In the year 1803, my father received a letter of introduction from Mr.
Rees, of the well-known firm of Longman, Paternoster Row, presenting
Robert Southey, the poet, to him. He came into Wales with the hope of
finding a cottage to reside in. Accordingly, a cavalcade was formed,
consisting of Mr. W. Gwynne, the two brothers Southey, my father, and
myself, and we rode up the Valley of Neath to look at a cottage about
eight miles from the town. The poet, delighted with the scenery and
situation, decided upon taking it; but the owner, unfortunately for the
honour of Welshmen, actually declined to let it to Robert Southey,
fearing that a poet could not find security for the small annual rent
of twenty-five pounds. This circumstance led the man of letters, who
eventually became one of the most distinguished men of his day, to seek
a home elsewhere, and the Lakes were at length chosen as his residence.
Probably the picturesque beauties of Cumberland compensated the
Laureate for the indignity put upon him by the Welshman.
An act of Vandalism perpetrated in the same Vale of Neath, and
reflecting no honour on my countrymen, deserves here to be noted with
reprobation. A natural cascade, called Dyllais, which was so beautiful
as to excite the admiration of travellers, was destroyed by an agent to
Lord Jersey, the proprietor of the estate, in order to build a few
cottages and the lock of a canal. The rock down which this beautiful
cascade had flowed from the time of the Flood, and which had created a
scene of beauty universally admired, was blown up with gunpowder by
this man, who could probably appreciate no more beautiful sight than
that which presents itself from a window in Gray's or Lincoln's Inn, of
which he was a member.