At a bend of the road we digress into a hollow seductive lane that meanders, in nonchalant fashion, around the head of a tidal inlet; thence our by-way beguiles us, by moss-grown stepping-stones, across a tinkling rill that wantons in rippling eddies amidst big red sandstone boulders, where ivy and hartstongue fern have made their home. Onwards we pursue this secluded lane, under the cool shade of an overhanging coppice; here the deep, ruddy soil is shot with purple hues, from the blue sky mirrored in each shallow puddle left by last night's rain. In every shadowy nook wreaths of fairy gossamer glisten, like frosted silver, amidst the emerald green of the hedgerow. The merry pipe of linnet and piefinch sounds cheerily forth as we pass along; while that quaint little fellow, the nuthatch, utters his unmistakeable note (resembling the ring of skates on the ice), as he flits from tree to tree. Working his way head-downwards, in his own peculiar fashion, he searches trunk and branches for his favourite fare; striking with his long, sturdy beak, and steadying himself by the purchase of his outspread tail. Now and again we catch a glimpse of a smart goldfinch, and presently discover his pretty nest, with eggs lying warm and cosy; while sober little wrens flit briskly in and out under the bushes. Even the nightingale, though a _rara avis_ in these parts, has, this phenomenal season, been heard in the woods near Cresselly. The following tradition explains how these little songsters came to shun the county of Pembroke. It appears that St. David, 'being seriously occupyed in the night tyme in his diverse orizons, was soe troubled with the swete tuninges of the Nightingall as that he praied unto th' Almightie that, from that tyme forward, there might never a Nightingall sing within his Dioces; and this was the cause of confininge of the bird out of this countrey. Thus much,' remarks the chronicler, 'to recreat the reader's spirettes.' Presently as we rise the hill a broad, land-locked bay opens out to the briny Haven at Pennar Mouth. In the words of that quaint chronicler, George Owen: 'This is the creke that cometh upp to Pembroke towne. It is the largest and greatest creke of al Milforde, and passeth upp into the land a three Myle and more; and at the upper End it parteth itself in two Branches, and compasseth about the Towne and castle of Pembroke; serving the said Towne for a moate, or strong Ditch, on every side thereof. A Bark of 40 or 50 Tonnes may enter this Creke att low water, and ride at Ankher att Crowpoole, but noe further without helpe of ye Tyde. The Crow is a shallow, or shelf, a pretty way within the entrance of Pennar; on itt groweth the best Oysters of Milforde. It is a big and sweete Oyster,' saith he, 'and poore folk gather them without dredging.'