high fame and considerable eminence, and some of whose venerable remains we have already visited, I dispatch this letter. My next will give you an account of our progress in Wales; and, as I hope, of our meditated approach to the seat of the Muses, and what is of infinitely more importance, the seat of my dearest affections. I am ever yours.

84

LETTER IX.

Tour through part of South Wales.

Monmouth, August 10,

MY DEAR LOUISA,

CAERLEON, from whence my last epistle was dated, in days of yore, ranked with London and York. It afterwards became an archiepiscopal see; and it is said that no fewer than thirty British kings were interred within its precincts. Here Prince Arthur and other worthies of the same character, kept a splendid court; and the place exhibited all the grandeur and magnificence of a metropolitan city. But its glories are now faded; and except its interesting situation, and the mouldering remnants of its antiquities, there is scarcely an existing circumstance to confirm the records of history. At the reflection on the vanity of all sublunary things, I could not help dropping

a tear.

Oblivion broods upon the levell’d lawn,

And fades the tints by History's pencil drawn.

Our next stage was Newport, a town of some note, situated on the banks of the Usk, over which it has a wooden bridge of stupendous height, floored with loose boards, that rise and fall with the tide of the river. The shell of its old castle is almost entire.Here for the first time we heard the Welch language commonly used, though we were still in Monmouthshire.

The first town in Wales we entered was Caerdiff, a pretty large place, built on an extensive flat, near the efflux of the Taaff. Its fine ancient castle has been repaired, and is now the occasional residence of the Most Noble the Marquis of Bute, to whom my father would have thought it his duty to pay his respects, had his Lordship been here. It was in this fortress that the unhappy Robert, eldest son of the Norman Conqueror, suffered a cruel imprisonment of twenty-fix years, after being deprived of his eyes: we saw the dungeon in which he lingered out his days, and saw it with horror.

From this place we made an excursion to Caerphilly, a miserable place, embosomed