Descending a hollow lane, we cross a stream and pass near the scanty ruins of Flether Hill, the ancient abode of the Haywards, whose tombstones we have seen in the church. Then, leaving the pleasant grounds of Withybush away upon our left, we presently strike the main road again at a place called Crowsnest, and thus approach the town of Haverfordwest by its long, transpontine suburb of Prendergast.

CHAPTER XII.

ON AND OFF THE NARBERTH ROAD. LANGWM AND DAUGLEDDAU.

T

IS market day in Haverfordwest. The big travelstained waggons of the wholesale traders, drawn by sturdy large-limbed horses, trundle slowly through the crowded streets of the old town; while the distinctive tones of the 'broad Harfat talk' greet the ear upon every side.

Wending our way down the steep High Street, we bear away to the right at the bottom of the hill, and traverse one of the oldest quarters of the town. Presently we descry a low-browed entrance opening upon the footpath, the massive nail-studded door, with its quaint lionhead knocker, being enframed by liberally-moulded jambs. Passing beneath this ancient portal, we are admitted to an interior beautified by the rare old oaken stairway shown. in our sketch; this stairway gives access to nicely panelled chambers, whose fireplaces retain their original blue Dutch tiles, painted with scenes from Biblical history.

To the rear of the dwelling-house stands a flour-mill of antiquated type; yet driving, withal, a brisk trade in its green old age. A welltrained old horse, the mainstay of the establishment, jogs round in the mill and supplies the motive power.

Stepping out to the rear, we find ourselves upon the riverside quay, along which we now take our way. Groups of bulky stone warehouses flank the grass-grown wharf, which presently opening out, reveals the Bristol Trader, a little semi-nautical inn, with its trim bit of gardenground abloom with hollyhocks and nasturtiums; an old-time spot

frequented by waterside gossips, and fraught with vague echoes from that wide outer world where men 'go down to the sea in ships.'

Hence we push on past the ruined priory to the diminutive village of Haroldstone, where some traces still exist of the ancient mansion that, for three successive centuries, was the ancestral home of the Perrots, one of the most notable old families of Pembrokeshire.

Vis-à-vis across the river Cleddau rises the parish church of Uzmaston; a picturesque assemblage of roofs and gables, clustering around a quaint old saddle-backed tower. Uzmaston Church has,

within the last few years, been rescued from decay, and conscientiously restored by Mr. Lingen Barker, architect, of Hereford.

Skirting a bend of the river, we trudge through the woods to Freystrop, and enter upon a district pitted here and there with old mine-shafts. Over the water lies Boulston, where hard by the brink of the stream (perhaps a bowshot east from the desecrated church) rises a jumble of ivy-clad ruins, backed by a tangled thicket of old forest trees. Here lived the Wogans, a well-known family in days of yore, who adopted a wyvern as their crest from the following tradition.

Amidst the broad woodlands that formerly extended around the ancestral mansion, wild beasts of various kinds were supposed to roam.