usual dignified air of repose and solidity characteristic of cathedral towns; and the traveller, looking in vain for the cathedral, descries nothing of note except the sheer and bare rocks of St. David's Head, and the rugged crags of Ramsey, Carnlwyd, and Penberry; but, descending the hill, he approaches the ruined Record Tower, and then bursts upon his view the noble pile, one-half massive ruin, and the remainder in tolerable preservation, sunk, like Llandaff Cathedral, in one of those sheltered spots in which "the monks of old" appear to have delighted, and the amenities of which they are said to have so well appreciated. I will not inflict upon the reader a description of the edifice, nor enter into a disquisition treating of its history and archæological features; suffice it to say, that the original pile suffered severely from the shock of an earthquake; that three times was the cathedral burned by the Danes, who appear to have constantly harried the recluses, and are said by some-though erroneously, I think-to have formed fortifications on St. David's Head while engaged in the operation of easing the episcopal purse, and that it was hardly entreated by the iconoclastic and bigoted Puritans.

The cathedral was originally dedicated to St. Patrick (who was born here) and St. David, a joint concern, and, according to tradition, it appears the two saints corresponded with one another, and on one occasion with rather a ludicrous result. It is said that the one writing to the other for a cargo of "brogues," and the caligraphy of the first being of a somewhat cramped nature, the latter read the word "rogues," and with very little difficulty collected and shipped the freight-doubtless, on its arrival, very much to the astonishment of the saintly consignee. To mention to which region the rogues were deported would be invidious, and I therefore abstain.

Few, if any, of the cathedrals in Great Britain are more interesting than St. David's, and none exhibit a more beautiful feature than the ruined bishop's palace. A prominent peculiarity in this building is the extraordinary capacity of the so-called cellars; but although these vaults are thus entitled, I cannot help thinking that they were not actually constructed for the purpose of, and devoted to, "laying down wine," but were rather granaries and storehouses in the times when tithes were taken in kind. But, be this how it may, in the days when the bishop resided at St. David's, when the college was in its glory, and the place was not what it is now-a penal settlement for a few days in the year for bishop, dean, archdeacon, and canons-many a hospitable revel has been held in the now deserted halls. The principal revenues of the see are derived from the neighbourhood; the endowments were originally granted in connexion with the city and district around St. David's; and the removal of the episcopal residence and college seems a departure from the dying wishes of the pious donors, who doubtless would not have bequeathed the benefactions had they foreseen that the funds would be applied to maintain the episcopate elsewhere; and the change appears not only a departure from that most sacred of obligations-adherence to the behests of the dead-but involves a charge against the reverend absentees of indirectly obtaining emolument under false pretences.

That the seat of the see and college should be at St. David's is a right vested in that city, and as beneficed churchmen derive emolument from the sacred observance of "vested right," they who are peculiarly

tenacious of these temporalities should be the last to encroach on the rights of others.

The traveller enters the edifice, and if on a week-day, he probably hears a minor canon, with broad Welsh accents, wearily wading through the service, his only audience a few shabby choristers; if on a Sunday, and he should happen to be in time-which circumstance may be only accidental, as the officials usually make the hour subservient to their convenience he observes a small boy ringing one solitary bell, with his foot placed in a noose in a rope (somehow irresistibly reminding the bystander of the unhappy donkey which works inside a wheel drawing the water from the deep well in Carisbrook Castle), and presently the congregation assembles, consisting almost entirely of the families of the clergy-because, in fact, but little space is dedicated to public use. A clock is placed in a prominent position in the nave facing the congregation, but, alas! it follows the general example, and is stationary.

A library once existed here, but exposure to the damp has caused the volumes to decay, and even the newest tomes crumble under the touch.

The state of the Church in this locality is somewhat peculiar. One of the late archdeacons, so recently as during the Crimean war, actually held a commission as major in an embodied militia regiment, and he might be seen on Saturday arrayed in the glorious panoply of full "war paint" at the head of his wing of the regiment, and on Sunday eloquently discoursing in the pulpit. But as many a clergyman is a deputy-lieutenant, which office is purely military, and entitles the holder to wear uniform, why should not a reverend gentleman hold another military commission?

The inferior grade of the clergy occupy a similar social position to the individuals of whom we read in the old classical literature; in Richardson's, Fielding's, Smollett's works, and-hear, O Bishop of Rochester-like Parsons Truliber, they generally add to their income by farming; to which pursuit, indeed, they are generally brought up, and are usually the sons of small tradesmen and farmers, educated at the free schools, from whence scholars were a short time ago ordained direct, or from Lampeter, and many are unable to hold a conversation in English, and are utterly ignorant of the world. It is not an uncommon circumstance that one brother should be a dissenting preacher, and perhaps the whole family worshipping in a tabernacle, while another is a minister; and the former in this country is quite as well educated, and holds quite as good a social position, as the latter.

Service is too often performed in some of the churches in a manner, I will not say irreverent, but slovenly, and I have seen a clergyman robe in the pulpit and comb his hair with his fingers, and when administering the holy sacrament, produce a black bottle, and give it a shake, or hold it up against the light, in order to see if the wine is sufficient. Whether the clergy have been or are lax in the discharge of their duty I am unable to say, but certain it is that ruined churches abound and dissent is rampant, and Zions, Zoars, Beriahs, and all kinds of tabernacles everywhere rear unabashed their schismatic and hideous unarchitectural heads, and deface the beauty of the land.

I will now suppose the traveller to be passing through the district, and proceeding on his way to Fishguard. He leaves on his left the serrated

ridges of Carnlwyd and Penberry; crosses a somewhat remarkable erection in this country, where the brooks, like the cattle, have a habit of straying through the roads-i.e. a bridge, and where it is said a wily Welshman having made a vow that Henry VII. should only pass over his body into Wales, he, wishing to evade his compact, cunningly concealed himself underneath the arch while the monarch went above.

About one-third of the way towards Fishguard is a cross-country road to Haverfordwest, which, being but a type of the generality of the second-rate highways, I may as well notice. It is bounded on each side by high hedgeless banks, is frequently more like a water-course than what is generally understood as a road, six bridgeless brooks run across the way-ditches or water-courses are almost unknown, but where they do exist, and it is desirable to carry off the drainage, the operation is effected by cutting a channel diagonally through the road, and the consequence is that a person driving a dog-cart fast is almost certain to be thrown out, or to break his shafts. Finger-posts there are, but on none of them is the inscription visible; the generality of them retain no trace whatever of an inscription, and the cattle appear to frequent the roads more than the fields. To return to the road to Fishguard: straight before the wayfarer uprises out of the deep blue sea huge cliffs fringed with white foam, and above them the rugged, lofty Strumble Head, near which place the French landed, having been led to believe by the Baptist preachers, who had been busily disseminating discontent, that the people would aid the invaders if they effected a landing; but however rife might have been political disaffection, the never-conquered Cimri had no intention to permit their land to be polluted by the presence of a foreign foe, and every available man and even woman turned out to oppose the advance.

The officer commanding, remembering the hats, the scarlet cloaks, and the blue gowns worn by the weaker sex, bethought him of a ruse, and caused them to walk round and round a point, like the armies round the wings of a theatre, which manœuvre exhibited the appearance of a large approaching force of infantry, and contributed very much to the surrender of the enemy.

Inasmuch as the women of Pembrokeshire, unlike most Welsh females, are not handsome, it cannot be said that the French yielded to the influence of their charms.

Fishguard is a neat, clean, but small village or town, and possesses little harbour and a fine roadstead, and to this place, instead of Milford, it was formerly proposed to carry the terminus of the South Wales Railway.

In passing through this country in winter the wayfarer sees but few stacks of corn and hay, and as the cattle are usually sheltering and invisible behind the banks, he wonders, not only what the farmers grow and upon what the people subsist, but upon what the cattle he supposes must exist somewhere, feed; but although this, as well as the other matter before mentioned, invest this place with an uninhabited, bleak aspect, these appearances are not borne out by fact, inasmuch as great numbers of cattle and horses are reared, excellent barley produced and great quantities exported, and this country is famed for the excellence of its butter.

Notwithstanding the treeless appearance of the district, and perhaps partly on account of this peculiarity, it possesses its charms for the lover of the picturesque, the sportsman, and particularly for the antiquarian. For the delectation of the first, in summer the expanse is of a bright green, varied by the grey rocks, and shining white-roofed cottages stud the country in every direction, and some of the valleys are second to none in the world in picturesque diversity of water, crag, and forest. The coast scenery is bold and magnificent, frequently varied by sequestered and sunny nooks and wide-spreading sand. The sportsman may here find numerous streams abounding with fish, and the fast-mounted huntingman from the "shires" will discover that, although the country is mostly grass, tolerably flat, and free from bog, and by no means a bad hunting country, he will be unable "to go a yard." This is to be accounted for by the existence of the huge banks, some eight to ten feet high, which do duty for hedges, and which, being very broad at the top, are impracticable for a flying leap. The difficulty is surmounted by the horses leaping on the top, standing there, and off again; and a stranger has not only to overcome a nervousness which the boldest rider not accustomed to the country naturally feels at practising this novel and apparently unsafe mode, but has to acquire a new and different style of fencing.

The antiquarian may here revel among relics of bygone races, 'some of whom exist only in dim tradition. Here are cairns, tumuli, cromlechs, and Druidic circles in abundance, together with Cythian or circular dwellings of the Gael, and extraordinary earthworks whose erection is unassignable to any particular period or people, and in some instances for what purposes thrown up is quite unaccountable. The tourist will find the natives of Kimes and Dewsland civil and obliging to a degree, and so honest, that to lock the house door at night is an unnecessary and frequently unpractised precaution.

The yeomen and farmers are intelligent and well to do, and both classes exercise towards the stranger or traveller that simple and unpretending hospitality for which Wales has been celebrated. But little English is spoken; and though the people are so purely Welsh, the harp, the national instrument, so common in most Welsh counties, is never heard here: the old Welsh melodies are unknown, and that love of music generally characteristic of the Welsh does not appear to exist.

The females, and even those belonging to the yeoman class, almost universally adhere to the Welsh costume, but they lack that comeliness which is generally possessed by the Welsh women.

It has even been said that Queen Elizabeth, mindful of her descent, and sympathising with the forlorn state of the Pembrokeshire maidens at court, offered a reward to those who should marry any one of them.

In conclusion, I may say that there are many localities which bear a high reputation amongst tourists much less interesting than Dewsland, the district under notice.

J. F. N. H.

THE PONT-NEUF.*

WHO does not know the Pont-Neuf, with its equestrian statue, its islanded connexion, its fine views-most impressive when tempered by moonlight-and its essentials of Parisian life-peripatetic merchants, empirics and bards, shoeblacks and dog-clippers, beggars, and knights and ladies of mysterious industry? Yet how few passing over-timorously, as did Benvenuto and many others in olden times; stealthily or impudently, as did the Irish adventurers, and the thieves and murderers who most frequented it at a later epoch; with haughty step and moustache in air, as did Cyrano and the other fighting gallants of his day; tumultuously, as the insurgents of all times have done; or sentimentally, as our own Sterne so frequently did think of what tales that bridge could tell of the strange and melancholy scenes and outrages it has witnessed! And yet the Pont-Neuf did not exist, although begun in Henri III.'s time, till the reign of le roi vert galant, whose statue has shared in the reverses of the bridge that bears it. Previous to that period, no communication existed between the right and left banks of the Seine save by short bridges leading to and from the islands. Lutetia, afterwards L'Isle de la Cité, was united to the right and left banks by bridges which dated from those remote times when such things were either erected by "pontiffs" or by "demons," and were left under the charge of "fratres pontifici," or "frères pontifes," a religious brotherhood, who at once constructed bridges, as at Avignon, and took charge of them, receiving toll in a little hospice or monastery built at the bridge-side. Saint Cloud, Beaugency, Bonnecombe, were indebted, with some of our own mountain sites, to much less pure architects for their bridges, and it is related of the last-mentioned place, that its mayor, who was no conjuror, but whom the evil spirits had engaged to enter into architectural negotiations with the devil, had promised that when the bridge should be completed, that the soul of the first creature that passed over it should be the reward. When the day came, instead of hiding himself in a monastery, the mayor went boldly, to the horror of the assembled multitude, up to the bridge himself, but, arrived there, he let loose a cat that he had in his wide sleeves. The devil went away disgusted, dragging pussy by the tail.

The old wooden bridges of Lutetia were broken down to oppose the cohorts of Labienus; but when from a Gaulish it rose up as a Roman city, its bridges were rebuilt. Julian the Apostate speaks of its two wooden bridges, which are, from quite recent explorations by M. Vacquer, determined to have been where are now the Pont Notre-Dame and Petit-Pont, and not, as was supposed, the Pont-au-Change and PetitPont. These wooden bridges were left in such a frightful condition up to the time of the Merovingian kings, that Leudaste, Count of Tours, flying from the vengeance of Frédégonde, the haughty spouse of Chilperick, caught his foot between the planks, fell, and breaking his leg, he was slaughtered by blows of a heavy iron bar on his throat. Tradition

* Histoire du Pont-Neuf. Par Edouard Fournier. Deux tomes. E. Dentu.