Laugharne castle, though not very extensive, and not generally striking for picturesque disposition, has a noble aspect toward the town. The foundation of this Castle is not transmitted to us in the Welch annals, but is, doubtless, of high antiquity; it was occupied, and probably built, by the Normans and Flemings on their conquest of these parts; afterwards, in the year 1215, it was besieged and taken by Llewelyn: Leland says, “it longid some time to the Earl of Northumberland.” An interesting ride, upon a high boundary of the sea, brought us into PEMBROKESHIRE, at a place called New Inn. In this progress, extensive views ranging over the Bristol channel were continual; but one _coup d’œil_, High from the summit of a craggy cliff Hung o’er the deep— was eminently striking! magnificently beautiful! The whole sweep of Caermarthen bay, with its several estuaries, high cliffs, and swelling shores, appeared beneath us, extending in one direction to the extreme point of Gower, and in the other to the isle of Caldy in Pembrokeshire; at the latter termination, the picturesque whitened town of Tenby, romantically built on a tongue of rock projecting into the sea, seemed issuing from the waves. From the grand amphitheatre of this bay, the eye roamed, over a vast tract of sea, to the shores of Somerset and Devon, hear fifty miles distant, faintly penciled on the horizon, and terminated by the advancing swell of Lundy Island. Further westward, the setting sun appeared in conjunction with the sea, there widening into the Atlantic Ocean; its golden effulgence glittered in reflexion from the waves, and diffused itself over the whole scenery: numerous barks in the bay, sailing on different tacks, caught partial gleams of illumination; and a large fleet of ships, entering the channel at a remote distance, seemed little more than dusky spots on the glistening expanse: the _tout ensemble_ formed one of the most pleasing marine pictures that I ever saw.—The sea, viewed under its ordinary circumstances, from a _low_ situation, engages little interest; the angle of vision is then intersected by the aqueous segment at the distance of four or five miles; and, with little more breadth of water than one meets with in a river or lake, the prospect finishes in a mere hard line. The case is far otherwise when it is viewed from a high mountain, particularly if that mountain be a bold promontory, and the view bursts upon the spectator on a sudden: a world of waters then meets his astonished sight; the immense object presses on his mind an inconceivable emotion; and an image is at once stamped of the genuine sublime. Filled with the vast idea, he contemplates with awe and veneration the magnitude of his Creator’s works, and sinks into a proper estimate the puny achievements of man.