290 Ater-Mcrlyn. 



are a traveller, let me give you one word of advice, Never start 

 without your morning meal, with the intention, as we did, of break- 

 fasting by the way, for you must not reckon upon it in Wales, 

 especially on a market-day. We met the people going to Swansea, 

 heavily laden with their produce. The dress of the native women 

 is very picturesque, and their black eyes and raven hair are seen to 

 much better advantage beneath the hat than the English bonnet to 

 me it was as pleasing as it was novel. 



We passed through one village, Pont-y-dylais, but that was so 

 near Swansea that we did not halt happy for us if we had, for all 

 the way from thence to within a mile of Caermarthen, we found 

 every house closed and only inhabited by a few squalling brats and 

 howling dogs, which sent up their discordant voice as we passed, like 

 some Indian yell. So we were obliged to imitate our forefathers, and 

 drink from the streams as they gushed down beside the road. What 

 added very much to our discomfort was the heavy rain that fell 

 towards the close of the day. However we toiled up some as steep 

 hills as I ever remember on a high-way, and of which there seemed 

 no end. There were no milestones to cheer us on the road, although 

 many deny their comfort, for, say they, since one never sees them 

 together in company, they are therefore dull and saddening. We 

 often enquired the distance, yet we never found two agree on the 

 point one said it wanted ten, another six, and a third seven miles 

 to the close of our journey; and when at last we came in view of 

 the city, we felt like two pilgrims in sight of the Promised Land. 

 For myself I could have almost gone on my knees and kissed the 

 ground. Weary, wet through, hungry and thirsty, we crossed the 

 bridge and entered Caermarthen; we put up at the first hotel, and 

 but few minutes elapsed before we had changed our clothes, and sat 

 down to a hearty meal. We ate voraciously, slept profoundly, and 

 on the following morning set out for Merlyn's Grove. 



We passed through Abergwili, a neat and ancient village, and 

 celebrated for the palace of the Bishop of St. David's, which contains 

 a garden like that of the Hesperides, so beautiful that no stranger 

 is allowed to enter it. About two miles beyond, we came to the 

 little village of White Mill, and within a short distance of this "lay 

 Merlyn's Grove, the residence of our friend Captain Molasses. We 

 delivered our letters and were received with the utmost kindness 

 and welcome. Captain Molasses is of an ancient family, indeed so 

 ancient, as he one day told me, that he could trace his lineal descent 

 from Cain! ! He had been many years in the Indian army, but had 

 long since retired from the service. 



The Grove is situated in the bosom of a deep valley and overhung 

 with mountains covered with perpetual verdure. It is of antique 

 structure, and built somewhat in the gothic style long before Pepper 

 and Jack-in-the-boxes came into fashion, or the regular double- 

 winged edifices, as prim as any old maid of the seventeenth century, 

 were in vogue. It'is just such a spot as one could wish to live in- 

 the angler can find amusement in the Towey, and the sportsman 

 among the rich preserves of the surrounding country, while the 

 naturalist and lover of nature can run wild and find^occupation to the 



