fires. From a little distance up the stream came down the sounds of laughter and voices, where some half-a-dozen diggers were splashing about in the river after the day's work, and the echo rolled back sharply from the hills on the opposite bank, startling the buck in the reeds above the rapids.

As Markwell approached, Italy stretched out his arms and yawned.

"They have fine sunsets in Italy," he said, "but they can't hold a candle to those in this country."

"

It was this perpetual reference to the atmospheric and scenic conditions of Italy which had earned for the artist his "sobriquet," to which he answered quite naturally, and of which he even seemed vain.

Markwell, who was not inclined to be rapturous about the beauties of Nature, grunted assent; and the two men, as if moved by a common impulse, entered the tent and walked towards the liquor-stained boards, set on trestles, which formed the bar.

The proprietor, clad in an exceedingly dirty shirt, appeared ruffled in demeanour; and, as they entered, was anathematising an exasperating tumbler, which had maliciously bumped against his elbow, and then destroyed itself by leaping on to the stony ground. His annoyance was not diminished by the first remark made by Italy, after the business preliminaries which had brought him and Mark well to the bar had been satisfactorily settled.

"So Cobb's got a young Malay girl come up to his place. She's to help at the bar, he tells me."

"So I hear," replied Randall curtly; while Markwell at once understood that the enigma which had a short time before defied solution, was now successfully solved. "Is she worth looking at?" continued the artist.

"Worth looking at ?" exclaimed Markwell. "Wouldn't any gal be worth looking at, when you haven't seen one for six months?"

Randall grinned sarcastically.

"Some men," he remarked, apparently to a cask of Cape Smoke which stood beside him, "are such fools, that directly they see a petticoat they're bound to run after it; even when they've had enough to make them know better. Some men don't seem to profit nothing by experience."

Markwell was silent, crushed by this facer, for it was generally known at Gonggong that he had been taken in the springes

set by a skittish matron of unequivocal virtue at Durban; and that her husband had then rounded on him, and caused him to become involved in costly legal processes. It was even added that the proclivities of his better half had been well known to the injured husband; but that he had not availed himself of previous opportunities of obtaining a release, because of the want of pecuniary position on the part of the culprit; that Markwell had been in fact a scapegoat, and that the judicial proceedings in which he had taken part, had been the cause of his appearance at Gonggong.

"Anyhow," continued Italy, steadfastly pursuing the original subject, "it's a deep move of Cobb's to bring up a barmaid to a one-horse place like this. It's publicspirited, sir. I esteem him for it, sir.” And with this parting shaft, he turned and left the tent.

The sun was now down beyond the hills; the gold in the picture had reddened to crimson, and the crimson deepened to purple. Then the purple darkened; the light died out of the stream; the trees assumed a sombre aspect, the shadows deepened and deepened; lights began to appear in the camp, twinkling like so many feeble stars; and it became night.

The party of bathers came up from the river, laughing and talking, along the path which led past Randall's canteen. In the stillness of the night, their conversation was distinctly audible. They were discussing Cobb's new departure. They reached the door of Randall's bar, when a voice, which was at once recognised by the two men inside the tent as being the personal property of Stokes, was heard to say: "Well, I s'pose we'll turn in here as usual."

"Oh, yes. Cer'nly-by-an'-by. I'm just going up to Cobb's first, to see what his Malay gal's like," replied a voice. "So am I." "And I."

"And me too," added the rest in chorus. Randall broke out into an eruption of profanity behind his bottles at this unanimity of sentiment on the part of his most regular customers; while Stokes, who took a certain amount of interest in Randall's welfare, because they were old friends, and both citizens of the same town, was heard to say outside:

"You don't mean to say you're all going to chuck old man Randall over, at this time o' day-after all this time."

Shorn of its dignity and possessions, the Principality of Powys became a simple Lordship, which remained in the descendants of its earlier Princes, till the main line of these ended in the reign of Edward the Second with an heiress, Haweis, whom the King married to a servant of his own, one John Charleton, a simple Knight of Salop. According to Welsh law Haweis was no heiress at all, and the family possessions should have been divided among her father's brothers; but here was seen both the wisdom of the old laws of Wales and the policy of King Edward the First in abrogating their provisions by his statutes of Rhyddlan. For it was by management of wardships and marriage of heiresses rather than by force of arms that the English Barons penetrated into Wales, and loosened and dislocated the old national bonds. In this case the power of the Crown was too strong for the Welsh claimants, and the King's valet entered into possession of the ancient possessions of the Princes of Powys.

Eventually the Lordship of Powys came, by purchase, into the family of the Herberts of Cherbury, one of whom was the noted Lord Herbert, who held the Castle of Montgomery at the time of the Civil Wars. Lord Herbert at first held for the King, but then declared for the Parliament, and admitted a Parliamentary garrison. There was a stout siege by the Royalists, and a vigorous defence; and then Sir Thomas Middleton advanced from Oswestry to relieve the garrison, and a desperate battle was fought within sight of the towers of Montgomery, in which at last victory declared for the side of the Parliament.

The town of Montgomery itself was once strongly fortified with walls, and gates, and towers; but these were in ruins in the sixteenth century, when Leland visited the place, and are now only to be traced here and there in isolated fragments.

On the way to Newtown, along the valley of the Severn, Glen Hafren, according to the Welsh tongue, are the remains of an old Welsh tower known as

According to Jeffrey, then, in the days of Locrine, "that had the sceptre from his father Brute "-the glorious sceptre, that is, of Ancient Briton, the land was invaded by a swarm of Huns, under their King, called Humber. These King Locrine met in battle, and overthrew them, their leader, Humber, being drowned in the river that now bears his name. Locrine found treasures of gold and silver in the ships of the slaughtered Huns, and, more precious still, three young ladies of wonderful beauty, captives of the barbarous horde, one of the maidens, by name Estrild is, being the daughter of a King in Germany, about whose beauties the old chronicler waxes eloquent. Forthwith King Locrine was lost in love for the fair Estrildis. But he had already an affianced bride, dark Gwendolen, the daughter of a powerful chieftain; and fearing his vengeance should he play the daughter false, he concealed his love, and in effect the lady too, hiding her away in an underground bower for seven long years, during which time Estrildis gave birth to a most beautiful daughter, Sabre. In course of time dark Gwendolen discovered her husband's treachery, and, mustering her people, she overthrew him and put him to death, and carried out her vengeance by throwing Estrildis and Sabre into a river, where they were drowned.

Thus far the chronicler; and here Milton takes up the legend in "Comus":

There is a gentle nymph not far from hence
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn
stream,
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure.
The guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit
of her enraged step-damne, Gwendolen,
Commended her fair innocence to the flood,
That staid her flight with his cross-flowing course.
And underwent a quick immortal change,
Made goddess of the river; still she retains
Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

Visits the herds among the twilight meadows.

The scene of all this is no doubt Dalforwyn, the Maiden's Mead, where the river

flows softly along in a green and cultured valley,

Crowned

With many a tower and terrace round. Altogether different is the scene when Newtown is reached quite a busy manufacturing place, where Welsh tweeds and Welsh flannels claim pre-eminence. At Newtown Hall, close by, flourished, in the course of the last century, a most whimsical specimen of the long-descended landed gentry of Wales. This was Sir John Pryce, of so very ancient a family in that part of Wales as to justify the boast of ancestry expressed in his motto:

Avi numerantur Avorum.

Sir John's heart was so great and loving that, like Charlemagne, he would not abandon his loved ones even to the grave. He had the bodies of two successive wives embalmed, and kept them constantly by his side, till he married a third wife, most tenderly loved of all, who persuaded him to consign her predecessors to the family vault.

The third wife died in her turn; but to Sir John the legends and myths of old were so many realities. He did not despair of seeing her brought back to him, "like Alcestis from the grave;" and, hearing of one Bridget Bostock, in Cheshire, who was performing wonderful feats of healing, he wrote to her to suggest that by her extraordinary gifts, she might also succeed in raising the dead to life.

In that case, he suggested the late Dame Eleanor Pryce as a subject for her powers. The poor man had forgotten the other two wives, who had surely a prior claim. His Ayesha had been everything to him, and the ancient Kadijah was forgotten.

But alas! Ayesha was forgotten in her turn, for, although he abandoned Newtown Hall, unable to endure the recollections of her, whom he had lost, suggested by the familiar scenes, yet, in his new place of residence, and at an advanced age, he fell violently in love with "a young lady, the reigning toast of that day, then in the bloom of youth and beauty."

Every night he would visit the mansion of his beloved to watch the light in her chamber window, "frequently introducing through the keyhole or under the door some love song; for, to a fine taste for music, he united no contemptible talent

for poetry."

Finally, on his death-bed, it was found that he had bequeathed all his fortune

away from his own family to this young lady, who, however, "nobly resigned her right to his heir."

Higher up the Severn, above Newtown, almost enclosed by a fold of the river, lies Caersws, where excavations have discovered many traces of Roman occupation. Coins, tiles, red Samian ware, pottery of all kinds, drains, and the foundations of villas have rewarded the diligence of explorers, and leave no doubt that here was once a somewhat important centre of Roman occupation. Over the hills on either side are traces of a Roman way, which is known in the district as Sarn Susan, Susan having been, according to popular tradition, a famous Queen of old times, who, like Boadicea, led her people against some invader. It is curious that in Wales the Roman roads generally bear feminine titles. There is Sarn Helen, for instance, which appears in various parts of the Principality, and which is generally attributed to Helena, the mother of Constantine, and the discoverer of the Holy Cross. But who Susan might have been, it is hard to say.

Above Llanidloes the Severn becomes but an insignificant stream, as Plinlimmon appears, with its five summits, massive in bulk, but far from grand and impressive in outline. It is a great mother of rivers, however; the Wye and the Severn both rise in its sides, their sources not far from each other; the rivers that meet after their long and varied courses through some of the fairest and richest scenes in England.

Hill and dale, stream and waterfall, with quiet, secluded hamlets and scattered farmhouses, diversify the way from Newtown to Machynlleth. But the hills are mostly grassy to their summit, and, if rather tame in outline, afford pasture to flocks and herds, and to droves of the famous ponies once so cheap, but which are now esteemed according to their worth.

Nothing seems to have happened at Machynlleth since Leland visited it. Of course the Parliament of Owen Glendwr and his proclamation as Prince of Wales at Market Cross were before Leland's time.

The place was not badly chosen for such a purpose, as it affords a meeting-place between the men of North Wales and the South, and news and intelligence would circulate in both directions; for the River Dovey, which runs past the town, is one of the boundaries of North Wales-not that the country on this side of the river is South Wales, as far as Montgomery is

concerned.

The men of Powys still retain a certain characteristic of their own, and would not be gratified to be called South Walians; a barbarous term, by the way, which still holds current among the Englishspeaking Welsh.

Five-and-twenty years ago, before the Cambrian Coast Railway was completed, there was a capital four-horse coach which ran from Machynlleth to Barmouth, which was driven by Colonel Corbet, an enthusiastic amateur coachman. And this made the little place and its name, generally mispronounced by English tongues, familiar to the tourists and travellers of those days.

On the subject of pronunciation, by the way, what a good example was set by old Leland, who wrote the Welsh names according to the English alphabet, which differs so much in the value of the letters from the Welsh! Mahencliff, for instance, as he writes the name of the town in question, if pronounced as spelt, would be understood by any Welshman.

When we reach the Berwyn Mountains, which take up the boundary line of North Wales and Powys, we are among the sources of the Vyrnwy and its many tributary rills, whose united waters form a bounteous feeder to the Severn, recalling Milton's invocation to the latter river:

May thy brimmed waves for this
Their full tribute never miss,
From a thousand petty rills

That tumble down the snowy hills.

Milton, however, did not reckon on the vast increase of the great commercial cities of Lancashire, and the petty rills are many of them now impounded to form the great reservoirs of the Liverpool waterworks - immense works which might be the wonder of any age. A whole village, church and all, now lies deep beneath the waves of one of these artificial lakes, and the waters are to be carried over hill and dale by Oswestry and Malpas, and so to Liverpool, to slake the thirst and fill the kettles of those who dwell by the Mersey.

The mines of Montgomery have been worked from a very early period. There are traces of Roman workings for copper, it is said, among the hills about Llanymynach, on the borders of Shropshire, and in a large cave or excavation called the Ogo, in the same neighbourhood, about a hundred years ago, a number of skeletons were discovered, with coins of the time of Antoninus Pius, and ancient mining implements. Lead mining, too, has been carried on from

time immemorial, and the limestone hills have been carved and quarried in all directions, both for ancient buildings and for modern purposes.

The Breiddin Hills, which rise above Welshpool, are a curious detached group of the Silurian range, crowned with a column commemorating Admiral Rodney and his victories, and also noted for a fine British camp, which is said to have been the scene of the last stand of Caractacus against the Roman power. Another last stand was made on the summit of the Long Mountain, justly so named, with its long, forbidding outline; the last stand, that is, of the independent chiefs of Wales under Madoc, a natural son of the last native Prince. Another battle-ground in which England, rather than Wales, had the chief interest, is to be found at Buttington on the borders of Salop.

It was in the year 893 that Haesten, the Danish chief, came with eighty ships into the Thames mouth and made a bold foray across the country by a route which might be found a pleasant one at the present day up the Thames that is and across to the Severn, and then up the Severn to the borders of Wales. Alfred was then fighting at Exeter; but the Saxon aldermen gathered all the fighting men from every town east of the Parret, and west and east of Selwood, and north of Thames, and west of Severn, and also some parts of the North Welsh race. And these encompassed the Danes in their camp at Buttington, and kept them without food, so that they were compelled to eat their horses. And then the Danes sallied out, and there was a great fight and many were killed, but more cut their way through the force of Saxons and got back in the best way they could to the marshes of Essex.

When we come to Radnorshire, we find but meagre materials for its chronicles.

There is neither a park nor a deer To be seen in all Radnorshire, Nor a man with five hundred a year, Save Fowler of Abbey Cwm Hir. This Fowler was one Sir William, a Knight, who was alive in 1680, but who would not have been deemed a remarkable character in a county of greater pretensions.

As New Radnor was only new in the days of King Harold, who is said to have founded the place, it would seem to follow that Old Radnor must be very old indeed. And though New Radnor was once a chartered town, with walls and towers