of a "good-natured useful creature," listener-general to long stories, laugher-in-chief to dull ones, the very pink of genteel poverty and smiling insignificance, it pleased some good old uncle, in the West Indies, of whose existence I had not been previously aware, to die, and leave me a property sufficient to render me "somebody" for life; and so change (as by magic) the estimation in which every one held me, that there are times when I doubt my personal identity. Surely, I have said, he who is now considered a "good partner" for fair and portioned dames, a "delightful addition to a party," whose jokes produce laughter, whose troubles excite sympathy, who can positively afford to be slovenly and outré, and play a thousand pranks, for any one of which he would formerly have been smothered, cannot be one and the same with the "good-natured useful creature,”—the being made up of smiles and civility, the "nobody" of ten years ago.

Candour and confession is the literary fashion of the day: I, therefore, will be candid and confess. I confess, then, that the neglect which fell to my share, when slenderly endowed with this world's goods, has not rendered me meek and forgiving, now that I am a gentleman

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of independent fortune." I confess, that money appears less valuable in my eyes, as a means of procuring pleasure, than as a means of paying off, at once, the heavy scores of pain which my fellows have inflicted on me. I confess, that I ought to feel cordially towards the men who made me their butt, when I occupied the " corner," that I ought to do homage to the women who fagged me one hour, and cut me the next;-but I confess, that I do neither the one nor the other! I confess that it gives me less pleasure to preside over a good table, than it does to prevent my "old friends" (so my former tyrants term themselves) having a seat at it ;-and that I have less delight in riding in my own carriage, than, on meeting some formerly haughty, and now smiling Dulcinea, to pass, and "make no sign." I confess, that I am a great bear. I confess, that the whole of these confessions are little to my credit, but I confess them to be, nevertheless, true.

And now, reader, with one word of advice, farewell. If you are "Somebody," remember that the merest "Nobody" may arrive at like distinction, and repay with usurious interest, all the insults he may have received at your hands. If again, you ever encounter any one particularly grand and self important,-hard to be pleased at inns, prone to quarrel with his dinner,-lofty in his conversation in stage coaches, and altogether "particularly detestable,"-make up your mind that he has been A NOBODY for at least ten years of his life!

ALTHOUGH I was never a great admirer of old Isaac Walton and his brethren of the angle, or took much delight in rambling "from morn till dewy eve," along the banks of the river, for the sole purpose of catching a supper, which I could procure at half the expense of the shoe-leather I should wear out, yet I had not such a decided aversion to the "sport," (a misnomer with respect to myself,) as to be deterred from threading the scenes of my childhood, in a character which I, then at least, not unfrequently assumed. The sports of our younger days are exhaustless sources of melancholy reflections to maturer years, especially when we attempt, by repeating them, to persuade ourselves that we are partaking anew of our earlier pleasures. In vain does man seek to cheat himself into a belief of that which he wishes to be true, namely, that time has gone over him, and yet effected no alteration in the feelings of his heart. Experience teaches us that we cannot continue stationary; and ultimately we must acknowledge, however reluctantly, that every thing was formed for change, even the inanimate things which surround us. How often will the real landscape vary from the picture which had been delineated upon the tablet of the memory some twenty years before! A change in the lords of the soil occasions, not unfrequently, a strange metamorphosis in its appearance. Oh! I have, ere now, sought in vain for my favourite retreat in the sunny seasons of youth: the merciless scythe of improvement had been there, and the spot had assumed a strangely altered aspect. Some luxuriant and majestic oak, hallowed by a thousand recollections, and round which my brightest thoughts would collect themselves as if round a centre of gravity, had totally disappeared, and left a void in the mind and in the landscape. Who that has been nursed "far in the windings of a vale,” and spent his thoughtless days amid nature's scenes of loveliness, hath not felt similar disappointment, and uttered his malison upon the unfeeling author of each alteration? But for the changes which the "spoiler's hand" has effected, he, mayhap, fancies that he might have still tasted of the sweets of youth, forgetting that his own palate is vitiated, and willing to attribute his apathy to any other cause than the real one. But I must leave my feelings, and return.

I have already told my readers, that I entertain but a very so so opinion of the art of snaring the "little naiads" of the stream: what wonder then if I soon forgot

The well dissembled fly,
The rod, fine tapering with elastic spring,

and all the other paraphernalia which go to the formation of "a genuine brother of the angle." I did as much injury to the finny tribes as the urchin fisher at the New River Head, who watches his motionless float through the live-long day, with a patience that would bespeak him to be a lineal descendant of Job. Than fishing, the clear streams of the Ogmore had far other charms for me; and as, while I slowly crept along its banks, my fly sunk into the water instead of skipping lightly over its surface, or got entangled among the willows or the blackberry bushes, I soon grew weary of my "sport," and feeling convinced that I was not in the fishing vein, I wound up my line, and took my rod to pieces.

Being freed from the angler's trammels, I mended my pace, and in a few minutes was in the midst of the most wild and romantic of the haunts of my boyhood. A collection of huge mis-shapen rocks, over and between which the mountain torrent of the Ogmore flowed, pointed out the scene of many a juvenile exhibition of courage and agility. Here it was that both were put to the test, as the stripling leaped from one huge mass to another with an air of boyish triumph. Certain traces which could not be mistaken, informed me that the dangerous exercise which erst delighted me, was still continued by those who had become my successors, who also, in their turn, were destined to be succeeded, in a few short years, by another, and, as yet, unborn generation.

Above me, and around, an immense cliff presented its naked front to the perpetual action of the wind and waters; on its summit a forest of ancient elms waved their branches in all the luxuriance of summer, and by intercepting the free passage of the sun's rays, cast a twilight gloom over the scene beneath. In different parts of the cliff I beheld the dark retreats of the poachers of the stream; frequently have I seen them issue at midnight from the caverns which abound in its sides, and steal from crag to crag, with their lighted wisps, alluring the incautious salmon within the reach of their fatal trident. It is surprising to behold the skill and dexterity which some of these fishermen exhibit in their illegal pursuit; the faint reflections of their wisp will enable them to spear their prey at a distance of several yards, when the intended victim is invisible to all other eyes; and so sure is their aim, that they are very seldom known to miss. With many of these haunts the village bards have made very free, and they form a prominent feature in the 'Legendary Lore' of the surrounding neighbourhood. As all the stories have a great similarity with each other, I shall content myself with relating one of them, which, however, may be taken "as a sample for all the rest." Some "cunnynge" critic will perhaps prove it to be borrowed from the German, or at least ascertain that it originates in the barbarous mythology of Scandinavia ;-I care not; I give as I received it; for

Oft have I heard the fearful tale,
From Sue and Roger of the vale,
On some long winter's night.

As, however, it has been hitherto "a tale without a name," I will, with my reader's permission, christen it with that of the cavern in which the events it relates principally occur; namely, THE Devil's Gorge.

A place not improperly denominated, if any place" in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth," can be said to deserve such a title of terror. Even now, while attempting its description, I feel a passing tremor steal over me, akin to that which I invariably experienced when gazing upon the frightful and appalling reality. The lower entrance (that through which the water rushed) to this gloomy cave, was about six feet square, if we may use such a term for that which was perfectly shapeless; and presented, from the opposite side of the river, a somewhat sublime appearance, as the waters, dashing from one huge mass of rock to another, were driven back again into the main stream, or hurried impetuously forward through the ever-open "jaws of death." For the distance of many yards around this fatal opening, the ruggedness of its bed kept the river in a state of continual and fearful agitation, which, when swelled by the mountain rains, gave it the appearance of the ocean itself when tossed by conflicting winds; the eye beholds only one immense sheet of foam, and the ear is sensible of no other sound than that of the boisterous breakers. At the height of twenty or thirty feet above the river, was another and more spacious entrance, attained without much danger, save to persons of weak nerves, by ascending a rude, though secure ledge of rocks. From this point the deep cavern became visible. At the first gaze, a place of utter darkness was alone perceived, though after the eye had accustomed itself to the sight, the "blackness of darkness" disappeared, and a scene of perfect sublimity, (if the theory of Burke is valid) became dimly distinguishable. A rude and irregular flight of steps, or rather of huge stepping stones, stood proffering their assistance to the inquisitive and fearless adventurer who wished to explore the secrets of the perilous abyss, while a feeble glimmering of light, issuing from below, seemed, like the rays of hope, to invite him onward. After a descent of ten or twelve yards, the spacious cavern opened upon the view. The supply of light received through the openings in the rocks above, and reflected again by several masses of spar into every part of this subterranean dwelling, gave it a most unearthly aspect, heightened, as this effect was, by the sullen roar of the stream which ran through its centre, and which had now exchanged its tumultuous for a more silent but scarce less destructive course. Unlike the foam of ocean, it now rushed along its well-worn bed, black as the fabled waters of Avernus. Its race was short, and it fell with a loud noise into the Devil's Gorge, a huge basin at the end of the cavern, where it was lost for ever.

I have deemed it necessary to be thus minute in my description of this place, for three reasons-First, because I wished to convey to my reader some idea, however faint, of the principal scene in the tradition I am about to relate. Secondly, because it is probable I may have occasion to refer to it again in some future paper; and thirdly, because I have never seen it described in any of the "thousand and one" travels which undertake to give an account of every natural and artificial curiosity in this part of the land, from the minute pebble on the sea shore to the gigantic mountains of Ereri.

Having premised thus much, let me reconduct the gentle reader, though but for a moment, to the open air and clear sky. In some remote period of "the good old times."-Tradition, however careful of

events, pays but little regard to dates and chronological appendages,the course of the Ogmore ran for some miles through the princely domains of the Lord Villemorris, a name once well known, though at present rarely pronounced, except in connexion with some local legend, or story of the olden time. This hero of the regions of romance, unlike many of his compeers in time and circumstance, was possessed of principles which did honour to their possessor. He was generous in the extreme, and his valour is even still the theme of song; and yet he was pacific! a trait of character which, in the feudal ages, was seldom found united with courage, where the latter had the means of displaying itself. Those over whom he was placed in authority, found in him a gentle master. His vassals were ever welcome to his board, and in the wide circuit of his possessions, one place alone was forbidden them-it was the DEVIL'S GORGE. With all his princely virtues, Villemorris was highly superstitious, and gave full credit to the idle tales which were current, many of them relating to the above cavern. It was then stated to be the abode of demons, or of those with whom they held communion; and the hoarse sounds which, in the present day, are attributed to the proper cause, were then ascribed to an infernal power. The generous chieftain yielded the more ready belief to these stories of 66 gorgons and monsters and chimeras dire," from one of his own ancestors having perished in the fatal cave, whose frail bark, in evil hour, was sucked into the current, and its master precipitated into eternity.

Villemorris came into possession of his hereditary domains while yet a mere stripling; and, ere the years of his minority were expired, he received as his bride, the "lovely lady of the peerless brow," such was the romantic epithet bestowed upon the daughter of a neighbouring chief, whose name has not been so fortunate as to escape the all grasping talons of oblivion. Tradition knows her only as the Lady Villemorris, her maiden name having shared the same fate as that of her sire.

Not many months after their union, the Castle of Villemorris was visited by a gallant stranger, who, in evil hour for its peaceful possessors, sought shelter behind its walls. Sir Hugh Mathraval was a knight of fame, not fortune. He had been frequently engaged, as knights were wont, in the princely tournament, and had shared the honours of many a well fought field. His bearing was such as became one who "had been brought up in the English court," and he might have almost stood for the representative of chivalry, adorned as that character is with all the ideal creations of romance. But with these "outward and visible signs" of true nobility, his soul was tinctured with the vice of covetousness; and this unprincely passion took at times such strong hold upon him as to make every other give way before it, while it reigned sole monarch of his breast, and controlled the events of his life. This passion it was that gave birth to a design of the most consummate ingratitude. He had not spent many days at the mansion of the young and hospitable Villemorris, when he entertained the thought of becoming lord of his fair domains. Yet how to accomplish so wild a design? Gold might assist him! but Sir Hugh, we have already said, was a knight of fame, not fortune. Possession of this last was not, however, quite hopeless, he listened with avidity to the following vague prophecy, the truth of which he determined to ascertain.