In this court, at the east end, there is a well 15 feet in diameter, and twenty deep. The wall which separates the inner from the outer court is ten and a half feet thick, whilst the outer walls are from twelve to fifteen. On the outside of the inner wall there is a small room for a sentinel, lighted by a loop into the outer court, and commanding a view of the great gate. On the side of this room there is a passage into the inner court. On the south side of the court, adjoining the hall, there is a spacious apartment, twentynine feet by twenty-two, a portion of the arched roof of which still remains. It has a bay window looking into the court. This chamber was called the withdrawing room, whence our modern "drawing room." Here the King received his guests before dinner, and retired to after. It walls were probably adorned with tapestry, and the seats with embroidered cushions.

The massive tower at this angle of the building, had the name of the King's Tower: it consisted of two stories and a ground floor. The upper story was the King's Bedchamber, and the one below the private sitting room, from which a vaulted passage in the thickness of the outer wall communicated with the Queen's private room in the large tower at the other angle of the building, called the Queen's Tower. The Queen's private room, or bower as it was then styled, answering the same purposes as the modern boudoir, was the most elegant apartment in the castle. Besides the circular room, which is eighteen feet and a half in diameter, there are two small oblong rooms, which have stone seats around them, the windows of which look towards the river. Between the doorways of these rooms is the opening of the oriel or bower, ten feet wide, beneath a pointed arch, the entire height of the room. Its form is an irregular semioctagon, the sides of which are divided into seven compartments; two of them are on each side of those portions which are at right angles with the opening, and one on each of the other side. Its walls are divided into two heights of paneling, and the roof arched. The lower series of panels are five and a half feet high, and are sunk to the depth of fif

The

teen inches, with seats within. heads of these arches are trefoiled. Those above are plain; three of which, in the centre towards the river, are open to serve as windows. Between these panels, slender columns run up to the spring of the upper series of arches, from which ribs cross the vaulted roof. On each side there is a small square aperture, opening into the rooms already described. The tower on the south side next to the hall was the keep, and a passage led through it to the top of the walls. At the east end a door opened to the garden terrace, from which there was a communication with the river by means of a narrow flight of winding steps cut out of the rock, and protected by a curtain and hanging tower, which projected some distance into the river; and had a round tower at its extremity to prevent the approach of an enemy at ebb tide. This garden was sufficiently protected by its embattled walls and towers, that its walks could be enjoyed with safety, though the district around might be hostile. It commands a fine view of the surrounding scenery.

The walls on the east of the town present seven semicircular towers, and a portal called the small gate or Porth y Castle. There is also the lower or water-gate, called Porth Issa, with a tower on each side. From the northern extremity of the wall a curtain, embattled on each side, runs seventy yards into the river, and was terminated by a strong tower. Through this curtain was a gateway, called Porth yr Advor. The next entrance to the town is on the west; and is called the Upper Gate, or Porth Ucha: it was protected by two towers and a drawbridge, over a deep and wide moat, which surrounded the town, except on the river side. The next entrance was on the south. It was called the Mill Gate, or Porth y Felin, as it led to the salt-water mill, and was defended at the other by two towers. One of the towers on this side has a wall built within it, and contained some spacious apartments: it is called Llywellyn's Tower. In the wall immediately adjoining them are three windows, which there can be little doubt lighted some apartments. Such would be the appearance of the castle and

walls in 1290, when Edward kept his Christmas here, and in 1301, when he received the homage of the barons and lords, after quieting an insurrection of the Welsh, and the Prince of Wales (afterwards Edward II.) received the homage of Eineon bishop of Bangor, and of David abbat of Meanon. One of the last monarchs who entered these walls, was the unfortunate Richard, when, in 1399, on arriving at Caermarthen from Ireland, and finding the Welsh army, under the command of the Earl of Salisbury, to be disbanded, he came here, considering the castle as impregnable. Finding, however, that it was unprovided with stores, and being deserted by most of his followers, he threw himself upon the generosity of his enemy. The Duke of Lancaster, who was then at Flint Castle, sent the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Percy, Earl of Northumberland, (both of them sworn enemies of the King) to treat with him. They solemnly assured the King, that the Duke only wished his alienated property to be restored, and the ancient privileges of parliament to be confirmed. The King appearing to distrust the Earl's professed good intentions, the latter, to remove all suspicion, attended at high mass in the chapel of the castle and vowed fidelity, swearing allegiance to his sovereign at the altar. Caught in this wily and iniquitous snare, the King accompanied them out of the castle; and when he arrived at Penmanlhos, now Gurch Castle, perceiving a band of soldiers with Percy banners, he found he was betrayed. He was conveyed as a prisoner to Flint Castle, and delivered into the hands of the Duke of Lancaster, from which occurrence sprung the disastrous civil wars between the houses of York and Lancaster.

This once magnificent abode of royalty is now in a sad state of dilapidation, presenting a most picturesque ruin. The avarice of individuals has done more to destroy it than time itself. After the civil wars the Earl of Conway, in 1665, stript the castle of all the timber, iron, and lead, and reduced it to its present state. Some of the inhabitants of the town have not only resorted to it, but also to some parts of the walls, particularly near the Mill Gate, as a quarry of ready

hewn stone; and the tower of the castle next to the King's, has been undermined in such a manner as to cause a large portion of the tower to fall down, and leave the upper part suspended in the air, whereby the massive thickness of its walls is fully exhibited to view. Whilst regretting the wanton ravages of man o'er this once magnificent pile, I exclaimed, with Ossian, "I have seen the walls of Conway, but they are desolate. The stream of Conway is removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shakes there its lonely head, the moss whistles to the wind-the rank grass of the wall waves round its head.

"Desolate is the dwelling of the affectionate Edward and Eleanor, silence is in their house. They have but fallen before us; for one day we must fall. Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy tower to day; yet a few days and the blast of the desert comes-it howls in thy empty courts, and whistles round thy half-worn shield." Yours, &c.

MR. URBAN,

W. J. ROBERTS.

HAVING the satisfaction to perceive that the slight sketch of the life of Thomas Hill, Esq. which I sent you, varies but little from the chief tenor of the accounts furnished by the press in general, I am desirous to add a few particulars which I then omitted, though not because they escaped my memory. However, they now appear to be more subservient to positive truth, than the tone (between jest and earnest) adopted by the periodicals of the day,-not that I wish to impugn either the taste or veracity of the writers, it being almost impossible to treat of so singular a character, in any but an interesting manner.

In the first place, I left it to others to speak of the familiar epithet of "Tommy Hill," which was so fixed upon him that you might speak of Mr. Hill, as of a total stranger to those who perfectly well knew Tommy Hill of the Adelphi. This appellation I presume he must have gained from the peculiar gossiping tone of inquisitiveness which he everywhere assumed ? His manner of coming at a desired piece of information was so

penetrating and persevering-so peculiarly his own-that if it had not been for his general good nature, and apparent anxiety for every one's welfare, it would have been, at times, both oppressive and embarrassing; indeed, it was really so when (as it often happened) you had the interests of a com. mon friend to preserve by your silence. And even then, strive for concealment as you might he would subject you to so singular a cross examinationgive you so searching a look! that your extorted smile was sure to betray the secret which was ever his more darling prize, the harder he had found it to worm out! he would then laughingly dart away from you as much as to say, "blame me if you can!" He was thus possessed of information frequently, which no one else had the tact to elicit; and it was often derived from sources where none but himself had the privilege of the entrée. He was, in short, an adept in all that kind of intelligence which a general love of literature and art could render interesting to persons of fashion, properly so called. Authors, artists, actors, publishers, and auctioneers were thus, at once, both his friends and his game; till it could not be denied, that of late years, from his more and more gossiping propensities, some persons of eminence were known to have shunned him, for fear of being made the subject of a paragraph in a morning paper." But if our friend was so expert an angler for the secrets of others, never was there a better tactician in his own affairs. Even when he failed in business, so extensive was the concern that he had 400l. per annum for several years, to wind up the accounts; besides being allowed by his creditors, to retain all the choicest poetical articles from his library-as some said, without any idea of their being worth quadruple the bulk of his whole collection, which still made a ten or twelve days' sale at Leigh and Sothe by's.

of Messrs. Longman for the poetical collection, was as follows,-5000l. by their acceptances at 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 years; but as the same gentleman also informed me, some degree of repentance of the bargain was expressed, probably it might have been commuted to the annuity of which so much has been said, as Mr. Hill's chief source of income for the last twenty-five years. After he left business, he lived for several years in chambers, No. 2, New Inn, Wych Street, before going to James Street, Adelphi. At New Inn he amassed an interesting collection of theatrical whole-length portraits, by De Wilde, which were transferred to his friend C. Mathews's celebrated gallery at Highgate, and are now in the collection of the Garrick Club, King Street, Covent Garden. Yours, &c.

AN OLD CORRESPONDENT.

I LATELY perused, for the first time, the "Review of Lord Brougham's translation of Demosthenes de Coronâ," and I now trouble you with some remarks thereupon. In the first place, I regret that the learned reviewer has indulged in much severity, on matters wholly unconnected with his subject, evidently forgetting that a critic ought not "to travel out of the indictment, μὴ κατηγορειν μηδὲν ἐξω τῆς ypapĥs," (p. 30 of Review,) for, surely the private character and political reputation of the noble lord have nothing to do with the charge of his having failed in the attempt to render into English the finest oration of antiquity.

That the weighty task undertaken by his lordship was hastily, and therefore, in some respects, incompetently performed, no one can deny; that the translation is far too much undervalued by the reviewer, no impartial reader can doubt. To prove that our critic, or C. (as I shall henceforward call him, availing myself of the newly adopted and useful mode of naming by initials,) often unjustly censures Lord B. and, with an overweening confidence in his own infallibility, in more than one passage, ridicules, in italics and ironical notes of admiration, versions much more correct than those of which he suggests, or rather dictates, the substitution,-I shall adduce some