a trice we shall appear like two way-worn pilgrims, threading our way through the mazy streets of that gay and busy watering-place, Aberystwith, and after tarrying there awhile, commence together our travels amidst the majestic and beautiful scenes of this ancient land of the Silures and Dimetæ.

Aberystwith is delightfully situated on the north bank of the Rheidol, in the centre of Cardigan Bay, commanding a sea-view of great extent, and of that sublime beauty inseparable from a marine prospect bounded only by the horizon. The hills of the North Welsh coast are distinctly seen on a clear day stretching far out in the distance, the chain ending with the promontory of Llyn and Bardsey Island; Snowdon, Cader Idris, and the forked summits of the Merionethshire hills, are sometimes discerned; and on the south, the coast may be traced as far as St. David's Head. The whole of this occan amphitheatre was formerly dry land, and the greater portion remained so until the sixth century, when Gwyddno Garan Hîr was the reigning prince of the district. It was named Cantrev y Gwaelod, the Lowland hundred, and is mentioned by the Welsh bards and historians (indeed, the terms are synonymous) as being fertile and beautiful in the highest degree, and containing sixteen fortified towns, and a large population. The fine champaign country extended from Harlech to St. David's Head, and was wholly destroyed by an inundation of the sea, the waters of St. George's Channel having burst over their wonted boundaries, and covered its entire extent. Thus was formed the present Bay of Cardigan, whose deep blue waves now roll over many a ruined city and once

mighty fortress lying in irretrievable desolation beneath them. The cause of this calamity is attributed by the old historians of Wales to the intoxication of Seithynin, the son of Saidde, who had the care of the sluices, and neglected to drop them on the coming in of the tide.* The words of the "old Bard" may be read as a literal description of the melancholy event just related

"Time has wrought changes in this ancient earth!
The sea now overlays the land where smiled

The early Spring;-where Spring grew on to Autumn,
And perfumed buds ripened to glossy fruit.
Man flourished there, anticipating man!

And laughing childhood with its thousand pranks;
Cities were there, thronged, walled, and turreted;
But in one fatal night those babbling tongues
Were hushed. The dancing Seasons come no more
With flowers and fruit-cities and castles,

Domestic halls and altars, warriors and peaceful men,
And household loves, lie grov'ling there amidst
The dank sea-weeds. Old Ocean's dreary wail
Sings the sad story,-that a land is lost."

The Castle Hill forms a favourite promenade for the visitors at Aberystwith, from its commanding and picturesque situation, sweeping the whole coast, and looking down upon the contiguous mouths of the Ystwith and the Rheidol on one side, and the beautiful vale which descends with the latter river, on the other; but each year so much reduces its seaward cliffs, that they, and their hoary ruin-crest, must eventually be swept away. The base of this small promontory is com

*Mr. Lewis Morris, the antiquary, found on the coast of Merioneth, a stone in the sands, about a hundred yards below water-mark, with this inscription in Roman letters: "Hic jacet Calixtus Monedo Regi." Here lies the boatman to King Gwyddno.

pletely caverned by the breakers that dash, and foam, and thunder in its hollow sides, making most dread, but "eloquent music," and flinging their light spray over the sea-beat cliffs.

Aberystwith Castle now consists but of a few fragments, among which remain parts of two small towers, and one more lofty, with a gateway. It appears to have been an important post in times of warfare, and is stated to have been originally built by Gilbert de Strongbow, son of Richard de Clare, about the year 1107. Henry I. having given Strongbow permission to win for himself the inheritance of Cadwgan ap Bleddyn, the invader succeeded in his unjust enterprise, and erected two castles, one at Aberystwith, and another in Pembrokeshire, for the protection of his illgotten territory. In 1111, Prince Gruffydd ap Rhys came over from Ireland, where he had resided from his childhood, and, being suspected of a desire for sovereignty, he became embroiled with the invaders, and encamped between Llanbadarn and Aberystwith to besiege the castle. In his attempt he was defeated by a ruse de guerre of the lieutenant of the earl of Clare, governor of that fortress. The lieutenant, who had been expecting all day the attack of the enemy, sent out some of his skirmishers in the evening towards the bridge which crosses the river, to entice the troops of Gruffydd into an ambuscade which he had prepared. The manœuvre succeeded. "The Welshmen," says their own historian, Powell, "approached and skirmished with them, and suddenlie issued forth one horseman, and would have passed the bridge, but his horse was wounded with a pike, and began to faile,