FISHGUARD,
afforded us little room for observation; the eye, however, kept in view a wide range of the unbounded ocean, till, dim with exertion, it by degrees reposed on the dark lowering rocks, which, disregarding the angry roar of the waves, seemed to project their broad sides, to augment the idle tumult. Quitting the turnpike road, in search of the place where the French effected their landing in 1797, we passed a neat house, called Caergwent, belonging to Mrs. Harris. The kind attentions of a farmer, in the neighbourhood of this memorable spot, claim our warmest acknowledgments. Having finished a most comfortable meal at Mr. Mortimer’s house, (which, during the confusion was considered the head-quarters of the French, commanded by General Tate) he explained every minutiæ respecting this circumstance; and very obligingly pointed out the situation of their camp, and related many entertaining and interesting anecdotes. Deeply impressed with gratitude towards Mr. M. for his civilities, we soon arrived at Goodric Sands. This spot was very judiciously selected by Lord Cawdor, as a proper place for the French to lay down their arms; for, had they resisted, a cannonade of grape-shot, from a neighbouring fortress, would have instantly played upon them. Fishguard stands on a steep rock, with a convenient harbour, formed by the river Gwain; though its situation and Bay are interesting, it is by no means a desirable place to remain long at.
Several Druidical Monuments [56] engaged our attention, as we drew near
NEWPORT,
Called by Giraldus Llanhever, or The Town on the River Nevern. The fragments of the Castle are too insignificant to invite the curiosity of the passing traveller: it was demolished by Llewellyn, Prince of South-Wales, when possessed by the Flemings.
The country beyond Newport presented a more pleasing countenance; wood, water, hill, and vale, all unite, even to induce the plodding citizen to pause, and wish to spend the evening of his days in the vicinity of its enchantment. In this interesting situation, we found the Village of Velindre:—we here particularly observed the slaty quality of the hills, and could not avoid condemning the folly of the inhabitants of Velindre, in building their cottages of mud, and sparingly covering them with straw, when Nature herself seemed to place comforts, if not luxuries, before their view. But, perhaps, these reproaches were ill-grounded: for, thus veiled in obscurity, they were happy, as they knew not enough of the world seriously to regret the want of these conveniencies: their situation, indeed, seemed to verify the philosophical sentiment of Gray;
“Since ignorance is bliss,
’Tis folly to be wise.”
For though they suffer the extremes of filth and penury, yet they enjoy the two inestimable blessings, health and felicity.
The broken towers of