The town of Monmouth lies too low to form a grand appearance from the water, but is, in itself, neat and well-built, and pleasantly situated on the banks of the Wye. As we repaired to our inn, we were both involuntarily led to take a retrospect of the past amusements of the day. The partial gleams of sunshine had given additional tints to the rich and bold scenery, and every thing had conspired to render it a most interesting aquatic excursion. The variety of scenes which Claude would have selected, had he now existed, for his canvass; with rapture, too, would he have caught the tints, and with the happiest effect combined the objects into a picture; kept up our attention, and removed that sameness which too often accompanies water excursions. Such has been the pleasure of our first day’s water expedition; and from the impression it made on us we eagerly looked forward to some future period when we may again retrace views which memory will ever hold dear, and the pleasure be then redoubled with the remembrance of past occurrences. Opposite the Beaufort Arms, the most convenient inn in the town, is the town-house, handsomely built, with a full-length statue on the outside, facing the street, with this inscription under it: “Henry the Fifth, born at Monmouth, August the ninth, 1387.” On the birth of this warlike and virtuous prince, the charter was granted to the town of Monmouth; it is governed by a mayor, two bailiffs, fifteen aldermen, nine constables, two serjeants, and two beadles. The castle now bears few vestiges of its former grandeur; and of the regal dome scarcely a wreck has escaped, through the long lapse of years, and the ravages of time: where a mighty king once gave audience, and where vassals knelt, now assemble the animate appendages of a farm-yard.