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