BY SEVERN, TAFF, AND TOWY 153 



through from Cardigan to Swansea, and I have never 

 been in the town since. The inn is old and w^ell 

 known — placed by Gary, in his road-book of 1798, 

 at the head of all the posting inns in the town. 

 Carmarthen itself is the j miction point of the roads 

 from Gloucester via Brecon, and from Bristol via 

 Passage, to Haverfordwest and Milford Haven. It is 

 232f miles from Hyde Park Corner via Portskewet. 



At the Ivy Bush, even so far back as 1822, twelve 

 mail and post coaches stopped and made their change. 

 It has a history, social as well as postal. Here died 

 — not indeed where the Ivy Bush is now established, 

 but in its old abode in King Street, not far from the 

 post-office — Sir Richard Steele. In it was born a 

 brave man, William Nott, son of the landlord, a con- 

 tractor for conveying his Majesty's mails. He entered 

 the army, rose high, marched on Cabul, and rescued 

 the heroic Lady Sale. 



Then he came home, was created a Knight Grand 

 Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, 

 received from the East India Company a pension of a 

 thousand a year, and died at Carmarthen while yet in 

 his prime, in 1845, sharing with the gallant Picton, 

 who fell at Waterloo, monumental honours in his 

 native town. 



At the Ivy Bush died the Marquis of Waterford, 

 father, I take it, of the w^ayward young Marquis, the 

 report of whose youthful escapades filled many a 

 countryside with terror when I was a child. One 

 of two sisters became his younger lordship's Mar- 



\^..A 



