“The winding of the precipice, (says Gilpin) is the magical secret, by which all these enchanting scenes are produced.” At one point, both above and below, as far as the eye can reach, rolls in majestic windings, the river Wye; at another, the Severn, hastening to meet “its sister river,” is discovered, till at last they are both lost in the Bristol Channel; at another, these scenes are concealed, and thick woods, apparently coeval with time itself, and a long range of rock, burst upon “the wanderer,” with irresistible beauty and attraction. The occasional recurrence also of the rude bench, overshadowed by some umbrageous tree, and concealed from the steep precipice below, by thick underwood, allow only glimpses of the surrounding scenery. The house has received great repairs, and elegantly furnished by the present possessor, Colonel Wood. Every apartment, indeed, has its appropriate embellishments. * * * * * I have thus brought my Tour to a conclusion; a Tour, which has been productive of much amusement, and, I hope, not entirely devoid of advantage: it only remains, therefore, for me to add, that the Two Friends, having completed a pedestrian circuit of near eight hundred miles, parted with mutual regret, jointly exclaiming, “_Cambria_, as thy romantic vales _we_ leave, And bid farewell to each retiring hill, Where fond attention seems to linger still, Tracing the broad bright landscape; much _we_ grieve, That, mingled with the toiling croud, no more _We may_ return thy varied views to mark,” ADDENDA. _Page_ 44. The church of Tenby is a large, handsome, and antique edifice, and several monuments, bearing an ancient date, worthy of notice. On the left of the altar, is one to William Rifam, with the following inscription: Two hundred pounds and 50 more He gave this towne to help the poore. The use of one on cloth and coles bestowe For twelve decrepid mean and lowe. Let 50 pounds to five be yearly lent The other’s use on Burges’ sonne’s be spent. On the same side, is a monument to the memory of John Moore, Esq. who, at the age of fifty-eight, and having by his first wife six sons and ten daughters, fell desperately in love, which not being returned, he died of a consumption, at Tenby: the following epitaph is very allusive to his unfortunate catastrophe: He that from home for love was hither brought, Is now brought home, this God for him hath wrought. Another monument to Morgan Williams: