brought us through a very rich country; and, on ascending a hill, about
five miles from Montgomery, a retrospect of the far distant mountainous
country of Wales, to which we were now bidding a last adieu, irresistibly
brought on a train of serious reflections. In a retrospect like this,
where the subject and the scene must inspire serious thoughts, such
traces are not unpleasing; they tend to promote one general effect—the
love of contemplation. We enumerated the little incidents which had
taken place, indulging reflections on scenes for ever past:—we erected on
the spot which we esteemed most adapted to retirement, the visionary
cottage: our schemes were instantly arranged: fancy fashioned its
ornaments, adapted its appendages,—and fancy will ever exceed realities.
But all our air-built plans of future happiness soon vanished: and, alas!
when
. . . “fancy scatters roses all around,
What blissful visions rise! In prospect bright
Awhile they charm the soul; but scarce attain’d,
The gay delusion fades. Another comes;
The soft enchantment is again renew’d,
And youth again enjoys the airy dreams
Of fancied good.”
Bishop’s castle is situated in a bottom. We found it a more extensive
place than we expected; but being shortly convinced that there was
nothing particular to require a long stay, and having recruited ourselves
at the Castle Inn, we hastened to leave the town. The road, for the
first seven miles, continually dipped into shallow valleys, well wooded,
affording cursory views, with many a substantial farmer’s habitation
lurking amongst the trees. At length a rich and noble vale, with
extensive woods on our right, animated with several gentlemen’s seats,
and watered by an overflowing stream running immediately close to the
road accompanied us to