we are off about one, and how do you think we go about it? Perhaps you fancy we box ourselves up in a rattling postchaise, or ride some of the little scrambling Welsh ponies, or steal through the hedges in a buggy. Eh! now do me a favour-throw this letter down, and don't take it up again till you have guessed five minutes how we go. Why, then, to make a short story of it, I've brought down my own yellow barouche, and my four blood-like bays! That's your sort!-So Dick and I take the box, and I the reinsour two valet de chambres sit in the well behind us, while the two grooms ride our hacknies, which we sometimes condescend to mount for a change. And thus we go spanking up and down the hills, astonishing the natives, and playing the devil and all. So now, as you know what sort of a figure we make, you will be more at home like, when you come to read of our journey, and all that we see in this strange country; and if we meet with any thing very uncommon, you may be sure I'll tell you; but as yet there has not been much to amuse you. So I must conclude at present (being bed-time).

Your, &c. &c.

P. S. One thing I must tell you, for it made us laugh fit to kill ourselves two whole days. You must know, the women go barefoot, and wear stockings that reach just down to the ancle, and no lower; but the strangest part of all is, that these stockings are fastened round their great toes by a long thread. They walk over the roads, and make nothing of it, though all rough and stony.

DEAR TOM,

Cardigan, Aug. 4, 1807. I HAVE such sad news for you, as will almost break your heart to hear. I told you how bad the roads are -so the d-d fool of an ostler and my thick-headed

groom,

groom, never telling me that Captain had a loose shoe, I drives them all along at such a hell of a rate, that he's gone dead lame. So I'm not in much of a humour for entering on the beauties of this fine country, since you will have it so: though, for my own part, if I was to die this minute, I can't say I think it a fine country quite the reverse. What is a fine country, I should be glad to know ? that is to say, for travelling. Why, a fine even bowling-green road, sixteen miles long, with one gentle hill to rise, and one to fall, so as you may drive a light barouche, like mine, all the way in an hour and five minutes, at a long trot, and bring four in hand in at the end, all over in a fine creamy your foam, but neither blown nor bruised. That's my notion : it may be wrong, but I defy any man to give me a better; for as to your beautiful surrounding scenery (which is all cant, for one scenery's like another when you're once used to them), do you think any but a d-d fool would take his eyes off his horses to stare and gape all about the country? Why it stands to sense it can't be. Well, then, my honest opinion, if will have it, is, that this here Wales is all wrong you in every essential particular. The roads are steep and hollowed out; and, you must know, I thought they were paved with artificial stones at first, but I soon found it was all natural solid rock: so that the upshot of all is, that Captain is lamed, as I mentioned; and moreover and above, the barouche, which is true London built, and fittest for London streets and the Park, has got a most confounded shake, which, I doubt, it will hardly recover, though I have doctored it to the best of my abilities. Then again, at most places, the stabling is infernal, and the water so hard, that it scours the poor tits like a dose of julep.

The post's a going out, so I must close my catalogue of grievances with advising you never to venture your carcase into Wales. Yours, &c. &c.

DEAR

DEAR TOM, Machynlleth, Aug. 6. IS not it hard, when a man travels so far for a little pleasure and recreation, that he should have all his sport spoiled by a d-d, impudent, low-liv'dbut I'll tell you my story all in order, just as it was, and you shall judge for yourself. You see, every body bored and bothered us so with their beautiful and picturesque, and such nonsense, and said we might as well have staid at home as not to see the Devil's Bridge, because it is so extraordinary, we were overpersuaded, and determined to go; and a curious place, no doubt, it is, and you will find a very good account of it in the book of roads, as I will show you some afternoon-but that's neither here nor there.-Only the road was so bad, being in reality no road at all, over the moors and marshes, that we could not take the barouche, but were to ride a horseback, and the two servants were to drive the barouche to Aberystwith, and then bring it on to meet us here, we riding all the way. But finding the inn at the Devil's Bridge rather solitary, and Dick happening to hear that Aberystwith was a sea-port, and luckily taking it into his head, that bathing would do his stomach good, we start off on a sudden for Aberystwith, and come into the inn at nine o'clock at night. What should we find there but our two rascals sitting in a fine parlour with wax lights, and all grand, bottle of wine and fruit before them, aping their two masters, and calling one another Lord and Richard, Esquire. At first I could have laughed at their d-d impudence ; but when we found that they had made such an impression on the landlord and all the waiters, that they would persist in believing that those two scoundrels were our masters and we their servants, this was carrying the joke a little too far, and we resolved to resort to legal means to establish our rights. And so the

5

lawyer

lawyer told us to prosecute by all means; and we went before a justice and got a warrant, and apprehended them; and we were to come to the sessions to give our witness against them. But as the time was precious, and they would not try them at once, and dismiss us all as we wished, and the laugh, somehow or other, set in desperately against us, we thought it best to make off, and bring the two puppies with us here, and see whether they won't punish them immediately, without any further trial than what we can swear against them, this being North Wales. I'll let you know how it turns out to-morrow. Your, &c. &c.

DEAR TOM,

Machynlleth, Aug. 7.

IT's all blown over, and we have agreed to forget and forgive. My man has made a proper apology, and promised never to look more like a gentleman than his master again. He really seems a true penitent, and thinks the mistake arose (for he declares upon his honour, it was all a mistake, and they had no intention to deceive), from his wearing powder, and our being crops; for these Welsh savages can't be supposed to know much of the fashions in town. Dick's man, Upton, he carried it off like a sneering rascal to the last moment; and if there was not a good deal of wages due, I am sure his master would not suffer it. But that's his look-out. Yours truly.

As to

P. S. Dick is cursedly mad at my telling you of this affair, because, he says, it will make such a story against us at college; but, for my part, I see nothing to laugh at in it. But you may as well say as little about it as you can help, as it seems to hurt him.

DEAR TOM,

Caernarvon, Aug. 10, 1807.. THAT unlucky accident kept us so long, that we can't be in Yorkshire in time for our friends the

grouse,

grouse, at least not for the first day or two, particularly as most of my sweet creatures have got little lameness, more or less, unless we leave them all with our servants at Chester to be cured, and travel night and day in chaises to Moor, which we think of. Only having nothing to do here, and being in a very comfortable hotel (the best inn I have seen in this country), I write to you, old boy, because you were so very anxious to hear about the mountain of Snowdon. A wretcheder barren hill you never set eyes on, but we did intend to go to the top and see Ireland; but the public-house at the bottom, where we must have dined and slept, was so small and bad, that we plucked up our resolution, and crept on here the same evening, which we have rejoiced at ever since. Dick's spirits flag very much in this miserable poor country. I often wish you had been with us, though we do quiz you for a reading muz; for somehow you contrive to make a greater variety in conversation. But this was an unfriendly wish; for of all the d-d countries I ever saw, this is the worst; and as I never left Old England before, I never will again; and as I have now some experience in travelling, I offer you the same advice; being ever, dear Tom, your, &c.

THE PARSON AND HIS PARISHIONERS,

A

A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.

[From the same.]

"Qui capit ille facit."

PRIEST who serv'd more flocks than one,
And taught them just to do with none,

For store of pigs and lambs and chickens,
For turkeys, hams, and other pickings,
Impartially bestow'd his cares,

And treated each with monthly prayers.
For prayers receiv'd, and victual sent,
"Hundreds were bless'd for one content."

It

1