we found unpleasantly hilly, but occasional valleys to our left enlivened
our walk. Near Caermarthen we crossed a bridge of freestone over the
Towy. This river, running through the middle of this shire, falls into
the British Sea at Caermarthen Bay, and is navigable for small vessels as
far as the bridge. Immediately over it, upon a hanging rock, stand the
remains of a once renowned castle. This town was the site of a Roman
station, _Maridunum_, and, according to Giraldus’s authority, was
anciently a place of great strength, and fortified with brick walls,
which are yet partly extant, near the river. This place, now considered
as the capital of the county, was formerly the residence of the Prince of
South Wales; and the ancient Britons here held their parliaments. The
chancery likewise, and exchequer for South Wales, were kept here, when
this territory was first erected into a principality, by the crown of
England. In the thirty-eighth year of King Henry VIII. it was created a
borough-town.
No part of Wales can boast a more generous or higher-spirited people than
the gentry in the vicinity, and the inhabitants of Caermarthen. Its
trade is likewise considerable, as the circumjacent country, for a very
considerable distance, is dependent upon it for the common luxuries, and
what are now deemed, even in Wales, necessaries of life, for which they
bring for sale or barter the most simple article of the native produce;
and you may frequently see the basket that has been brought for miles,
not contain a sixpenny-worth of herbs, eggs, &c.; yet this trifle is to
them of consequence, and enables them to add to the little stock of tea,
tape, or pins, which they require. The busy scene of a Caermarthen
market is highly interesting, particularly to one fond of the study of
political economy.
“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
How cheap must be the subsistence of a party who can walk twelve or
fourteen miles to earn sixpence, or disburse a shilling or
eighteen-pence, and how few must be their weekly wants which so small a
sum can satisfy! It is true, they divide this labour, and each take
their turn of village or neighbourly duty. The market of this place is
not only extremely reasonable, but excellent; hardly excelled in quality
by any but Worcester, the cleanliness and beauty of the exhibition of
which beats all England. Caermarthen has abundance of good meat, fish,
poultry, butter, wild-fowl, and game. In December, 1819, I bought three
fine turkeys for nine shillings, fowls from eightpence to one shilling
each, and other things in proportion; still the taxes are the same as in
England, and good land is high rented; but the wants of the tenantry are
fewer; small farms are abundant, and every cottage has its garden and
plot of ground, as well as waste land generally: fuel is likewise cheap.
The view from Caermarthen over the Towy is beautiful, and not to be
enjoyed any where to greater advantage than from the back rooms of the
Ivy Bush inn, or the terrace walk in the garden. Its population is rated
at between 7 and 8000, and its houses at about 1200. The market days are
Saturday and Wednesday. It is 231 miles from London, by Bristol, and 216
by Glocester.
The mail arrives from London at nine in the morning, and departs at two
o’clock in the afternoon generally. I should feel it the height of
ingratitude, if I failed to notice the great attention paid to strangers
who attend divine service at the church: not only are they immediately
accommodated in comfortable pews, but prayer-books are supplied to them
by the son of the clerk. In short, I witnessed that courtesy and
attention to strangers, and backwardness to receive remuneration, that I
never saw evinced at any other place.
The late Ivy Bush was the house of Sir Richard Steele, who obtained it
and his property in this neighbourhood by marriage with the heiress of
Jonathan Scurlock, Esq. After the death of his wife he retired to a
small farm-house, called the White House, lying about a mile from
Caermarthen, and there he wrote his celebrated comedy of the Conscious
Lovers.
At some distance from Caermarthen are several very remarkable caves:
whence Merlin is supposed to have delivered his oracles.
Of Merlin and his skill what region doth not hear?
Who of a British nymph was gotten whilst she play’d
With a seducing spirit.
_Drayton_, _Polyolbion_, s. v.
Caermarthen gave birth to Merlin, who is styled, by an ancient author,
“the sonne of a badde angell, or of an incubus spirit, the Britaine’s
great Apollo, whom Geoffrey ap Arthur would ranke with the south-saying
seer, or rather with the true prophets themselves; being none other than
a meere seducer, and phantastical vizard.” He flourished in the year
480.
Some few years after this tour, I took the road to Caermarthen from
Ragland, through Crickhowel, Brecon, Llandovery, and Landilo. Passing
through Abergavenny, we paused for a few days at Crickhowel, where we
amused ourselves in fly-fishing in the river Usk.
Crickhowel stands in the centre of a vale, scarcely surpassed by that of
the Towy; and is supposed to have been built in the time of Howel Dha,
about the year 940. The castle presents little to attract attention.
The church contains some few ancient monuments; but the principal objects
for a traveller are to be found at a short distance from the town; viz. a
remarkable cave south of Langattock; a waterfall in a dingle, leading to
Llanelly iron-works; the remains of a castle, on what is called the Camp
Hill; and the beautiful village of Lambeter, the walks of which are, of
themselves, almost worthy a journey into Wales. The society around
Crickhowel is highly respectable; but there are no noblemen’s seats, and
only one park within the distance of many miles. The natural scenery,
however, amply compensates.
From Crickhowel we proceeded to a village, named Cwmdu, situated between
two chains of mountains. The village is poor to the last degree, but the
land is rich; and the valley, in which it is situated, may be called the
granary of Brecknockshire. There is scarcely a field on the lower sides
of the hills, that does not present a spot favourable to build upon.
From the farm and house, called Cwmgû, is one of the most beautiful views
in all Wales; commanding, as it does, the vale of Usk, the river winding
through it, innumerable fields, a high mountain towards the north, the
town of Crickhowel on the east; the ruins of Tretower below; a woody hill
rising above it; and, from a field at a short distance from the house,
the double head of the Beacons, towering, as it were, into the clouds.
Brecon, or Aber Honddu, is a very romantic town; with good inns, and
every accommodation for a respectable family. The views around it are
beautiful; the Priory groves, as a public walk, are the most delightful
in all Wales, perhaps in Britain; while the castle, the priory, and other
fragments of antiquity, afford ample materials for the contemplation of
those who connect scenes with former events. For within the walls of the
castle was planned the union of the two houses of York and Lancaster.
Passing through Trecastle, a miserable village, once a large town,
possessing the ruins of a castle, we entered a valley, winding for six or
eight miles at the feet of mountains, and presenting at every step
something to admire, we arrived at Llandovery, or Llanymddvri, situated
on the banks of the Brane, near the head of the upper vale of Towy. Here
we found the remains of a small castle, once in the possession of
Richarde de Pws; small in dimensions, and uninteresting in its history;
but the town derives some notice from its having produced Rhys Prichard,
author of a book, well known in almost every Welsh house by the name of
the _Vicar’s book_. He sleeps here without inscription or monument.
From Llandovery the road and the Towy proceed to Llandilo through a
country at once rich in fertility, and beautiful in point of scenery.
Llandilo is remarkable for a battle, fought in 1281, between Edward the
First and Llewellyn the Great. It has no feature in itself worthy of
attention; but its environs are beautiful to the last degree.
About a mile from this town, on the road to Caermarthen, are the ruins of
Dinevawr Castle, the most celebrated spot in the principality. This
castle was erected by Roderique the Great in the year 877. So much have
been written of these ruins, of the noble park, belonging to Lord
Dynevor, and the country round, that I shall merely observe, that, after
passing a few hours in admiration, we passed on to Grongar Hill, and sate
beneath the hawthorn, under which Dyer is supposed to have written his
beautiful poem. I cannot, however, refrain from quoting a passage from
Spenser, where he describes the Cave of Merlin, which he places near the
rocks of Dinevawr.
If thou shouldst ever happen that same way
To travel, go to see that dreadful place:
It is a hideous, hollow, cave-like bay
Under a rock, that has a little space
From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace,
Amongst the woody hills of Dinevawr.
But dare thou not, I charge, in any case
To enter into that same baleful bower,
For fear the cruel fiends should thee unawares devour.
But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear;
And there such ghastly noise of iron chains,
And brasen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear,
Which thousand sprights with long enduring pains
Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains.
And often-times great groans, and grievous stounds,
When too huge toil, and labour them constrains.
And often-times loud strokes, and ringing sounds
From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds.
FAERIE QUEENE, B. iii. Cant. 3.
The view from Grongar Hill is inexpressibly beautiful. To attempt
describing it would only be showing the poverty of human language.
From this spot the road winds to Caermarthen with many a graceful curve,
through a country presenting a multitude of objects for the pencil of an
accomplished painter.
The regular road to Tenby is by St. Clears, nine miles one quarter: Cold
Blow, ten miles seven furlongs; left to Tenby, eight miles and a quarter;
at St. Clears, is the Blue Boar, and at Cold Blow, the Windsor Castle;
but should the Tourist prefer the coast to the regular road, I should
recommend him to visit Llanstaphan castle, at the mouth of the Towy; a
large and venerable ruin, memorable for the siege it sustained about the
middle of the twelfth century, when defended by Meredith ap Gruffydd, who
defeated all the attacks of the Normans, &c. who besieged it. The
village, which is now resorted to for sea-bathing, is situate at the
bottom of the hill. At high water, there is a ferry to the village on
the opposite side: at low water, at particular periods, the sands may be
crossed on horseback; but strangers should not attempt this without a
guide. From Llanstaphan the Tourist may proceed by Llaugharne, Green
Bridge, &c.