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 Llewllyn, 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 conveniences: 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