Newcastle Emlyn is a picturesque town, so divided by the Teify that one part of it is in Cardiganshire and the other part in Pembrokeshire. Here, as almost everywhere else, the ruins of a castle remain to attest the feudal importance which once belonged to the town. Higher up the river is Lampeter, which appeals to our notice on other grounds, in respect to the college which it contains. St. David's College was founded at Lampeter in 1822 by the late Bishop Burgess for students in divinity. It is intended especially for those who, while desirous of studying for the Church, are unable to bear the costliness of a university education; there are several scholarships, but no degrees are conferred. The college buildings, erected from the designs of Mr. Cockerell, are of quadrangular form, and are adapted for the reception of about 70 students. Aberaeron, which we have described as standing at the mouth of the Aeron, and which fact is indeed indicated by its name, is a rising little port. It has a pleasant situation, an extensive fishery, a fair amount of exports, and a summer-visiting season for bathers.

But Aberyswith is the most important place in the county. It occupies a sort of marginal position between North and South Wales, and has the majestic Plinlimmon almost within view. "When the rage for bathing-places began to spring up towards the close of the last century," says Mr. Cliffe, one of the most pleasant of tourist-companions, "persons of taste directed their eyes to the western coast of Wales, where they found a town previously known but to a few, seated on the margin of a magnificent bay at the

confluence of two gladsome streams, with a green sea tumbling on a fine beach, a store of pebbles which afforded constant amusement, cheap living, and a pleasant neighbourhood backed by breezy mountains. The place was then perfectly primitive, the harbour almost sanded up, and the appearance of a ship or even a distant sail was an event. Visitors soon gave

a good name to Aberystwith; a coach from Shrewsbury was started in 1805; and the town has gone on prospering until it has become the real capital of the county-an abode of health and good spirits sought by numbers every summer-a fashionable wateringplace. If the town were more easily accessible, its merits would be better known than they are; there are neither railroads nor steamboats, and coachtravelling seems tedious to many in these days of rapid locomotion." Aberystwith occupies a gentle eminence, bounded on two sides by the Ystwith and the Rheidol. The streets are good, the modern buildings are many of them handsome, and the harbour has been so improved as to accommodate a large import and export trade. On a rocky elevation, washed by the sea, stands the castle, or all of it which now remains; this all is very scanty, and the inhabitants are anxiously endeavouring to preserve the fragmentary walls from further decay. The beach at Aberystwith is celebrated for its pebbles, which often include cornelians, jaspers, crystals, agates, pudding-stones, &c., the searching for which amuses the loungers, and the shaping and polishing of which employ the local lapidaries.

WE may proceed more rapidly to Woolwich by railway than by the pleasant Thames steamers. By the North Kent line we have carriages with broad windows, and a varied country to gaze upon. On we go. Past the wooded and green slopes that extend beyond Lewis

ham;-past Blackheath and its signal of popular progress, the 'Literary Institution.' But now our thoughts are checked by the Tunnel. And hark! Woolwich Dockyard' is the cry of the officers on the station at which we are stopping; and there begins our work.

In

THERE are certain noticeable periods in the history of this place which it is pleasant to look at for a moment in conjunction. The first carries us back to the time of the Conqueror, when Haimo, the sheriff, was the one great man of the neighbourhood, when there were but three cultivators of the soil rich enough to pay a yearly rent of forty-one pence each; and when the whole value of the Manor was just three pounds. the second we behold Woolwich raised to the rank of a royal dockyard, and Henry VIII. is personally inspecting, with great and evident satisfaction, the new ship that had been built in it, and named after him, Harry Grace à Dieu, the largest vessel ever built up to its time, 1515. This vessel had a peculiar and unfortunate destiny: she was burnt at the mature age, for ships, of forty years, in the very dockyard where she had been reared. In the third period, we perceive Woolwich, though possessing a royal dockyard,-and which had become still more famous since Henry VIII.'s time, for the excellence of its ship-architecture, as was proved by the vessels of Drake and Hawkins, Cavendish and Frobisher, -remained in all other respects but a comparatively unimportant fishing-village. The three payers of rent of forty-one pence each, had been replaced by one hundred and twelve payers of rates. But this slow progress was soon to be greatly accelerated.

There was then in Moorfields, London, a Royal Foundry, for the casting of brass cannon. This was put into use for an interesting purpose in the year 1716, when such of the cannon taken from the French by Marlborough as had been injured, was to be re-cast. A brilliant assemblage of officers, and other persons of distinction were present; and the process went on apparently in a very proper manner; but there was among the spectators a young German, just out of his apprenticeship, who, according to the custom of the German artisans, was travelling to improve himself in his craft, as a journeyman, before he could be considered at liberty to commence as a master. He noticed what had escaped the eyes, or thoughts, of the artisans and others engaged,-moisture in the moulds. "Fire in the ship" is not a more alarming cry than this in the ears of those who understand the consequences,,—the instantaneous formation of steam in vast XL.-VOL. IV.

volumes, which must explode since it cannot escape. He immediately warned the bystanders, and he did not hesitate also to send a message, through Colonel Armstrong, the Major-general of the Ordnance, to the Duke of Richmond, then the head of the department. It was received with true official superciliousness; and disregarded. So the young German quietly withdrew with his friends. Before long all London was alarmed by a terrible uproar; part of the roof of the Foundry building was blown off, the galleries for the company were broken down, many of the latter were injured, and most of the workmen terribly burnt, while some were killed on the spot. The official mind was now indeed impressed, and acted in a very prompt un-official mode; it advertised for the young German, soon found him, offered him the superintendence of a new foundry, and set him to work to find a more suitable place for its erection than Moorfields. Before long, behold the young German at Woolwich, examining with a critical eye the advantages of the spot,-neighbourhood to London, without being inconveniently near,-on the banks of the Thames, possessing, therefore, ample facilities for shipping and unshipping the cannon,-unoccupied spaces for dangerous operations and tests,—and a delightful country around; so that if in process of time the first institution here should expand, and throw off other institutions, there would be room enough for all to grow and flourish as they pleased. He said to himself, and to the Government "this is the place,”— and so it became.

The last of the four periods we referred to is that in which we live; when in place of the half-desert of the Conqueror's days, or the insignificant fishingvillage and not very busy dockyard of the last century, we look upon a place whose name resounds throughout the world, and with a terrible significance. attached to it, as that from whence issue so many brazen and iron-throated ministers of war, -as being, in short, Britain's chief arsenal, and one of our chief dockyards; to say nothing of the various other corresponding institutions which have grown up around these, and of which we shall presently speak. We must not forget to add, that the population has risen, through the causes indicated, to nearly 40,000, and the yearly rates paid to nearly £12,000.

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A somewhat curious conversation takes place as we enter the Dockyard gateway. Two comfortable-looking policemen confront you, and one of them asks, "What do you want?" "To walk through the dockyard." "Are you a foreigner?" "Certainly not, why do you ask?" "No foreigner can be admitted without an express order from the Master-general, please to step this way." We follow him into the little office close by-enter our names, professions, and residences. The policeman then puts a card into our hand, and lo! the Dockyard-world is before you, and you may wander at your will. Stay, there are exceptions; you must not go into the engine-house, where the steam-engines for the navy are made, without an express order, although the doors move to your touch, and you can glance in without much fear of offence. It is against rules also to engage the attention of the workmen and others scattered about. And there are subordinates so deeply smitten with the sense of duty in carrying out this rule, that they reprimand you for even asking the name of the building in which you happen to be;-not very favourable circumstances for acquiring knowledge, it must be confessed. Having, however, made as good use as we could of the opportunities afforded us, and being aided by two excellent little guides, we trust to be able to indicate to future visitors some of the most interesting points to which their attention should be directed. Passing various dwelling-houses for the officers, and which have a particularly fresh country-village aspect for such a situation, we reach one of the great houses devoted to the smiths' work. Those tall massive machines, supported on two widely-expanding legs, are hammers, which play on corresponding anvils beneath. Watch their work; in yonder corner are masses of old iron, consisting of every conceivable kind of rubbish, built up into squares of two feet or so each way; these are put into the glowing furnaces for half or three-quarters of an hour. And see!—they are now taking one batch from the furnace to the hammer: the intense brightness dazzles your eyes. Two artisans stand before you, why you know not. The half-melted mass is placed on the anvil,-down comes the hammer, crushing the metal into nearly half the space it before occupied, while the brilliant sparks fly in thick showers to an immense distance, and would endanger your own dress but for the kind thoughtfulness of the leathern-clad artisans, who have made themselves your rampart. Presently the whole mass, that was worthless rubbish, is put aside, solid new iron, fit for any purpose.

At another hammer they are preparing iron for ship's knees, and every now and then a piece of glowing metal, some six inches or so thick, is cut through as if it were only a piece of tough cheese. A bar of cold iron, of the size of your wrist, is snapped asunder with little more apparent effort than we should make to divide a stick of sealing-wax. But all this illustrates only the strength of the hammer: ask it, however, to break a nut for you, and not to injure the kernel, and it will do it for you most obligingly. Seriously, we

never saw anything in machinery more beautiful than the life-like manner in which the hammer gradually descends by a series of little flourishes up and down, as though to accommodate itself to the freedom of movement and touch requisite to break the nut properly, before it will venture to touch it at all. This account of Nasmyth's patent hammer may be taken to illustrate generally the exquisite finish and power of the machinery in use here and in the arsenal, in nearly every branch of industry. Our space will not allow us to particularise much. The work, roughly prepared in this shop, is completed in the adjoining one, where between thirty and forty men labour, each having his own furnace and anvil. But where are the bellows, that, unseen, kindle the latent flames at the pleasure of the artisans ?-go to the other side of the wall, into an adjoining place, and you will be satisfactorily answered. Those cylinders, three or four together, are each in fact equivalent to a vast pair of bellows. The pistons moving up and down are perpetually drawing air into their chambers, to send it to another vessel, on the top of which the lid, notwithstanding its weight is above a thousand pounds, dances as elastically as if it took a pleasure in simply amusing itself, instead of being, as it is, very busy, pressing down the air with all its force, in order that it may pass into the adjoining building, and then, through suitable channels, blow every man's fire for him. There is an escape at the back of this last-named chamber, in the shape of a long slit; put your hand against it, and feel for once in a quiet and safe way, the material presence of this power, which manifests itself in storms and tempests. We have spoken of furnaces. One wonders to see no chimney; but an attendant opens a sort of underground Tartarus, which you dare not bend over for above a second or two, so terrible is the glow of the flames rushing through-that is a part of the flue, which connects underground the furnaces with a tall shaft at a great distance, in connection with the saw-mills. Cross over now to these saw-mills. The floor is covered with parallel lines of rails; in the centre of each is a saw-mill. And a very various tribe is that of sawmills. Take these two for instance, side by side. One can cut horizontally, or vertically, or in a circle, or in short, in any way you please. The other is the common circular-saw, but how beautifully it works. There is now a great log of timber, nearly two feet square, advancing with as much ease and quiet through the air, a foot or two above the ground, as if that particular movement was a part of the law of its vegetable life; while, on its side, the saw dashes round with a piercing shriek of enjoyment, cutting its way through the very centre,—and so the bulk which commenced that little movement as one, ends it, a minute or so later, as two. Thirty feet of such timber sawed through in so brief a period is in itself something, but the perfect easiness of the whole proceeding is far more impressive.

Anchors are no longer made in the Dockyard; which has thus lost one of its picturesque spectacles but what is going on may well satisfy the

most inveterate sight-seer. In yonder ship they are building a 50-gun frigate, which it is expected will turn out an unusually beautiful specimen of naval architecture. Here they are erecting an 84. Further on, are two of these grand marine structures, side by side, slowly rising into their perfect states. And what a contrast the one a steamer, which will be mischievous enough, no doubt, to those who venture to meddle with her, but still only a steamer; the other a ship of war of almost fabulous power, which will carry 130 guns, and be of some 3500 tons burthen. The builders of Harry Grace à Dieu, or of the Sovereign of the Seas, which made so much noise in Charles I.'s time, as the greatest ship then known, would be a little astonished to look on this, the Royal Albert, -the largest ship, without exception, in the greatest navy the world has ever seen. What a curious walk it is to ascend the long-continued series of inclined planes, made of rough timbers, which enable you to pass upward from the ground to the edge of the monster's deck. And then to think of the height of the forest of masts and spars that will rise above that again.

As we wander onward the extent of the Dockyard begins by degrees to astonish us; and no wonder, for it is nearly a mile long. The buildings are countless, and no two are alike. We now approach long ranges of workshops with gable roofs: these past,- --we are on the edge of one of the two Dockyard basins, where now lie a couple of packet-boats, steamers, for repair. Looking up we perceive we are standing between two tall mast-like erections, each moving upon an iron joint at the bottom, where the two divide widely, while at top they nearly meet. These are the Shears, and will drop you a new boiler, of any size, into a steamer, or take a mast coolly out from one of the largest ships, at your pleasure. Among the other features of the Dockyard may be briefly enumerated, the Dry-docks, the Parade, where the Royal Dockyard battalion exercise, and where, on summer evenings, a military band, that most spirit- stirring of musical effects, may be often heard; the Guard-house, the Surgery, the Chapel, the Dockyard-school, for apprentices, and the supply of water which comes from a reservoir at the base of Shooter's Hill, a couple of miles or so distant. But ere we quit the Dockyard, there remains one thing to notice, and to dwell on,-a sight of melancholy interest, and which, though we have not before spoken of it, meets one at every turn. Here is a sample :-nine or ten men are dragging a truck with ropes. At first you might not see anything peculiar about them. Their dress is simple,-gray jacket, and trousers, and a sailor's glazed round hat. But do you see their attendants ?-the soldier trailing a musket on one side - the smart keeper, giving his orders on the other. Perhaps, unconsciously, you go a little nearer and look in their faces: then the truth flashes on you -Convicts! Hulks!--Aye; and there is one of the Hulks, on the Thames in front of the Dockyard. But you have gone too near. The soldier warns you "the keeper does not like any one to approach the

convicts." He is quite right, and one's own feelings suggest the warning to be unnecessary, now we know who they are. This is, we repeat, a sight of melancholy interest; and grows more and more so, as you see group after group pass you, occupied in a variety of labours, none of them we fancy really very hard, and certainly none of them degrading; but then the everwatching soldier, with his gleaming weapons,—and the equally vigilant keeper. A continuous hunt without the excitement ;-punishment inexorably dogging the heels of crime.

Let us now bend our steps towards Woolwich Common, passing, on our way, through the streets of the dull town, in one of which we find the Royal Marine Barracks; in this pile some 1500 soldiers can be accommodated, and it has the reputation of being the most commodious place of the kind the army possesses. We now reach the fine breezy common, upon which we enter by means of a couple of iron gates. We have now on the right one end of the magnificent barracks of the Royal Artillery, in front a fine expanse of greensward, crossed diagonally from the left by a line of buildings terminating in the Royal Military Academy, and crowned in the distance by the finely-wooded heights of Shooter's Hill-most appropriate of names! whilst lastly, on the right, the eye is arrested by the tall, tent-like form of the Repository, situated among beautifully picturesque undulating and broken grounds, diversified with fine pine-groups, snatches of water, &c. We will first, then, visit the Repository. Every step now brings some fresh object of interest into view; here is a park of artillery, pointing their dumb, blanklooking, demure mouths at us, and making one shiver to think of the scene they could suddenly raise about us-and possibly yet may raise somewhere or other. A little farther on we see, facing us, a genuine piece of field-fortification, formed of earth, and faced with sods, and having cannons grimly peering out of every embrazure. Here the artillerymen are exercised in their terrible business; here sieges are constantly lost and won-would all sieges were equally bloodless! In the waters of which we have spoken, which lie beyond the Repository, the management of pontoon boats, crossing rivers in the face of an enemy, diving for sunken pieces of ordnance, form the chief exercises. The Repository is peculiarly the show-place of Woolwich, and would be considered, anywhere else, a very striking one; here it is so surrounded by rival attractions, that it suffers a degree of eclipse. By the little field-gate that admits freely all visitors, except the poor foreigner, again stands on each side a sort of Ordnance Cerberus, triple-mouthed, in the shape of a small piece of cannon, containing three distinct bores. These pieces were taken by Marlborough from the French, at Malplaquet. In the centre of the Repositoryground stands a soldier's memento of grateful and proud recollection of their eminent leader-it is an Obelisk, inscribed, "The Royal Regiment of Artillery to Sir Alexander Dickson." Do you ask who he was? look on the other side of the obelisk, and you read a

list of battles, seventeen in number, in which the veteran was engaged; and that list, which begins with Buenos Ayres, ends with Waterloo. Opposite the door of the Repository stands Voltaire,' a magnificent piece of artillery, a trophy from Waterloo, and which is peculiarly interesting to unlearned visitors, as being complete in all its equipments. Close by, just raised above the ground, is a history of British ordnance, which he who runs may read; it consists (apparently) of a perfect set of specimens of our ordnance, from the days of Henry VIII. ("King of England and France," the guns say) down almost to our own time. "Thys Culveryn Bastard weys 2279," one piece remarks. Another informs us it is a "Pierrier," or stone-thrower, and thereby reminds us that cannon-balls were originally made of stone: in a commission given by Richard II. to Sir Thomas Norwich, 1378, the latter was directed to purchase six hundred balls of stone, for cannon and other engines. The extremely beautiful colour of many of these cannon must strike all eyes; it is the softest most exquisite green one can conceive,-the result, of course, of chemical action, and a colour that would be much more agreeable to the antiquary or artist than to the Master-general of the Ordnance, were the pieces for use. The length of one of the pieces is enormous; we should say, measuring by the eye, nearly, if not quite, 15 feet. But, ha! what is this?-the very piece of ordnance that burst in Moorfields, broke down the Foundry, and raised up the fortunes of the young German, Schalch; and who, by the way, lies now in Woolwich church-yard.

The Repository would be a very graceful building, if all idea of consistency were not destroyed by making the lower portion of the tent-like pile (the base, as it were, on which it stands) of brick; but seeing that you only wonder why so apparently fragile and graceful a superstructure was placed upon so solid a foundation. Within, the effect has been still more injured by the truly barbarous idea (if indeed Goth or Vandal can be supposed capable of such a solecism as that) of putting in the centre a thick Doric pillar, whose massive capital just manages to thrust itself into the pointed roof or apex of the tent, having therefore apparently nothing to support. A slender tree-shaft would have been beautiful, and quite as useful, if support were really needed. However, having got the thick Doric pillar, the authorities have made extensive use of it, in mounting upon it all sorts of fancy military ornaments,-conspicuous among which stands the complete armour of Bayard, the knight "sans peur et sans reproche." The object of the Repository is here stated to be for the reception of the "arms and other trophies taken by the British army in Paris, in 1815." The building itself, we are informed, came from the Carlton Gardens, as the gift of the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV., who erected it there as a banquetting-house for the reception of the allied sovereigns on their visit to England. The contents of the Repository are so multifarious as almost to defy any generalisation except the very vague one of relating to warfare, and even that would not include many of the most interesting objects. For instance, under a glass is a cinder, of about six cubic inches.