which yet calls forth the wonderment of the stranger, the common people, believing that it was impossible to have effected such a work without Satanic assistance, gave to the bridge the name of the Devil's Bridge; and this name it is likely to retain. How it was that the more reasonable supposition of the monks being assisted in a useful work, by a more wise and benevolent Being, should have been overlooked, it is hard to say; but it shows the disposition of the time to ascribe any thing wondrous to a diabolical, rather than to a benevolent and almighty agency.

The Devil's Bridge is in Cardiganshire, in North Wales. At the present day, it consists of an arch thrown from rock to rock, over the old bridge; from the centre of this arch, the awe-struck stranger looks down a fearful rift into a dark abyss, more than a hundred feet below. The rift, or chasm, through which the pent-up waters rush with terrible impetuosity, is more than a mile in extent, and its rocky sides are almost perpendicular. "Through the bottom of this abyss the river Mynach pours its roaring tide, hidden from the eye by the deep shade of woods, but bursting upon the ear in the awful 'sound of many waters,' in the thunder of numerous cataracts, leaping from ledge

to ledge, and lashing the hollows of excavated rocks, which reverberate and multiply the

The river Mynach hurls itself headlong in four separate falls, from a height of more than two hundred feet, hurrying on afterwards to meet the scarcely less turbulent waters of the Rheidiol, or Rhydol. Perpendicular rocks,

clothed with beech, oak, and birch trees, and creeping and pendent plants; huge, craggy fragments, loosely scattered here and there; caves, fissures, ponds of crystal water, endless cascades, brushwood, and mighty mountains, meet the eye, and absolutely bewilder the senses of the beholder. Nothing less than an almighty hand could have worked such wonders.

I have gazed from the bridge into the frowning abyss below, at nightfall, when the murky wings of approaching darkness have flung upon it their shadows, clothing with mysterious influence what was before sufficiently fearful. I have stood on the rocky projection, commanding a view of the four falls, the lowest of them a depth of three hundred and twenty feet from the arch of the bridge, gazing with terrible delight on the arresting scene; and I have forced through the spray where the Rhydol leaps down from the hills in a noble cataract to receive its

tributary, and stood on the slippery ledge; the rock behind, and the crystal curtain of the transparent waterfall before me. A chamber of molten glass! A fairy creation! But no; let me rather say, a creation of almighty hands, even the workmanship of Him who is "glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders!" Exod. xv. 11. I have climbed the adjacent mountains, from their bulky bases to their cloudcapped heights, entranced with admiration; and where am I now?

I have descended the precipitous rift at the foot of the bridge down to the rushing flood, the boiling cataract that is forcing itself a rocky pathway through the narrow rift. As yet I have a steady foot, and firm brain; how long will these blessings be allowed me? Here such visitors as have nerve stand, as it were, "in the heart of the earth," and marvel at the solitary gloominess and terrific grandeur of the place; but I am greedy of gratification, and have ventured farther, from pointed rock to slippery crag, even to the middle of the roaring flood; a slip, and I should be carried away as a flake on the foaming waters. The solitude, the gloom, the rugged rift, or colossal crack in the huge rock towering above me, the infuriated waters, the resounding roar, the fantastic wildness, the over

whelming solemnity, and the extreme novelty of the scene, are dreadfully delightful. Even here I am trying to pencil down my emotions; but I cannot. I have no business in so dangerous a spot, and will therefore quit it for a safer standing place. There! now I am secure. Pleased,

more

astonished, awed, and humbled, let me beware lest the glories of the natural creation be a snare to me. How many a lover of nature has been an idolater, worshipping "the creature than the Creator!" "The Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods. In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also. O come, let us sing unto the Lord let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation," Psa. xcv. 1, 3, 4.

WARWICKSHIRE RAMBLES.

It is very sweet to ramble in country places, especially if you have been a long time confined to the city or town; for then the sun appears brighter, the trees greener, and the breeze more balmy and refreshing.

When the heart is rightly toned, it is, as it were, a full cup of thankfulness, which the sight of country scenes makes to run over with praise to the Father of mercies, for the blessings he has so bountifully scattered in our paths.

It may be, that the reader of these remarks may be well acquainted with the fair fields, the fine homesteads, and the beautiful oaks and elms of Warwickshire; he may have wandered, as I did last summer, through the attractive scenery in the neighbourhood of Leamington, and visited the villages around; but if so, he will not, perhaps, object to a retrospective glance; he will not refuse this friendly invitation, to share