ors until they do succeed. But, we are among the mountains; and let us not pollute the pure air with politics. If evil days come, they will come; and so let us see what refuge, what solace, may be found among these wild and lonely fastnesses.

The road, made with great skill and judgment, lay entirely among the mountains; we were for miles threading the high passes every turn of the road opening into some new course, some gorge, deep and close-and then some wild vale in the amphitheatre of mountainswith grand and sweeping lines folding within and about each other. Sometimes not a tree, not a shrub, to be seen in the whole, and somewhat wide, extent. It has been not unaptly said, that to enjoy solitude one must be more or less than human. The heart sinks under the oppressive desolation; the immediate effects of which are languor, apathy, a prostration of taste. It is long before we can admire the sweeping or precipitous lines before us, and not till the coming and receding shadows have relieved the mind, by offering, at least, this variety in the wilderness. It is in scenes where the disgust of unsociable and uninhabitable places is not at once overpowered by an awful grandeur, that this disinclination to admire is so strong. Actual sublimity will find something congenial with it in almost every mind, and its terror is even sought courted. The desolate scenes short of sublimity, we hate. We do not, on this account, think such scenery is fit for the artist's pencil. We are often surprised to find them chosen, and represented under their worst effects -a hot sun, under which the eye is forced to scrutinize dismal detail, and find no one object to rest upon; while at the same time, the gusty wind is blowing the coarse rushes, and whitening and making obtrusive the marshy pools. Yet here we need not staypass we on. The scene is either more. sublime, or changing into a lofty beauty. The rocky sides of the mountains are in larger masses, the foldings grander; or some wooded ravine bursts upon the sight, and the sound of water comes upon the sense with its fabulous mystery. Then we see, as we proceed, deeper and darker masses, and, at the bottom, deep and black pools, edged with white streaks or threads the silver chords that

throw off nature's sweetest music. But wooded ravines in these regions are rare, and it was not until we approached the Devil's Bridge, that we met with any of much beauty. There were, however, some very beautiful scenes before we were perfectly within the area, or inner range of mountains. Wooded and low hills, with their deep shade and grassy openings, with little more than indication of a habitation among the trees, whose tops broke, not into the sky, but upon the loveliest blue of distant mountains; against which the whole low hill is dark, and of sheltered green repose, with a placid or gently interrupted stream at its base, that is lost to the eye as it winds round the base of the hill: and then lower down is a valley, if it may be called a valley which is but the descending land of higher territory, apparently, too, uncultivated -not a mark or division to be seen; but all of the loveliest colour-warm as gold beneath, yet veiled in the finest azure; and the sky, towards evening, so deep, so cool, yet so warm, so indescribable in colour!

Oh, the charm of these homes among the hills! Here might be trod the fallentis semita vitæ. Here is the poetry of pastoral life, sequestered, uninterrupted, safe, and happy. The very sky looks large and bountiful, and protecting all beneath it. We have now and then admired such scenes in Italy, and very similar in colour; but we have here the advantage of the refreshing green. Our friend, after his first burst of admiration, would talk of his hackles, and cast a longing eye to the stream stealing its way among the trees. But, as we may not stay, a mile or so is gladdened by social talk and fishing adventure, and sketching of adventure, all arising out of that home scene, till our attention is called off to admire some new wonder of nature's panorama. How different is the scene, when, unexpectedly and suddenly, we come to the very edge of a ravine, rocky, without any foliage, where meeting rivers, and not far, perhaps, from their sources, have scooped their courses, and torn away the cliffs above and, we might almost say, chiselled out ledges and masses of rock below, that, seen under water, look like steps down into black unfathomable pits of terrifying water, that not even "magician damned" could look at without

their native politeness, urbanity-a strange term to use and apply to population far from city!-but not so far from polity, and rule, and order, and moral and religious feeling, or rather religious principle, which sweetly and simply directs this civil and intelligent people. What new systems of education may do for them, who knows? Not those who set them on foot; yet perhaps some of them do. Legislators take the whole world, with all its wondrously differing population, to be but the parish of Marylebone, and enact laws accordingly. Education, and political education-mongers, are at their work among this orderly people; orderly, for we look upon your Llanidloes Chartists, if they be Welsh, as exceptions. We find they are having the worst books, of mischievously political and irreligious tendency, translated for their benefit, and amongst them," the Black Book." This we saw in a paper of advertisements. But our horse and tiger are refreshed, so we must be off for the Devil's Bridge, ill-omened name ! but we dare say that the road thither is easy enough, "sed revocare gradum." The distance must be under five miles-the first two of which are dismal and dreary-after which the road suddenly makes a turn, and we are on the summit of a hill, and look over a very extensive scene, all mountainous even to the extreme distance. Range after range descends, yet we see not the depth; and above are other mountains running off from the eye, showing their forms and foldings in perspective. Immediately before us is a ravine, whose sides are covered with coppice, one side in shade, excepting the tops, which recline backward and catch the sun's gleam; the other side, somewhat more than half way up, is of a dusky coppice colour, but suffused with the gold of the evening sun. The depth, undiscovered how deep, lies in that obscure haze, that, by making forms uncertain, adds sublimity. The alternate azure and golden hues of the lights and shadows, and their occasional blending one into the other, and all receding and softening into a vast distance of mountain range, make the whole scene particularly beautiful. We remained some time and attempted it in colour; but the materials were wanting for properly attempting the view, and we failed. Still we keep the attempt; this we always do, for not only will it impress

the real scene upon our minds as we may hereafter turn over our sketches; but we shall come to find a something in it that may be useful, and may be true, though it was not our particular object in the drawing. Some figures that made their appearance while we were sketching, were injurious to the effect; this perhaps determined the poetry of its character. It was a scene for angelic agency, and above the regions of "low-thoughted care."

one

It

As we proceeded, the ravine became deeper, and ere long we arrived at the Devil's Bridge. Here the waters of two ravines meet, and flow in one narrow channel at the base of very high hills. The Devil's Bridge Inn is finely situated upon the very edge of the precipice, and immediately above the falls of the waters rushing from the mountains on the right, in the direction of Hafod. It is situated very near the bridge that takes its name from that celebrated architect, the great Pontifex. "Give a dog a bad name and hang him," and so they have hung old Sootie's Bridge, as not wishing to be upon any footing with the builder; not liking much to meddle with him, they have built another above him, so there they are, over another. After all, it may be said " The devil a monk was he." There is nothing like a good mysterious legend, in a wild country. makes the woods, the waters, the hills fabulous. It is delightful at Killarney to hear of O'Donnoghue and his white horses under the lake. The legend here is a sadly mean affair. It is of old Sootie and an old woman, who seems, whenever they are brought into contact, to be a match for him. The old lady lost her cow; and at length found her, or rather saw her, for there was an awful chasm between them. Upon this, the old gentleman appeared on the opposite side, and offered his services to make a bridge, upon condition that he should have the first that put foot over it. The cunning old jade thought a moment, and agreed to it; whereupon the bridge arose, when the old crone took a cake out of her pocket, whistled to her dog, and threw the cake over before him. After it he went, the devil bit his lips; but took his perquisite, and was laughed off the field. The superstitious may think he was very near taking his revenge upon the sex a few years ago, by playing a

young woman rather a slippery trick. A lady's-maid, of all persons in the world the one that has no business to stand upon a precipice, lost her footing while looking over the abyss, and was borne down a frightful depth, but her dress spreading out like a parachute, she was no otherwise injured than by being lodged in the black pool, and terribly frightened. After some delay, ropes were procured and cast down; but in the hurry, no proper noose was made, so that, while they were drawing her up as she clung to it with her hands, her strength failed her and down she fell again. But now a boy had contrived to work his way down, and rescued her, by placing her insensibly in a secure place until more effectual assistance was procured. The poor creature long suffered, as we understood, from the effects of the peril.

At the time,we arrived at the inn, the shadows had extended over the whole depth, and about three parts up the side of the precipitous hill, above which the more distant mountain range was seen. The partially coppice-covered rocks were of a beautiful colour, a warm brown, and the coppice so indistinct that it was not very easy to discover that trees were there. In the midst, and at some distance within the ravine, was a deep dark pool, into which a cascade, but of no great height, was pouring its white water, and we could just discover that it was in motion. The whole scene looked grand, large, and solemn; there was enough positive light to show some of the prominent forms, which, by their divisions, made the mass of hill and rock appear to its full height; but afterwards, when the sun had sunk lower and the whole was in shade, the grandeur was gone. As too much direct light gives a meanness by the innumerable divisions and subdivisions it exposes, thus destroying the scene as a whole, so too little light has the same effect by a different operation, by removing all comparison of part with part, and thus reducing the whole. We think here Nature gave a lesson to artists; herein is contained a principle for application. And now night has closed in, a lovely tranquil night. Look out of window the hills, or rather mountains, have folded themselves into smaller compass, are asleep-the stars sentinel them, and the distant sound of the falling waters assure you that all is

quiet living sleep, and not death. This is an inspiring time to the artist; his imagination is awake, and he feels the silent blessing both of Nature and of Art. The inn is large, the accommodation in every respect excellent. The Duke of Newcastle is expending large sums to make it a large and first-rate hotel. The building is not offensive to the scenery, perhaps quite otherwise, though it may not bear too strict an architectural scrutiny. The roof is in the style of the Swiss cottage; not so the other parts of the building-yet, when finished, it may have a good effect; and its situation immediately over the abyss is greatly in its favour, for the view from the windows is very fine. This scene was not improved by a morning view, and less so at midday. It is certainly most beautiful towards evening, when a broad shadow is over the whole depth, and the tops of the mountains are partially lighted up. Scenery of this kind at mid-dayis seldom seen to any advantage: at that time it requires large and moving clouds, that by their bold shadows separate the interfoldings, and give distance and character. A beautiful spot, therefore, should not be seen once, and left; the true admirer of nature, and particularly the artist, will soon acquire a knowledge, by his study of lines and the aspect of the scenery, of the changes that must affect it in the sun's course. It makes all the difference whether shadows come from the right or the left, from the back or front, when the objects that cast them are on all sides unequal. It is a great thing to know where it may be worth while to stop, not judging from the present effect, which may often be bad, and such as may disguise, for the time, great natural beauties. Who has not been surprised into admiration, returning in an evening over the very ground he had passed in the morning with weariness and distaste? It is far better to remain at one beautiful spot, days, and even weeks, than to run post-haste from spot to spot, the mind overwhelmed with vague recollections, and the portfolio crammed with im perfect studies-when ten to one but the very best subjects for admiration or study are left unvisited, and often, when visited, unseen.

We regret that our stay was necessa rily short; yet we are but "the lion's provider," to lead the way, and do not

hesitate to recommend the Devil's Bridge as a place of sojourn. Not very far from the inn, and facing it, having crossed the bridge, are some very fine views of the general scenery. We were in the broad sun; it was too much eut up into detail for work; we therefore made our way down to the black water we had seen from the inn window, and here we sketched, though not much to our satisfaction. Our friend was more successful, but in another line, for the trout came out of the dark water, sparkling beautifully, at his bidding. But here were fine subjects: bold masses of stone, that had been storm-cast from the cliffs, were in the clearest water, here shallow and there deep; above them the small fall, and above that the high mountain sides, rock and coppice intermingled. Here we were delighted with a sort of ballet exhibition. Two very large kites flew into the area between the cliffs, from over the top to the right, and magnificently and gracefully sported; it was what a dance on wings may be imagined to be, by free creatures in their utmost joy. After a while, another swept over the opposite cliff, and came sailing in his glory among them, and they joined, varied their figure, and performed a wonderful ballet. Sometimes they seemed burlesquing what we have seen in a theatre-retreating and coming in again, and with a new vagary. We afterwards learnt that these creatures are remarkably fine, and peculiar to the place. The kite is a noble bird; they possess the mountains, like fea thered princes. Retracing our steps, we returned to the inn, passed through a little gate, and behold the two bridges one over the other! The depth here does not look very appalling, probably not so great as it really is. From immediately below this bridge, the falls commence ; we had seen them from the opposite hill, but had little conception of their beauty until we came near them. It is one stream, but several falls. The volume of water was not great: we are not certain if this was not an advantage, for there was enough to be very fine, and we saw more of the rock than we should have done had it been entirely covered by larger cascades; and we had better views of the wonderful scoopings it had at other times made in the rocky beds, which were now seen to great advantage under every

variety of form and colour. The first fall of magnitude would make a magnificent picture, if the direction of the fall itself were not unfortunate. Were there a more full body of water, it might break over the rock in various ways; with the present scant stream, it is too much directly across the picture, and as if in a cut channel. The background is very fine; a large hollow, behind and above the water, forming a wooded basin, surmounted by some pine trees, above and partly through the branches of which the inn is not unpicturesquely seen, and the younger trees that shoot out their tender foliage into the hollow, give magnitude to the whole. This fall terminates in very dark water, nearly surrounded by deeply-coloured precipitous rocks, among which there are some of an ochrey colour, that give a very marked relief to the depth of the

water.

But by far the most striking fall is that below "the Robber's Cave" -a cavern of no great depth; and where, it is said, a robber once lived with, we believe, two companions, a sister and another female. The habi tation must have been very small for three persons, but certainly very safe from surprise. It is said that, one having betrayed the watchword, the robber was taken; he had committed a murder. A more savage scene can hardly be conceived-close to the roar and perpetual dampness of the cataract, a precipice before it, with only one, and that a dangerous, access. What a place wherein to meditate on crime! crime for crime's sake; for here could be none of the usual enticementsjoyless, unsocial home! From this cave we descended, something like a path, or rather footing, being now made in the descent, to a ledge of rock, through a narrow passage in which the water has found its way. When in full volume, we suppose this whole mass is covered with water, and the scene must be very grand. Yet we had some advantage in seeing it in its present state, as we were enabled to reach what at other times might be the centre of the channel; and thus we had the fall in its recess, and immediately before us. The masses are large and very bold, the water even now being very grand, and though one as a cataract, broken into unequal and fine parts. The water seems pouring down from the sky, as the higher ground is not seen;