HWarren

had become too narrow for the world of waters they contain, and I almost expected Neptune's roaring sealions to overleap their allotted bourn, and give a reenactment of the Cantrev y Gwaelod tragedy.

In the midst of a dark storm one evening, a sloop, seen through the drifting rain and haze, like a spectre of the sea, appeared about three miles out, making for the harbour, with her sails set, and running before the wind at a gallant rate through a tremendous sea, which seemed alternately to engulf her in its dark abysses, and fling her aloft like a toy on the waves' white crest. A more tempestuous evening has seldom been known here, and the most intense anxiety pervaded all classes lest the vessel should be lost, of which there seemed but too great probability. Hundreds of persons, both visitors and inhabitants of Aberystwith, were seen hastening to the Harbour: and not a few ladies braved the storm, though scarcely able to proceed, from the excessive violence of the wind. Every spot commanding a view of the sloop was crowded by eager and anxious spectators; some trembling for the fate of husbands, brothers, or friends, who they believed were on board, -and screaming with agony, as the huge waves halfhid the objects of their solicitude from view. But she came along swiftly and unswervingly,—

"She walked the waters like a thing of life,

And seemed to dare the elements to strife."

As she neared the bar, the anxiety of the assembled crowd became doubly intense, and yet more painful when the shrill screams of children were heard from the vessel, through all the deep roaring of the winds.

and waves. Another minute of breathless fear, and the perilous bar was cleared-all lives were safe! The captain and owner of the sloop had been her pilot, and the screams heard were from two of his own children, who had been lashed to the mast during the gale. I have since been informed that he is esteemed the most skilful sailor in the country; and the gallant bearing of his beautiful little vessel well proves the truth of such report.

Since writing the preceding, I have heard with great pleasure that some of the leading country gentlemen and residents in Aberystwith have most liberally commenced a subscription for the purpose of improving the harbour, and thus lessening the danger to vessels entering it.

A fantastic-looking building, half Gothic castle, half Italian villa, stands between the church and the sea; it was built by the late Sir Uvedale Price, but is now used as a lodging-house. Ghost-stories are becoming rare even in Cambria's mystic land; but this castlehouse, as it is termed, is said to be patronized by a spiritual resident in the form of a "White Lady," who is, by some imaginative persons, supposed to occupy one of its octagon towers. I have very diligently perambulated about the lady's haunts, at all hours of the day, and when the dim twilight gave a supernatural colouring even to common-place personages; but my seaside musings have never been spectrally discomposed, and so I cannot add the precious testimony of eyewitness-ship to this "White Lady"

romance.

The church of Aberystwith is a modern structure,

and possesses no beauty, but good accommodation for its numerous congregation. Adjoining the burialground is a pleasant garden, the sweet perfumes from which often greeted me while roaming near the gailyhued inclosure. Gardens are generally rare and meagre near the seashore; but this seems guarded by some kind fairy, who sheds the softest tints and sweetest fragrance on her favourites.

Wild flowers, "the philanthropists of their race," are abundant on the hills around; delicate harebells, waving on their light stems, proud foxgloves, glowing purple heather, and golden gorse, shine out in starry beauty from bank and moorland :

"And are they not the stars of earth? Doth not
Our memory of their bright and varied forms
Wind back to childhood's days of guileless sport,
When these familiar friends of later years

A beauty and a mystery remained?

And were they not to infant eyes more dear
E'en than their starry kindred? For one glance
Of wondering love we lifted to the vault

Of the o'er-orbed sky, have we not bent
Full many a glance of pleased affection down

To the green field, starred over with its hosts

Of daisies, countless as the blades of grass

'Midst which they seemed to look and laugh at us?"* The beach generally presents an amusing appearance to a stranger, and although I have been a performer in the scene, it afforded me equal entertainment. There

From "The Romance of Nature; or, the Flower Seasons illustrated," by Louisa Anne Twamley, now Mrs. Meredith. The poems in this highly interesting and elegant work are of great beauty, and are distinguished for original thought and bold and expressive imagery, as well as for a peculiarly musical flow of language.