less striking than St. David's, and still more deficient in the vast extent of episcopal and collegiate buildings which go so far to produce the general effect of the latter, has nothing of the strangely awful character derived from the position of St. David's. The richer character of the country round, the neighbourhood of a large and busy town, take off much from the wild majesty which is so distinctive of St. David's. Without the utter desolation of the surrounding country, and the entire separation from all traces of man besides its own narrow world, a large portion of the stern charm of ancient Menevia' would be completely lost. The effect of Llandaff is a mixture of that of a ruined abbey and that of an ordinary parish church. St. David's, standing erect amid desolation, alike in its fabric and its establishment, decayed but not dead, neglected but never entirely forsaken, still remaining in a corner of the world, with its services uninterrupted in the coldest times, its ecclesiastical establishment comparatively untouched, is, more than any other spot, a link between the present and the past; nowhere has the present so firm and true a hold upon the past. Ruin and desolation speak of what has been, but not ruin and desolation alone: it still lives its old life, however feebly; all is uninterrupted retention, without change or restoration: the light first kindled by its original patriarch may have often shone but feebly in the darkness, may even now only glimmer in the socket, but it still remains one and unextinguished; it has never at any moment required to be rekindled from any new or extraneous source.

"Nothing can be more striking than the sudden descent from the mean streets of the decayed village upon the magnificent remains of ecclesiastical splendour which lie below. Passing through the strong gateway of the Close, already mentioned, and hereafter to be more fully described, the spectator at once beholds the whole length of the Cathedral stretched immediately at his feet, backed to the west by the superb ruins of the episcopal palace, and with the bleak and strongly marked hills which impart so much character to the general prospect rising behind the main fabric. This is undoubtedly the most striking view to be obtained on a first approach by daylight. The view from the north-east has its advantages, as it exhibits more varied grouping by taking in the noble ruins of St. Mary's College and the tall pile of the chapter-house and the buildings connected with it; but this aspect does not in the same manner take in the whole church, and it requires the spectator to go round some part of the building to reach it, so that it can never be a first impression. A more extensive view from a higher point in the same direction takes in the palace and a large portion of the Cathedral; but even this does not give the whole length of the latter; and though

it may be a first approach, it is not likely to be so. The other most usual approach, from the south-west, is, what certainly nothing else about St. David's is, decidedly common-place; as it brings into prominence only the least striking and beautiful features of the church, though introducing by far the best opportunity for a general view of the palace. But the most impressive time and point from which the Cathedral can be viewed is from the north-west by moonlight; none other so strongly brings out the strange mixture of past and present, the sort of 'life-in-death' of the whole scene. Besides the usual character of vast buildings seen under such circumstances, there are several points which render this part of the church peculiarly adapted for inspection at such a time. Architecturally speaking, it is the worst and meanest aspect of the Cathedral itself, although a noble one indeed for the College ruins. The chief features are the modern west front, and the north side of the nave, in itself the poorest portion of the church, and which, at a later period, has had its falling walls supported by vast and uncouth props of masonry. But night throws its pall over the technical deficiencies even of Nash himself, and brings out the real grandeur and solidity of outline which cannot be denied to his otherwise hideous composition; while the effect of vastness and rugged majesty imparted to the dark irregular masses of the supporting buttresses effectually removes any ill-will which they may have incurred by day. To the east the view is shut in-which adds. greatly to the effect-by the north transept and some portions of the College buildings, the central tower, now no longer an object either for constructive or æsthetical criticism, rising commandingly above them; while the group is finished to the north by the tall shell of the College Chapel, the lack of tracery not now so keenly felt in its large windows, and its slender tower assuming a dignity which it does not possess by day; the whole, by its wonderful intermixture of ruined with perfect buildings, and the bold and striking character of its outlines, producing an effect which fabrics of far greater architectural magnificence cannot in any degree rival. Salisbury by moonlight is yet more graceful and lovely, Winchester more grand and awful, than either is by day; but they cannot at all compete with the strange and unique charm of St. David's. They are still buildings, palpably and unmistakably the works of man, and suggesting only the ideas naturally raised by the noblest of his productions; but St. David's almost assumes the character of a work of nature; the thoughts of man and his works, even the visions of fallen state and glory, are well nigh lost in the forms of the scene itself, hardly less than in gazing on the wild cliffs from whence its materials were first

hewn, and whose spirit they would seem, even when wrought by the hand of man, to have refused utterly to cast away."

The exterior, however, but very inadequately represents the architectural beauties of the structure; and obvious reasons for this are pointed out in the work before us :

"But viewing the building more directly as a work of art, it must be confessed that externally this Cathedral presents no great display of architectural magnificence. This indeed is only the natural and necessary result of its position: exposed as the church constantly is to the blasts of the ocean, external ornament would have been worse than useless; the decoration, therefore, which on the outside could only have had the effect of presenting decay in its least pleasing form, is wisely confined to the interior. The church is, in point of size, one of the second order, that is as compared with English buildings, for among existing Welsh churches, it is altogether without a competitor; as Llandaff, the only one which at all approaches it in size, though fully equal to St. David's in the architectural merit of its several parts, is not conceived so strictly on the genuine cathedral type.

Perhaps there is no church of the same size which exhibits that type so thoroughly developed in every respect, except one which has no influence on its external appearance. In point of complication of ground-plan it ranks with-perhaps surpassesWinchester or St. Alban's; and the profusion of chapels and surrounding buildings has the advantage of restoring that varied and picturesque effect which might otherwise have been lost by the absence of any high-pitched roof. Besides the ordinary parts of a cruciform church, a succession of three chapels of inferior height is added to the east end of the choir, and the aisles of the latter are continued along then during a great portion of their extent. To the east face of the north transept is attached a lofty building of three stages, containing the chapter-house and other apartments. This erection, which is, excepting of course the tower, the highest portion of the whole pile, naturally forms the most prominent feature in the eastern view, and imparts much variety and singularity to the outline. And as this same transept, at present at least, is connected with the ruined chapel of St. Mary's College, another extensive range is added to the main fabric, from which it can hardly be considered as architecturally distinct."

Merthyr Tydvil, May, 1856.

THOMAS STEPhens.

(To be continued.)

VOL. III.

2 B

MAELGWN'S ENEMY.

By LADY MARSHALL.

(Continued from page 73.)

MAELGWN is in his hall enthroned-
His hall that looks across the sea-
Six realms that his dominion owned
Sent homage on the duteous knee.

When heard was every embassage,

And many a suitor, great and small,
A woman bent 'neath rags and age
Came tottering up the princely hall.
Some broken accents from her dropped,
But what their purport none could tell,
And as before the king she stopped,
Not on her knees, but dead she fell.

Then over Maelgwn came a change,
As down he looked upon the dead :
Quoth he, "What means this woman strange,
And stranger thing that she hath said?"

Then swore they all they ne'er before
Had seen her face, and none had heard
Of what she muttered on the floor,

As down she dropped, a single word.

"Nay," cried Maelgwn, "her accents fell
And that astounding thing revealed,
To me as loud and clear as bell

To prayer, or trumpet calls to field.

"And this it was- A thing shall rise From out of Morfa Rhianedd, With yellow hair and yellow eyes,

And swallow Maelgwn Gwynedd!'"

Then looked the attendants each on each,

Though much amazed, they dared not smile

No sound distinct they heard of speech,

And mused what could the king beguile.

Maelgwn is kneeling on the ground,
Before the holy altar stair,-

His side unsworded-head uncrowned-
His hands uplifted-lips in prayer.

The vanquisher of man and beast,
In this, the sanctuary, flies

His sole unconquered foe-the Pest,
Which from Rhianedd Marsh took rise.

He thought in sacred solitude

From contact foul to keep aloof : On pain of death must none intrude―

His scanty meal comes through the roof.

And when the march of Death was o'er,
And all the region round was well,
As sign that he might ope his door,
He gave command to ring a bell.

Three months the pestilence hath raged:
With old and young-with great and small,
Hath Death the fearful battle waged,

And come victorious off with all.

Lo! widowed spouses-childless sires-
Ungathered harvests-lands unheired-
Deserted halls-extinguished fires
Attest the Power that never spared.

At every hour-by night-by day—
At work-at rest-at board-at prayer—
Within the home and by the way,

No time-no place-but Death is there!

The Bride before the altar bends

And half her plighted vows are made, When, lo! the missioned bolt descends, Upon her young and rose-crowned head!

Unconscious infants at the breast

Of their dead mothers sleeping lay;
While on the other side would feast
Some loathsome bird or beast of prey.

But even Death's devouring jaws
Must be obedient, more or less,

To Nature's universal laws

Which make fatigue succeed excess.