atron, the owner of a vast number
of donkies, and two or three ragged urchins, who acted as the Widdicombs
of the cavalcade, we committed all the younkers for an hour's joy,
between the turnpike and back, and betook ourselves to a seat at the
ledge of the cliff, and "gazed with ever new delight" at the noble
landscape literally at our feet. But the hour quickly passed; the
donkeys resigned their load; and we slid, as safely as could be
expected, down the inclined plane that conducted us to the York. We did
not experiment upon the turtle-soup, as we had been advised to do at the
Royal Western, but some Bristol salmon did as well; and after a long
consultation about boats, and breakfast at an early hour, we found we
had got through our day, and that hitherto the journey had offered
nothing but enjoyment.

The morning lowered; and, heavily in clouds, but luckily without rain,
we effected our embarkation, at eight o'clock, on board the Wye--a
spacious steamer that plies every day, according to the tide, between
Bristol and Chepstow. We were a numerous crew, and had a steady captain,
with a face so weather-beaten that we concluded his navigation had not
been confined to the Severn sea. The first two or three miles of our
course was through the towering cliffs and wooded chasms we had admired
from the Clifton Down. For that part of its career, the Avon is so
beautiful, and glides along with such an evident aim after the
picturesque, that it is difficult to believe it any thing but an
ornamental piece of water, adding a new feature to a splendid landscape;
and yet this meandering stream is the pathway of nations, and only
inferior in the extent of its traffic to the Thames and Mersey. The
shores soon sink into commonplace meadows, and we emerge into the
Severn, which is about five miles wide, from the mouth of the Avon to
that of the Wye. All the way across, new headlands open upon the view;
and, far down the channel, you catch a glimpse of the Flat Holms, and
other little islands; while in front the Welsh hills bound the prospect,
at a considerable distance, and form a noble background to the rich,
wooded plains of Monmouthshire, and the low-lying shore we are
approaching. Suddenly you jut round an enormous rock, and find yourself
in a river of still more sylvan gentleness than the Avon. The other
passengers seemed to have no eyes for the picturesque--perhaps they had
seen the scenery till they were tired of it; and some of t