LETTER III.

ABBER, July 16, 1794+

THE laft letter which I wrote to you,

my dear friend, was dated from Denbigh. I now resume my pen from a spot far different indeed, but not by any means destitute of beauty. We quitted the above-mentioned place with great reluctance, and often looked back upon its venerable ruins, contrafting them in different fituations, with the furrounding objects. Intervening hills had fcarcely fhut them from our view, before we entered upon a wide common, from whence a delightful profpect (terminated only by the fea), lay extended before the eye; on the edge of the common ran the rapid river Elwy, which we croffed, over a

very beautiful bridge, with one noble arch. The view of the river with its rocky fhore, excavated in the most romantic manner and the fimple cottage embofomed within the dark wood that rofe above it, formed an interesting perspective section through the arch of this bridge.

St. Afaph is a small neat town, fituated upon the declivity of a hill, at the foot of which runs the river Clwyd. About three miles on this fide of Holy well, there is a very extenfive prospect. From the fummit of a hill, we commanded a view of the Dee, incorporating its waters with the ocean. Far beyond, though confiderably involved in a thick smoke, appeared Liverpool, the feat of busy commerce; and to the right, Park-gate, a favourite watering place, the abode of pleasure,

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pleasure, and of song. I could not help fmiling at the prefent appearance of the river Dee, compared with what it was when I formerly beheld it; at that time unconscious of its future greatness, it murmured over its craggy bed, or fmoothly glided through the meadows and rich pastures, where numerous herds of cattle were feeding, or seeking to allay the fultry heat, in the midft of the ftream. Many humble cottages rofe upon its banks, presenting interefting pictures of content and happiness; children bufily employed in picking floes from the bushes that hung over the ftream, or amufing themfelves with throwing pebbles into the water, thus fporting with time, and "reckless that age and forrow with icy hand hung over them." In another place a rough alpine bridge, thrown across the river, afforded a precarious paffage to the cottager,

cottager, in hafte to reach his fimple home, and fhare with his little family the produce of his daily toil.-Far different did it now strike the eye:—a noble river pouring its mighty waters into the bofom of the ocean; towns and cities rifing upon its fhores, big with the vanities of man, and fleets of merchantmen proudly floating in with the tide, laden with the wealth of the world.

Holywell is a clean built town, furrounded by a most beautiful country. There is a manufacture established at this place, that once gave bread to thousands, but alas! the loom is now forfaken for the fword, and the bufy roof of industry exchanged for the fickly tent.

The town and neighbourhood, as might be expected, abound with numbers of

poor women and children, who are half ftarving, whilst their husbands, fathers, and brothers, are gloriously signalizing themselves in the fervice of their country; and if by chance the ruthless fword of war should spare the poor man's life, and fend him to his long wifhed-for home, with the trifling loss of a leg, or an arm, he will at least have the confolation of reflecting that he might have loft them both; and should his ftarving family, in the bitterness of want, by chance reproach him for his incapacity to relieve them, he will no doubt filence their murmurs, and turn their forrow into joy, by reminding them, that it was in the glori ous cause of their king and country that they fuffered. But not to treat with levity a fubject fo very ferious, let us take another example; the poor foldier, who at the conclufion of a long war, reduced

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