36 WANDERINGS AND PONDERINGS 



and Dolerus niger was on every blade of grass. The surface 

 of the mountain became dry and sohd as we advanced, without 

 pools or springs, occasionally without heath, and with scarcely 

 any vegetation, the ground being strewn with loose stones. 

 Under these we hunted for beetles, but without success. 



A magnificent valley, the Vale of Ewias, was now opening 

 before us, and the beautiful and abrupt rock with which it ter- 

 minates became distinctly visible ; at last, about five o'clock in 

 the afternoon, we looked down on the giant ruins of Llan- 

 thony, the hoped-for haven in which to obtain food and rest. 

 We found the descent most wearisome and tedious ; at last, 

 with slipping, and sliding, and tumbling, I grew quite dis- 

 heartened, and sat down ; when, lo and behold, the effect was 

 like a ship-launch, — oiF I went as a vessel from the stocks ; 

 and, seeing my advantage, I held my legs clear of the ground, 

 waved my insect-net in the air, and trusting to chance for a 

 rudder, proceeded with incredible rapidity, cheered by the 

 diminishing shouts of my receding companions. The turf of 

 this slope is short and smooth, but abounds rather too much 

 with a species of thistle (called, I believe, Carduus acaulis,) 

 to be very comfortable for this mode of progression. 



When my companions at last reached me, I was catching 

 Melitcea Euphrosyne in a beautiful meadow enamelled with 

 flowers — a meadow which extended to the very walls of 

 Llanthony. 



Llanthony is one of those speaking monuments of the olden 

 time, that assure us not only of the wealth but of the taste of 

 the Romish church in days that are by-gone. It stands in the 

 very bosom of the Black Mountain, the enormous and rounded 

 masses of which rise on its every side. Luckily this beautiful 

 spot has no road approaching it sufficiently macadamised to 

 admit the passage of the luxurious vehicle of the opulent ruin- 

 hunter ; it is not, therefore, and never can be, the rage of the 

 tourist. Few, very few, have seen it ; few, very few, know of 

 its existence. A portion of the Abbey is converted into an 

 inn : what was perchance a buttery is now a kitchen, and what 

 was a jovial lay brother is now (if Pythagoras conjectures 

 aright) a jovial landlord, the incarnation of mirth and good 

 humour ; he may perhaps have passed the years intervening 

 between the states of priest and publican as a fox, a bee, and 

 a raven, being all the time a free wanderer over the scenes in 



