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a few feet only from the great brow of the huge mass-the brow, that as it were conceals under it the roof, is the cavern, dark and gloomy; at its edge some rich-coloured fern is growing, which makes the gloom the greater. The sweeping lines of the rock are very grand, their breaking being only at the cataract, where great fragments jut out boldly into the foam, and around them the water thunders. The ledge which forms the foreground is divided into many channels, though now dry, and runs upwards to the right, forming a pass to the upper rock, yet marking its magnitude by the division. The sky above the cataract is broken by some bold trees, or rather trunks of trees, for there was scarcely any foliage on them. This scene would make a very fine picture in the hands of a skilful artist. Still lower, there may be even a finer subject. As we intended visiting the spot again, we did not attempt the descent and now regret we left the Devil's Bridge without reaching the extreme depth of this awful place. The colour of the rock is well suited to the grandeur of the scene. artist will not be content with general views; he will find an infinite variety of detail to occupy much of his time, and fill his portfolio with advantage. Nothing can be easier of access—it is close to the inn, where he can have the very best accommodation, and, if he pleases, on terms of boarding. We spent two days here, before we proceeded to Hafod.

The

The road lies still among mountains-about five miles, or scarcely so much, half up hill and half down. Shall we venture to say we were disappointed in Hafod? We had come from almost savage wildness, and were not prepared to see mountains dressed. The great extensive ranges of wood are very fine, and not the less striking from the freshness, the youth, yet fulness of the trees; the woods are trees, not coppice, but they are not of that massy, matted growth we are accustomed to see in old dressed places. We have vigour for antiquity-each has its peculiar charm. You see at once you are upon the very verge of extreme barrenness; the high woods, at their summits and nearly at their base, terminating, or rather flowing off, into wild mountain. The river was very low-it is so immediately

under the high woods, that we suspect it will not afford much variety for the painter. As a seat, Hafod is finely situated; yet, though there is plenty of wood, it wants shelter. There do not appear any deep glens in which you could embower yourself in shade: the heat of the day was oppressive, which made us look for this cool repose-the great beauty, after all, of landscape. We read what has been said of Hafod in the guide-books, and thought there was much exaggeration. We do not presume to be judges of architecture beyond its effect upon the artist's eye, and its agreement with the scenery around it. It would be difficult to define its order: it is not Gothic, it is not Venetian, nor Turkish, but a mixture of all. The little obelisks, two to each pinnacle, look very little indeed. It is fair to say, that as it is undergoing great alterations, and is partly boarded up, it must be impossible to judge of it as a whole. It is at present in a semi-neglected state. We walked to the flower-garden, or what was the flower-garden, and returned with melancholy réflections. For whom was it made, how was it cherished, and how desolate is it ?-a deserted ruined garden is at all times a dire, a dismal sight. There is a trifling matter here that gave offence to the imagination, by rudely snapping its finest chain. There are some carved grotesque heads in the doorways entering this garden. The sculptor had cut, large enough to catch the eye, the date, and "London," and probably his name, for part was obliterated. Who, in such a spot, would wish to be reminded of London, or Bath, or marble-cutters' yards or desire to know that these heads came from any part of the world but the garden-or that they were not left there by the genii of the garden, whose creation the whole circumfer ence should be? Another remark, in our architectural ignorance, we will venture to make. There is something not pleasing in seeing bright freestoneyellow buildings arise, where there is nothing of the kind in the soil to harmonize with them. Should not houses in the country be Auroxoves-as if they sprung from the ground-should they not be of the stone of the country, or as much like the stone of the country as possible? The eye cannot be deluded, and is sensible of an intruder nature never intended to be seen there. It is like a woman with false hair, which,

though it may be better than her own, never looks so well, and pretty surely mars her beauty. Would not Hafod be better of another colour? Its lightness ill accords with the wild majesty of the mountain dominion in the centre of which it is placed. It was very singular at such a season of the year to see so brown a hue. The oaks had been frost-bitten, and the leaves crumbled into dust under the handit had the strange effect of blending summer and autumn in one landscape. Is the mixture of the Scotch fir with oaks and other forest trees in good taste? Even the firs in such cases seem to lose their natural character, and look too spruce. High-rising trees should not be placed among lower and spreading-they hurt each other making one too low, and the other too high. Scotch firs are not to be despised; they make grand dark-shading woods-they have a gigantic person. ality about them, when grown to any size, and proudly centinel a domain. Their gloom is awful; and when the sun is behind them, and just gleams partially through them, the effect is magical; and how wonderfully, by their depth of colour, they throw off the azures, and set off the warmer tints of nearer distances!

We have left Hafod; and all on our way to Aberystwith, ranges and ranges of mountain again and again present themselves-all fine. With in sight of Aberystwith, they gradually lower on all sides, and at their bases lies in rich beauty an extensive valley, through which the river winds, and loses itself-or at least it did to our view-in an ultramarine, yet warm, haze, that flooded with azure light the whole vale. The first burst of this view, with the great arms of the mountain stretching down into the depth before us, would make a very fine subject for a picture, and would well suit Copley Fielding's water-colours. Why do they do their utmost to make all sea bathing places look as hot as possible? Facing the unmitigated sun we have houses, and a whole range of them, as hot as yellow ochre can make them. Seek for shelter inside, and you have little shade—the sun still persecutes you there-curtains and carpet are sure to be red-you fly from the yellow to the scarlet fever. Aberystwith seems a poor place, excepting where the company-the gentry lodging-houses are built. We

were surprised to see an odd, fantasticlooking semi-castle building, erected by, above all persons in the world, the late Sir Uvedale Price! How very strange!" Aliquando bonus dormitat."

Hour about five o'clock-looking on the sea. Never saw we any thing more lovely-never any colouring of nature that more convinced us of the truth of Claude's Embarkation of St Ursula, and his other marine subjects. Nearly the whole of the sea, to the horizon, lighter than the skyand yet that is not dark, but all luminous-the whole expanse of water of a warm grey, changing occasionally into the most tender green. The sun, which is yet high up, flashes about the edged clouds, and down below them, a purple grey, tipped with brightest gold. Now, there are more distant clouds immediately under the others, half obscured in haze, edges brilliant. They must be thunder clouds-the most azure blue, if we might call it by the name of one colour, is above. Immediately below the sun's pavilion the blue is lost in a thicker atmosphere, almost of a greenish hue, and that melts off into a warm luminous grey, in which the red is very discernible, and from the suncloud, as from a centre, broad bands of shadow spread abroad, reaching the water to its utmost verge. without a wave,-but a gentle ripple plays about the shore, here edged with, and throwing off, drops of the purest gold. Starting distinct from the grey, there is a mass of the sun's light upon the very centre of the sea, but it is interrupted by a grey streak, and does not quite reach the shore-a rocky ledge or two seems to run out, as it were, to meet and salute it, and that alone is dark. Behind us lay the large and shattered fragments of the old castle, the ruins of which, particularly the tall upright tower, are still fine. Aberystwith did not seem to have much company. These sort of places are all alike-a semicircular range of yellow or white lodginghouses, facing the sea-white painted bathing-machines on the beachloungers about the seats, smoking cigars-and ladies, by twos and threes, in green veils, poking among the pebbles with the ends of their parasols. Our piscator friend was very busy making enquiry respecting some fish said to be caught and catchable here with the rod and line. To him it

The sea,

seemed a wonderful thing-to us, who had never hooked but one fish, and that in the side, it did not sound wonderful at all, remembering more of Homer than of Isaac Walton.

We did not remain at Aberystwith. On our return to the mountains we went to a very neat newly-built church, the exterior of which reminded us of Italy. The service was in Welsh, the sermon in English; the Welsh we thought must be a powerful language; we imagined it to be in sound between Greek and German. The demeanour and devotion of the congregation was very gratifying, and the extreme neatness and cleanness of their A retired tradesman from persons. Aberystwith, with great civility, offered us seats; and, when the service was over, conversed with us with great natural politeness and simplicity. He told us his condition, showed us his garden, and offered the use of his stable should we at any time revisit the place for the sake of fishing. The manners of the Welsh in these parts is very pleasing, and their intelligent way of speaking very much above that of the generality in England. They are unaffected, simple, and single-minded people, and are not contaminated by that bane to morality, the beershop. They are the very reverse of "the vulgar." The sermon, which was in English, was very good; and, had the preacher paid more attention to stops, would have been more effective. He read it as if English had been an acquired language.

His

Welsh seemed to flow naturally, gracefully, and powerfully. The following day our friend hoped to have some fishing at Rhayader, as there had been rain; and, as we had closed our portfolios, we gave ourselves up to his amusement if we might be found worthy to carry his basket. It would not do. The fish were not to be caught. We saw some fine otter hounds; coarse, wiry, strong animals, that would bear as well as give a bite and a tug under or above water. Our friend was eloquent upon the subject, and described many an otter hunt, and made the description more interesting by his calculation of the mischief these amphibious creatures do. "A

single otter," said he, "will consume a ton of fish in a year;" and, while speaking, he referred to a paper in his fishing-book. We observed one side of it denoted rhyme. "Ah," said he, when questioned, "for nearly forty years have I had many a fishing day with old Will Hill of Millslade, and being at the lonely but comfortable little inn there the other day, my old haunt, I thought over the days past; and I suppose a thankful heart, and no one to tell it out to, makes a happy man a rhymster, if not a happy rhymster, and so I made my trial. Here it is. I am as proud of dedicating my verse to poor old Will Hill, as Pindar his to Hiero. So here goes:

TO MY OLD FISHING COMPANION, WILL
HILL OF MILLSLADE—

Old Will with thee,
In youth and glee,
I've spent some sunny hours;
But now, I fear,

The winter drear
Of age upon us lowers.

Yet still a dish
We catch of fish,
As well as some that brag ;
No more we ply
The treacherous fly,
The brandling fills the bag.

Here in this glen,
Apart from men,
We lift our grateful hearts;
And feel the joy,
Without alloy,

That Nature wild imparts.

From Providence,
Our confidence,

This boon we anglers crave,
That we anon
Mayangle on

Safe to a peaceful grave.

"Come, then," continued he, "let us to the inn," and as if to apologise for his verse

"Dulce est de-sipere in loco."

So let us, like true artist and piscator, sip our souchong, and be wise enough to play the fool after our innocent fashion.

Finis chartaque viæque.

COLONIAL GOVERNMENT AND THE JAMAICA QUESTION.

THE unhappy contest which has now arisen between the local legislature of Jamaica and the mother country, has recently attracted a large portion of public attention, both in consequence of it having been the cheval de bataille on which the two parties which divide the state have come to a decisive conflict, and from its involving within itself the great question of the government of our colonial dependencies by the reformed legislature. The powerful excitement of the first of these circumstances, was that which in the outset brought it so prominently forward; but to the thoughtful and far-seeing, the last is the one which gives it such a momentous and enduring character. Recent events, both in Canada and the West Indies, have made it but too apparent, that the capability of the new constitution to withstand the shock of adverse fortune, and maintain inviolate the unseen chain which binds together the vast fabric of the British empire, is ere long to be put to the test; and that the time is rapidly approaching when the strain is to be applied to its dependencies, under which all former maritime dominions, from the beginning of time, have been snapped asunder.

The slightest acquaintance with history must be sufficient to convince every well-informed person, that colonial jealousy and discontent is the rock on which all the great maritime powers of the world have hitherto split. As the formation of a great maritime dominion without colonies is altogether impossible for this plain reason, that the carrying trade is generally enjoyed as much by foreigners as natives, and the only traffic which can be permanently relied on as a nursery for seamen, is that which is carried on with your own dependencies, and of which foreign jealousy or hostility cannot deprive you-so the loss of such colonies has invariably been the certain forerunner of approaching ruin. To trust to the carrying trade, as a resource which can be relied on when colonial dependencies have been severed from the mother country, is of all delusions the most deplorable. Experience has every

where proved, what reason might a priori have anticipated, that trade with independent states, how extensive soever, invariably comes in the later stages of society to fall more and more into the hands of foreign shipowners, and that, in the very magnitude of a great manufacturing state, foreign commercial intercourse, is laid, but for the intervention of its own colonies, the sure foundation for its ultimate subjugation. The reason is to be found in the lower value of money, and consequent higher price of shipbuilding and seamen, in an old opulent commercial community than a young and rising one, which has the materials of a commercial navy within its own bounds, and the consequent cheaper rate at which goods can be transported and ships maintained abroad than at home. From this cause, the debility of advanced years necessarily and very shortly comes over every maritime community which is not perpetually reunited by the trade with its own colonies, just as the weakness of age prostrates every family which is not upheld by the growing strength of its own younger branches.

History abounds with the proofs of this great and leading truth, which strikes at once at the root of the reciprocity system, and demonstrates that it is to our own colonies, and not the trade with independent states, that we must look for the means both of upholding our maritime superiority, and obtaining subsistence or employment to our numerous and rapidly increasing population. But it is sufficient to refer, amidst a host of others, to two facts which are of themselves decisive of the position. America and Canada are both rising states of European descent, with the same language, habits, occupations, and external circumstances; but the one is a colonial dependency of Great Britain, and the other is an independent state. And what is the result? Why, our North American colonies, with a population of only 1,500,000 souls, employ 560,000 tons of British and 530,000 of native shipping; while America, with a popula tion of 14,000,000 of souls, only gave employment, in 1831, to 91,000 British tons; though the exports to it, in

76

Colonial Government and the Jamaica Question.

1836, rose to L.13,000,000. whole remainder was taken off in The American bottoms, which amounted to 250,000 tons, proving thus, incontestably, how rapidly an increasing trade with a foreign state, in an old commercial community, comes to glide into the foreign in preference to the home vessels. Again, the tonnage of Great Britain employed in the trade with all the states of Europe, is now considerably less than it was thirtyfive years ago; while that with our own colonies, during that period, has increased more than five-fold.* In fact, it is the vast extent and rapid increase of our colonial commerce, which has compensated the decline of the foreign trade with independent states, and rendered the nation blind to the rapid strides which the reciprocity system is making in destroying our shipping employed in such intercourse with other states; and yet, by a singular perversity of intellect, the reciprocity advocates continue to refer to the sum total of our exports and shipping returns, as evidence in their favour, when it is produced only by the progressive growth of the system they deprecate over that which they sup

port.

There never was a country so evidently destined by Providence, so nobly endowed by nature, with all the gifts requisite to make it the heart and soul of all the European colonies over the globe, as Great Britain. Placed on the edge of the European States, cradled in the Atlantic waves, she is "the midway station given" between the energy, wealth, and enterprise of Europe, and the boundless realms of future greatness and population in distant parts of the world. Abounding to overflowing with coal and ironstone, she possesses within herself, in inexhaustible profusion, the means of creating both the moving power and the manufacturing implements necessary to cover the earth with her fabrics. Blessed for ages with a free constitution, teeming in all quarters with the ardour of freedom, singularly tempered with moderation and ultimate sobriety of judgment, she is powerfully moved by the ardour and energy which are the great characteristics of democratic societies; and yet she has hi

[July,

tected, by aristocratic foresight, from therto, as if by a miracle, been prothe ruinous explosions which in almost every other instance have torn asunder the state machine where such a power has been generated within its bosom. The consequences of this extraordinary combination of popular energy with patrician direction, of natural advantages with adaptation of character, have to a colossal magnitude, amounting been, that here trade has been raised lions of exports; that her flag is seen, last year to one hundred and five mil and her influence is felt, in every quarter of the earth; that in the east, in the west, and in the south, vast empires are arising out of her overflowing numbers; and that it is already the boast of her transatlantic descendants, that to the Anglo-Saxon race is destined the sceptre of the globe.

Numerous are the evils, both social, arisen, perhaps unavoidably, from so physical, and political, which have extraordinary a destiny being reserved obvious as are the dangers, both exterfor a little island in the Atlantic; and the very existence of society, and the nal and internal, which now menace duration of all those blessings and this British islands, there is yet none of godlike career of usefulness in the ultimate remedy, by a due attention to them which does not admit of an easy our colonial dependencies; nor any one which may not be converted into destiny of Great Britain, as the proa source of strength, if the obvious pagator of Christian principles and the European race through the globe, is not forgotten, amidst the insane jealousy or monstrous folly of the dominant multitude in these islands. Are rapidly increasing population? Do we we overwhelmed with a redundant and find twenty-four millions-an enorislands of such limited extent as Great mous multitude of inhabitants-in two ably anxious how such a prodigious Britain and Ireland? Are we reasonthe rate of a thousand a day, in a great crowd of human beings, increasing at degree dependent, directly or indirectly, on foreign commerce, are to be maintained, if the outlets of that commerce come to be impaired or closed up amidst the vicissitudes of future war, or the fast increasing decay of

* See Porter's Progress of the Nation, i. 217.

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