Plas Newydd.—Castell Dinas Brân.—Valle Crucis Abbey.—Pillar of Eliseg.—Vale of the Dee.—Corwen.—Route to Llandrillo.—Vale of Edeyrnion.—Arrival at Bala.
“I crossed in its beauty the Dee’s druid water,The waves as I passed rippled lonely and lone,For the brave on their borders had perished in slaughter,The noble were banished, the gifted were gone.”W.Wiffen.
“I crossed in its beauty the Dee’s druid water,The waves as I passed rippled lonely and lone,For the brave on their borders had perished in slaughter,The noble were banished, the gifted were gone.”
W.Wiffen.
Iwasdreaming of home, and happiness, and a thousand lovely things, when I was awakened by my new acquaintance, who stood before me dressed for a sturdy walk. “A lovely morning,” said my companion, rubbing his hands with much delight; “come, bustle, bustle, my young friend; you are not in London, now. Permit me to open the lattice; you will find no perfume at your chamber window in town like this; and, as he spoke, he flung open the casement, and a rush of fragrance poured into the room from hundreds of roses that clustered upon the wall without; nor was my friend at all deficient in praising its sweetness, for, taking a long breath, he stood, for a moment, with his mouth wide open, and then sent forth a sigh, long enough to form a bridge over the river for the fairies to cross upon.
“Shall we breakfast before we set out upon our ramble? I think we had better give orders for it,and visit the cottage where Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby so long resided, while it is preparing.”
This being agreed to, we gave directions for a breakfast, that would enable us to undergo the subsequent fatigue with cheerfulness, and then struck into the road for Plas Newydd. This memorable little dwelling is pleasantly situated upon a rising knoll, and commands a delightful prospect of mountain scenery.
Font in the Grounds of Plâs Newydd
The front of the cottage is ornamented with an oaken palisade, curiously carved with grotesque figures, giving a very tasty and aristocratic appearance to the building. At the back of the house is a neat grass plot, with a birdcote, where the robins find a grateful shelter in the winter season, and where the ladies fed them every morning. It is surrounded with a fence of evergreens. From thence, the gardener conducted us under an archway, to a very pleasant and winding path, which leads to a well-stocked fruit garden. We then descended by a shady walk, arched over with tall trees, to the primrose vale, through which a refreshing stream rushes over rocks, where the sun but rarely gilds it with its beams. It is a delightful cool retreat, and well calculated to awaken the dormant spirit of poesy, in any heart where it had ever deigned to dwell. We passed over a rustic bridge which led us to the verandah, from which we had a fine view of the valley, and the Pengwern and Berwyn Mountains; and then proceeding a little farther up the glen, we seated ourselves opposite a most picturesque font, brought hither from the ruinsof Valle Crucis, by the late proprietors of this spot. It is enclosed in a small arched niche, and supplied with the purest water from a murmuring rill, which falls in a thin stream into the bowl, a draught from which is an exquisite treat—forwaterdrinkers.
The flower garden is laid out with great taste, and the little circular dairy, sunk in the ground, on the left at the front entrance, gives a most pleasing and picturesque effect. Altogether it is a place to which any person, wearied with the bustle of society, would willingly fly for refuge, and find repose.
Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby were young ladies of beauty and rank, who loved each other with so true an affection that they could never bear the afflicting idea of a separation which the marriage of either might occasion. They, therefore, resolved upon lives of celibacy, refusing many handsome offers, and remaining deaf to the persuasions of their friends, they retired to the beautiful Vale of Llangollen to enjoy the happiness of each other’s company, that as their friendship began in infancy it might be perpetuated through life.
These celebrated ladies were the pride of Llangollen for more than half a century, and by their numerous charities and general kindness of disposition, had endeared themselves to the hearts of the whole neighbourhood. It is worthy of remark that during the long period of their residence in Wales, they never, for a single night slept from home. They occasionallyvisited the theatres at Wrexham and Oswestry, on charitable occasions, or when a “star” was engaged; but their invariable custom was to return home after the performances, whatever might be the state of the weather.
In the lively Memoirs of the late Mr. Charles Matthews, the celebrated comedian, is the following description of “the Ladies of Llangollen,” but it must be remembered that at that time
“Age, with stealing, stealing steps,Had clawed them in his clutch.”“Oswestry, Sept. 4, 1820.“The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh! such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for the first ten minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never seen them, I instantly knew them. As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men’s coats, and regular black beaver hats. They exactly looked like two respectable superannuated clergymen.”
“Age, with stealing, stealing steps,Had clawed them in his clutch.”
“Oswestry, Sept. 4, 1820.
“The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh! such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for the first ten minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never seen them, I instantly knew them. As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men’s coats, and regular black beaver hats. They exactly looked like two respectable superannuated clergymen.”
In returning through the churchyard we passed the monument to the memory of Lady Eleanor Butler, Miss Ponsonby, and their faithful servant, Mary Carroll.
The church is of considerable antiquity, but has very little left of architectural beauty; some fine carvings on the roof and in the interior still attest its former consequence. It is noteworthy, however, inasmuch as the remains of the saint to whom it is dedicated areburied under its sacred roof. Pennant gives his name in full, which isSaint Collen ab Gwynnawg,ab Clydawg,ab Cowrda,ab Caradog Vreicvhras,ab Llyr Merim,ab Einion Yrth,ab Cunedda Wledig, byEthni Wyddeles, daughter toMatholwch, lord ofCwl, in the kingdom ofIreland.
We now returned with good appetites to do justice to the fare provided by our host of the Hand, and here I was first destined to hear the sounds of the Welsh harp. As we discussed our fare, the harper in the hall played up his liveliest tunes.
Breakfast being despatched, we slung our pistols,i.e., leathern bottles, filled witheau de vie, to our sides, and started to view the ruins of Dinas Brân, an ancient fortress up the summit of a conical mountain, which forms the principal feature of this portion of the vale, and is indeed a striking object from almost every part of the neighbourhood. The ascent begins near the foot of the ancient bridge opposite to the town, which was built in the early part of the fourteenth century, by the first John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph. The view through the arches, either up or down the river, is extremely picturesque.
My companion was strongly built, and being accustomed to rambling amongst the Welsh vales and over its steepest mountains, far outstripped me in the ascent, which was by no means easy. We took a zig-zag direction up the hill, which was too precipitous to mount in a direct way, and as we approached thesummit the ascent became more difficult; at length, after some little toil, we stood by the side of theWell, whose pure water gave joy to the inhabitants of this ancient fortress many hundred years ago, and still offers a welcome draught to the pilgrim who possesses sufficient perseverance to seek it.
The view from the summit of this mountain is beautiful in the extreme; commanding the vale east to west, with the widely spreading plains beyond its eastern extremity, and the grand and picturesque mountain scenery which forms the western boundary. Chirk Castle, Wynnstay, Valle Crucis Abbey, and Glyndwrdu, are distinctly visible from this elevation, while the romantic Dee is seen winding beneath, in light and shadow beautifully varied by the hills and woods that droop over its banks.
The present remains of this ancient fortress are a few scattered walls. There is little doubt that it is of British origin, but the period of its erection, as well as the name of its founder is buried in oblivion. The original dimensions of its walls were about 300 feet long and 150 feet broad.
Castell Dinas Brân
In the reign of Henry the Third it afforded an asylum from his enraged countrymen to Gruffydd ab Madoc, who basely betrayed his country to that monarch.
In 1390 this castle was inhabited by MyvanwyVechan, a most beautiful and accomplished female. She was of the house of Tudor Trevor, and her father, Ednyved Vychan, then held the castle under the noble Earl of Arundel, in the reign of the unfortunate Richard the Second. She was beloved by Howel ab Einion Lygliw, a celebrated bard, who addressed her in a most charming ode.
On the north-west side of the hill is an adjacent rock called Craig Eglwyseg, or the Eagle’s Rock. For more than half a mile this rock lies stratum upon stratum, in such a manner as to form a kind of steps, parallel with the horizon, called by naturalistssaxa sedilia, affording a remarkable geological phenomenon.
Valle Crucis Abbey
Like most abbeys, is beautifully situated. The monks of old well appreciated the value of rich lands and clear streams. This exquisite relic of a past age was founded in the year 1200, by Gruffydd ab Madoc, Lord of Bromfield and Yale, and of the neighbouring castle, Dinas Brân; and in conformity with the rule of the Cistercian fraternity, was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The remains of the abbey at present existing consist of the church, and of a building on the southern side, part of which seems to have formed the abbot’s lodgings, the refectory, and the dormitory above, now tenanted by a farmer. The church is a cruciform building, of which the northernside has been almost destroyed, and no vestige remains of the roof except in the eastern aisle of the southern transept.
In the midst of these hallowed precincts, and until the last twelvemonths, the rubbish was heaped up to a great height, probably by the fall of the northern wall, and by the remains of the roof, but through the praiseworthy exertions of a nobleman in the neighbourhood, Viscount Dungannon, the whole has been cleared away, leaving the pavement and sides as they existed in former days.
The eastern end is most ancient, and it is adorned by three lancet arches, forming one grand window.
The entrance was in the west, under a broad and beautiful window, above which is a smaller one of marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret work, and beneath it may be deciphered the following inscription:—
Quiescat ame+Adam Abbas fecit hoc Opus i Pace.
Quiescat ame
+Adam Abbas fecit hoc Opus i Pace.
The intelligentciceroneof this ancient building is Miss Jane Lloyd, who has lived in this retired but delightful spot for some years. She has a perfect knowledge of the Welsh language, and of the history of these interesting ruins, which no one who has visited them can cease to remember with admiration and regret.
Not far from the abbey, in a field called Llwyn-y-Groes, or the Grove of the Cross, stands this famous pillar, which was erected above a thousand years ago to the memory of Eliseg, the father of a Prince of Powis, called Brochwel Ysgythrog, who met his death at the Battle of Chester, in 607.
It is among the first lettered stones that succeed the Meini-Hirion, Meini-Gwyr, and Llechau, and stood on a great tumulus, perhaps always environed with wood, according to the custom of the most ancient times. During the civil wars it was thrown down and broken, and the shaft, which was originally twelve feet, is now reduced to eight. At the suggestion of Mr. Price, Bodleian Librarian, and a great antiquary, Mr. Lloyd, of Trevor Hall, had it placed in its present position.
From Valle Crucis Abbey we proceeded to the banks of the Dee, and crossing the rude bridge over the river, struck into the high road to Corwen. The country became highly interesting. The mountains are lofty; and beneath, upon the right, Glyndwrdu theValley of the Dee, discloses its picturesque beauty.
The vale is so serpentine that it presents a succession of most exquisite views, and after a walk of three miles, on looking back, Castell Dinas Brân seems placed upon a lower eminence. The Valley of Llangollen may be seen likewise from hence for many miles, terminated by the distant horizon.
Pillar of Eliseg
The Valley of the Dee was the patrimony of the renowned Glyndwr—Shakspere’s Glendower—and with many a mountain side and summit do the natives delight to associate his name. Just beyond the seventh mile-stone, will be seen a kind of tumulus crested with a clump of firs; this is Glyndwr’s Mount, and is, we believe, fixed upon as the site of his palace.
After passing the picturesque village of Llansaintfraid, nothing occurs to arrest the attention till Corwen is reached. The hotel is named after the mighty Owen, and has a gigantic head over the door, much resembling the Saracen’s, of Snow Hill notoriety.
The first question put to the jolly landlord was, “What can you give us to eat?”—It was about three o’clock in the day.
“Why, sir, there is a nice roast duck, and some peas.”
“And how long, pray, will it be before it is ready?”
“A quarter of an hour.”
“Very well, that will do; and in the interim I will visit the church.”
In a few minutes I was conducted to the ancient edifice.
On one side of the altar is the lid of a coffin, which bears the following inscription:—
“Hic jacet Jorwerth Sulien,Vicarius de Corvaen.Ora pro eo.”
“Hic jacet Jorwerth Sulien,Vicarius de Corvaen.Ora pro eo.”
In the church wall is shewn the private doorwaythrough which Owen Glyndwr entered the building whenever he attended divine worship, and in the rock which overhangs the churchyard, there is a recess which bears the name of Owen Glyndwr’s Chair; and the stone which now forms the lintel of the doorway leading to his pew, is said to retain the mark of his dagger, half an inch in depth, which he threw from the said chair; but upon what occasion it is not stated.
In the cemetery there is a Cross, fixed in a circular stone, westward of the steeple; and it is supposed that the name of Corwen is a corruption of Corvaen, and derived from this Cross.Corsignifies a circle, andmaen(which is likewise considered to have been changed intovaen) if joined tocor, means a cross in the circle.
Having satisfied my curiosity here, I returned to the inn, and the first object which met my delighted eyes, was the promised duck, accompanied by a dish of most elegant trout: a dainty for which I had been longing ever since I entered this territory of rocks and torrents. My friend was already placed at the table, and he clapped his hands, and rubbed them with evident delight and satisfaction at seeing me arrive so opportunely.
The fish despatched, duck and green peas, in close column brought up the rear. But I and my gallant comrade—a better trencherman ne’er poised a fork—attacked in line, cut up the one, and routed the other with the most determined bravery. The right andleft wings were attacked and cut off from the main body, which, with all its materials, we dispersed in the glorious conflict, remaining masters of the field.
Although I thus warmly express my satisfaction at partaking of this not-easily-to-be-forgotten luxury, let me not be mistaken for a gourmand; but a wet and tired traveller, however much his mind may be enchanted by the scenery through which he passes, never beholds a more delightful prospect than a comfortable meal at his journey’s end.
It so happened, however, that this was not to be my journey’s end, as it was my intention to reach Bala before nightfall.
At this spot my companion and I were to separate: his path lay towards Cerrig-y-druidion, and mine towards Llandrillo and the Vale of Edeyrnion.
With a feeling of regret I never before experienced at quitting a new acquaintance of so short a standing, I squeezed his hand, and once more took the road for another walk of ten miles.
At a short distance from Corwen, a road branches off to the left, along which the traveller should trudge to the village of Llandrillo, and he will be repaid by the sight of one of the most fertile valleys in Wales. It is a mile farther to Bala by this route, but the superior beauty of the scenery will amply recompence him for the extra distance, for, with the exception of a view of Bala Lake, obtained from an eminence, the road, which runs along the opposite side of the valley,is dull and uninviting. But on the contrary, by the Llandrillo route, the eye is delighted with a succession of scenes varied and interesting in the extreme. Huge masses of rock hang over the road upon the left, in threatening grandeur, while waving woods and falling streams give endless variety to the picture.
After proceeding five miles, I crossed a bridge over a fine trout-stream, the banks of which are shaded with trees, and turning into an avenue upon the right, seated myself by the margin of the brook, secured from the hot rays of the mid-day sun, I fancied myself the melancholy Jacques. There only wanted a wounded stag, to make the illusion perfect.
As I entered the village of Llandrillo, I was much delighted with the lively scene. The long street was crowded with peasantry, in their holiday clothes. On each side were stalls, formed of tubs turned upside down, and boards placed upon them, to support their merchandise; square patches strewed with straw and covered with crockery and glass; tables well stored with woollen hose and mittens; and stands of gingerbread and ginger-pop were liberally stationed in different quarters, to gratify and refresh the happy throng. At times, a sudden opening in the crowd took place, the whole mass of people jamming each other upon either side of the street, to make way for a trotting pony, or an ambling nag, to curvet and prance down the middle and up again, to show his paces. At the upper end of the fair, a hardware man harangued acrowd of people from his travelling warehouse (a covered cart,) endeavouring to persuade them that he came to Llandrillo solely for their benefit, and for no selfish motive upon earth, and labouring to convince them, in brazier-like eloquence, that the articles he offered to their notice were considerably under prime cost, and could not be purchased elsewhere for treble the money; but, though he sold at a great sacrifice to himself, he begged them not to consider his loss, but their gain; such an opportunity would never again present itself, therefore now was their only time to buy cheap!
A party of Welsh girls attracted my attention, gathered together in front of a wall, upon which a line of men’s hats were ranged, of various qualities and prices; and great glee and laughter were elicited as each fitted the new beaver upon her head, it being considered thene plus ultraof taste, and a powerful auxiliary to the coquetry of a Welsh girl.
Leaving Llandrillo, and proceeding towards Bala, the traveller enters the
The mountains here, upon either side, are covered with plantations, and the beautiful Dee winds gracefully in the centre of the valley, through delightful meadows, while corn fields wave upon the sloping banks, and everything presents to the eye the appearance of freshness and fertility, cheerfulness andcontent. At the bridge near Llanddervel, a small village, which is first observed upon the opposite bank of the Dee, a splendid view presents itself. The river here is broad, shallow, and deep, by turns, and looking up or down the vale, its meandering sportiveness charms the eye. At the extremity of the valley is a lofty mountain, planted to the summit, which seems so closely to envelope it as to prevent all egress. To stand upon this bridge at sunset, and listen to the whistle of the sheep-boy as he trudges merrily along the road, the song of the husbandman, or the joyous laugh of the milkmaids—sounds that float upon the silent air for miles, at such an hour—the twittering of the birds—the low crake of the rail, amidst the corn—and sweeter than all, the music of the river, discharging liquid sounds from its transparent bosom—creates a sensation which we are at a loss how to express. Excess of pleasure becomes painful; and, overpowered with delight, nature asserts her influence, and we experience the luxury of tears!—at least, I did, and I pity from my soul the man who is unfortunately incapable of a similar feeling.
Passing through the little village of Llanvor, and crossing a stream over the bridge close by the lodge of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas, I at length arrived at the White Lion, in the town of Bala; and, tired with my day’s exertions, called for a tea-dinner and slippers, and early retired to rest.
Bala.—The Lake.—A Jolter.—Glan y Llyn.—Vale of Drws y Nant.—Cader Idris.—Dolgelley.—The Town Hall.—Parliament House.—St. Mary’s Church.—Inns.—Angling Stations.—The Cataracts of Rhaiadr Du and Pistyll y Cain.—Nannau Park.—Anecdote of Owen Glyndwr and Owen Sele.—Road to Barmouth.—Arrival.—Inns.—A Walk on the Sands.
“I lay on the rock where the storms have their dwelling,The birth-place of phantoms, the home of the cloud,Around it for ever deep music is swelling—The voice of the mountain wind, solemn and loud.”Mrs. Hemans.
“I lay on the rock where the storms have their dwelling,The birth-place of phantoms, the home of the cloud,Around it for ever deep music is swelling—The voice of the mountain wind, solemn and loud.”
Mrs. Hemans.
Onthe following morning I found myself unable to walk, from the effect produced by a sprained ancle, and I had the delightful prospect of being confined to the room of an inn in a country town, without a being to converse with, or a book to enliven me; but my kind landlord, a fine, portly, rosy-cheeked, round-headed, honest-hearted Boniface, as ever drew spigot, kindly offered me a pony, to take me to the lake, which, he said, contained plenty of perch. This offer I thankfully accepted, and, by the aid of mine host and his ostler, was soon seated upon the back of a quiet not-to-be-put-out-of-his-way animal, as any clerical gentleman could desire to ride upon, and
“With slow and solemn pace,”
“With slow and solemn pace,”
proceeded to catch fish, and view the scenery around
Seated upon a rock that projects into the lake (under the shadow of which is the boat-house of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas,) I commenced my solitary pastime; but my eyes continually wandered from the float to the surrounding scenery, which is of a pleasing rather than an imposing nature. The lake was slightly ruffled by a refreshing breeze, which fortunately sprang up, and prevented me from dissolving in the heat of the sun. It is about four miles in length, and in some parts it is forty yards in depth. The shores are sloping, the soil gravelly, and delightfully variegated with plantations of trees and shrubs. Towards the head of the lake the mountains are upon a very grand scale, and rival Snowdon in their altitude; Arran Vowddwy is the loftiest of these, near the summit of which, upon its eastern side, beneath a huge crag, is situated a lake, which affords excellent sport to the angler, although the fish are not of the finest quality.
Bala Lake
Arrenig Vawr, (or great,) which is nearly as lofty as Arran Vowddwy, and rises upon the N.W. side of the Llyn, has also a lake, containing trout of a large size, which are noted for rejecting the artificial fly; but, about half way up the Arrenig Vâch, (or little,) is a lake, which, when a light breeze sweeps along its surface, will amply reward the angler for his trouble in reaching it. A morning and an evening, at each ofthese places, enable me to state thus much, for the benefit of the disciples of Izaac Walton.
I was suddenly aroused from a dream of pleasure, which I was enjoying with my eyes open, by a tug at my line, reminding me that a fish had swallowed the hook. After a little coquetting, which lovers usually make use of, I brought it to my arms, and then thrust it into my bag: a fine perch! I now resolved to begin in earnest, and in an hour, by my temptation and insinuation, contrived to obtain a very handsome dish, with which I returned upon my pony to the inn, resigning them and myself to the care of mine hostess.
The town of Bala consists of one long street, has about 2500 inhabitants, and is celebrated for its manufacture of woollen articles, such as stockings, gloves, and formerly Welsh wigs. Upon an eminence at the S.E. end of the town, the old women and young girls assemble in considerable numbers, during the summer months, to pursue their industrious avocations in the open air. The mound is called Tommen y Bala; it is said to be of Roman construction, and from the summit a very fine view may be obtained of Llyn Tegid and the mountains. There is a town hall, and a chapel of ease to the parish church at Llanycil, about a mile distant, where the morning service is read in English only upon the first Sunday in each month.
Rising early the following morning I found no inconvenience from my ancle, and after a good breakfast took leave of my host and his wife, both of whom appearedanxious to see me comfortably seated in the vehicle.
The car in which I was bumped along the road, in every respect resembled those delightful conveyances that rattle the astonished traveller from Cork to Blarney. It is a sort of oval box, placed upon two wheels, with a door behind, and with good wedging will contain four persons; but being springless and cushionless, the passenger is jolted to his heart’s content, that is, if his heart has been set on jolting; and, without doubt, it is fine exercise for persons of sedentary habits, if by any chance, their bones happen to escape dislocation. My knapsack (my opposite, and only fellow passenger) and I, looked very black at each other, as we bobbed up and down, like a cockney grocer’s apprentice upon a high trotting horse; but I soon became resigned, and my knapsack having shifted its berth for the bottom of the vehicle, seemed to rest more comfortably than on the seat. Notwithstanding the inconvenience I suffered from this carriage, I could not help admiring the extreme beauty of the lake, as we pursued our course along its borders; sometimes only catching a glimpse of it through the trees that shaded its delightful margin. Its waters were smooth and motionless; not a ripple was visible upon its surface; the lofty mountains reflected in its breast gave a sombre tinge to the otherwise golden scene, and as I looked into the clear depths of the shadows, I thought how peacefully one shattered bythe storms of life might sink beneath, and be at rest!
After passing Glan y Llyn (an estate belonging to Sir W. W. Wynn, who claims the whole fishing of this beautiful piece of water, and has, by putting a quantity of pike therein, destroyed all the trout and gwynniad with which it once abounded) the scenery became wild, and cheerless, until we reached
where, to my great satisfaction, the car stopped at the sign of the Welsh Prince, a distance of ten miles from Bala, and eight from Dolgelley. Being thoroughly tired with my ride, I thought I would endeavour to obtain the proper use of my limbs, and rest myself by walking the remainder of the journey. Dismissing the car, therefore, and strapping my knapsack to my shoulders, I once more took the road.
About a mile beyond the Welsh Prince the valley becomes truly beautiful. Waving woods adorn the mountains upon either side. The Wnion here begins to be an important stream; and, though in its course towards Dolgelley it is swelled by numerous mountain tributaries into a broad river, the trees upon its banks form an impenetrable screen, which conceal it from the traveller, and its hoarse murmur, as it dashes over the rocks that vainly endeavour to intercept its way, alone remind him of its vicinity. At length I arrived at a spot where a road leads over a bridge to the oppositeside of the river. Thinking this would be a proper place to see the Wnion to advantage, I advanced to the centre of the bridge. The effect is beautiful; hanging woods adorn the banks of the stream, lofty-ash trees (around the trunks of which the ivy winds itself in snakelike folds, feeding upon the tree that supports it), spread their proud heads above, and form a pleasing shade, while below the river roars, as it is precipitated beneath the arch in two large falls, that form a deep pool on the opposite side.
Nearly the whole of this lovely valley is the property of Sir Robert Vaughan. Pursuing my journey towards Dolgelley, a sudden turn in the road and an opening in the dell revealed to my delighted eyes the celebrated mountain called Cader Idris.
the loftiest mountain in Merionethshire, and the second in North Wales, is said to be 950 yards in perpendicular height from Dolgelley Green. Cader Idris literally means “Idris’s chair,” where he is supposed to have studied astrology; and Idris is a name attributed to Enoch, the founder of astronomy. Mr. Edward Jones, to whom the public are indebted for his learned and ingenious work, entitled “The Bardic Museum,” observes that “Caer Idris implies the city of the learned;” and Mr. Rowland, in his “Mona Antiqua,” mentions a place in Anglesey called Caer Idris, also Bôd Idris, or “Idris’s abode or mansion,” in Yale,Denbighshire, which still retains the name, as well as that of Llêch Idris, or “the shelter of Idris,” a farm so called, at Trawsvynydd in Merionethshire, which also may imply the grave of Idris. Idris is supposed to have flourished in the third or fourth century, and his genealogy from an old manuscript, runs thus:—“Idris Gawr ab Gwyddno, ab Tibion, ab Cunedda Wledig.”
Cader Idris, from the Bala Road
Snowdon and Cader Idris were formerly supposed to be the Parnassian hills of Wales, and none but good bards could claim so elevated a seat.
Idris, the champion or bard, invented the harp; or if the Gomerian Britons brought that instrument into the country, when they first inhabited the island, it seems to have been lost and forgotten; for Idris is said to have invented something similar; but it is probable he only made some improvement on the ancient harp, or perhaps his superior skill in performing on it might have gained him that reputation. From all that can be gathered from tradition, he was a learned man, an astrologer, and a bard; and it is likely that the summit of this mountain was chosen by him, to examine from thence the movements of the heavenly bodies, to write his inspired verses, or to frame laws for the government and benefit of his country.
The walk from this spot to Dolgelley is exceedingly beautiful; and as the tourist approaches the town before crossing the bridge which is flung over the river Mawddach, a sign of some importance attracts his attention upon the right: it runs thus:—
R. PUGH,Guide GeneralTo the Waterfalls, Cader Idris,And all the curious scenery inThe vicinity of Dolgelley.N.B. Licenced to let saddled horses.
R. PUGH,Guide GeneralTo the Waterfalls, Cader Idris,And all the curious scenery inThe vicinity of Dolgelley.N.B. Licenced to let saddled horses.
or Dolgelleu, the Dale of the Hazel, is the principal market town in Merionethshire, and the assizes are held here, alternately with Bala. The town hall, the most important building, is a neat stone edifice, erected in the year 1825, and cost £3000. It is built near the banks of the river Wnion, (pronounced Oonion) and the court room is fitted up with every necessary accommodation for the officers of justice. In the hall is a very fine portrait of Sir R. W. Vaughan, Bart., painted by Sir M. A. Shee, F.R.A.
Part of an old building, called “Cwrt Plâs yn-y Drêv,” or the Town-hall Court, is still remaining amongst a range of wretched hovels at the back of the post office, in which a parliament was held by Owen Glyndwr. The county jail at the outskirts of the town is of a semi-circular form, built of stone, and was erected in 1811, at an expense of £5000.
St. Mary’s Church is a neat limestone edifice, of Grecian architecture, with a handsome tower, and an expansive nave. In it is an ancient monument of an armed knight, who is represented in a suit of mail, helmet, a neck guard, a sword in his hand, and a dogat his feet; a lion passant gardant is on his shield, upon which is inscribed: “Hic jacet Mauric Filius Ynyr Vychan.” There is a modern one lately erected to the memory of Baron Richards.
Parliament House of Owen Glyndwr
The town is celebrated for a manufacture of coarse woollen cloths and flannels, called webs. The old town-hall is used for various purposes; English church service is performed there every other Sunday; it is also used as a national school, and children are there taught to sing the church psalms. It is likewise known as the theatre.
Those fond of fine scenery should ascend the mountain from the north side of the vale, to obtain the best view of the town, as it lies sheltered at the foot of the majestic Cader Idris, which rears its lofty shoulders in the clouds.
Clustering woods adorn the opposite range of mountains, as they slope in irregular masses westward to the ocean. The river beautifully meandering through the green meadows, the solemn quietude that prevails around, disturbed only by the sound of the church clock, marking the progress of the fleeting hours with lengthened tone, which, like the music of another world, sweeps through the enchanting vale, combine to render this a place where those not wedded to routs, masquerades, gambling, and licentiousness, might wish to live and die.
Dolgelley contains several good inns, of which the most frequented are the Golden Lion, the Angel, and the Ship. Comfortable lodgings may likewise be obtained,at a cheap rate, by those who desire to remain in the neighbourhood for the purpose of making excursions to the Falls, Kymmer Abbey, and Nannau Park, the fishing stations, Dol y Gamedd on the Aran, Llyn-tri-Graienyn, Llyn y Gader, Llyn Geirw, Tal y Llyn, &c.
The tourist should not quit Dolgelley without visiting the Waterfalls, which, after heavy rains, are very magnificent. As I was still suffering from the severe sprain, I was accommodated by my friend, who also obliged me with his company, with a very fine horse to carry me to the falls; and, bold and sure-footed, he performed his duty nobly, in spite of crags, cliffs, hills, and hollows.
is situated in the grounds belonging to Miss Madock, called Dôl Melynllyn. Here the torrent leaps from a height of sixty feet over precipitous rocks, and plunges with a violence that seems to shake the crags and trees around, into a deep pool, from which it proceeds down the dingle, over black and broken fragments, to the river Mawddach. A footpath conducts the tourist to the bottom of the falls, from which, stepping upon some loose stones in the middle of the stream, he will obtain the best view of the cataract. A walk of about three miles brings him to the falls of the Mawddach and Pistyll y Cain, returning from which, he may visit Y Vanner, or Kymmer Abbey, founded in 1198, by Meredith and Gruffydd, lords of Merioneth, dedicatedto St. Mary, and inhabited by monks of the Cistercian order. It is not now, however, worthy of the tourist’s attention. But Nannau Park, the seat of Sir Robert William Vaughan, will afford much pleasure to those who visit it. The grounds are thickly wooded, and the mansion is supposed to occupy the highest ground of any residence in Britain. The approach to it is five miles in length; it stands 702 feet above the level of the sea, and the park is celebrated for its venison. Previously to the year 1814, there stood an oak in this park which bore a name terrible to the ears of the peasantry; it was called
which translated, means, “the hollow oak, the haunt of demons.” In this oak, it is said, Owen Glyndwr immured the body of Howell Sele, the proprietor of this estate, who, while they were walking together, treacherously shot an arrow at the breast of Glyndwr, who, however, having armour beneath his doublet, fortunately received no hurt. The cause of this treachery is said to have been the indignation expressed by Owen at his kinsman’s refusal to join his cause to redress his country’s wrongs. Glyndwr forced his body into the hollow of this oak, most likely after having slain him, where, forty years after this event, a skeleton was discovered. The chieftain, after laying waste the mansion and domain of Sele, hastened to join his friends. Sir W. Scott has written a very beautiful poem uponthis legend, which will be found in the fifth note to his sixth canto of Marmion, and is called the “spirit’s blasted tree.” In 1813, this monarch of the wood fell to the ground.
The country from Dolgelley to the mouth of the river is well worth a journey of three hundred miles to visit, even though there were no other objects worthy of notice in North Wales, and will amply compensate the most eager researcher after the sublime and beautiful.
At a turn of the coach road from a place called Ty-gwyn, a splendid view of Cader Idris is obtained, particularly in the evening, when the mists arise from the numerous lakes in the vicinity, like volumes of smoke from a domain of fire, curling in fantastic forms around the mountain’s waist, leaving its summit stern and clear in an unclouded sky—like a proud giant surveying with disdain the dwarfish host of which he is the leader.
Another noble view attracts attention, at a place called Glan Mawddach—the broad arm of the sea, stretching for miles between the rugged mountains, which, shrouded in veils of silvery mist, fling their dark shadows into the depths of the water. Arriving at
the coach stopped at the Corsygedol Arms; but I proceeded to the Commercial Inn, where there is very good accommodation, and a good look-out seaward. Awarm bath of sea water refreshed me; and by the star light I strolled upon the sands, which are very hard and pleasant to walk upon, while my repast was preparing at the inn. The night was calm and serene, and my mind naturally adapted itself to the surrounding scene. “The brave o’erhanging firmament—the majestical roof fretted with golden fire,” appeared to me far from being “a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.” My soul took wing, and bounded from star to star, leaping the realms of space, and plunging into infinity, till wearied with its immeasurable flight, it resought its earthly tenement, and my body, which it left immoveable, as if transformed to marble, resumed its functions. The low moan of the ocean swam on my ear, like heavenly music. A light breeze brought with it delicious freshness; and, as I looked towards the land, all seemed as quiet as the abode of peace. The lights from the houses had a pleasing effect, as they streamed through the windows, row above row, under and upon the side of the overhanging cliffs.
I returned to “mine inn,” and my meal being despatched, retired to bed.
Description of Barmouth.—Sketch of the Town.—The Estuary.—Friar’s Island,—Dinas Gortin.—Earl of Richmond.—Anecdote of the Men of Ardudwy, and the Men of Denbighshire.—Corsygedol Hall.—A Pic-nic Party.—Llyn Cwm Bychan.—Carreg y Saeth.—Bwlch Tyddiad.—A Mountain Ride and a Regretful Farewell.
“The mountayne men live longer many a yearThen those in vale, in plaine, or marrish soyle;A lustie hart, a cleene complexion cleere,They have on hill that for hard living toyle;With ewe and lambe, with goats and kinds they play,In greatest toyles to rub out wearie day;And when to house and home good fellowes draw,The lads can laugh at turning of a strawe.”Churchyard.
“The mountayne men live longer many a yearThen those in vale, in plaine, or marrish soyle;A lustie hart, a cleene complexion cleere,They have on hill that for hard living toyle;With ewe and lambe, with goats and kinds they play,In greatest toyles to rub out wearie day;And when to house and home good fellowes draw,The lads can laugh at turning of a strawe.”
Churchyard.
Barmouth, or Aber-Maw, derives its name from being situated at the embouchure of the river Maw or Mawddach, which at the entrance is obstructed by a bar. The old town, viewed from the sea, resembles a fortress of some strength, hanging immediately over the sands. In most cases a lofty situation is an advantage, but here it is the reverse; for so steep is the side of the cliff on which it stands, that the inhabitants of the upper regions are completely smoke-dried from the chimneys of all the dwellings beneath.
The new town stands at the base of the rock, and but for some mounds of sand, that appear likely togrow into mountains by the influence of the winds and waves, would inevitably be washed away by the spring tides. Some of the fishermen’s habitations on the beach are at times buried in the drifting sands; and, after a strong wind from the seaward, the inhabitants generally labour hard to clear the obstruction from their doors.
Barmouth had few visitors during my stay, and from the report of those I met with, is greatly decreasing in popularity, which says but little in favour of the lovers of fine scenery. When the tide is at full, the panorama around the estuary cannot be surpassed in beauty. The majestic river winds amongst rocks, clad with purple heather, or projecting in barren grandeur, that lift their jagged summits tier over tier, and peak overtopping peak, while still tremendous, towering over all, the lofty Idris looms in the back ground. Green hills and woody promontories, forests that stretch into the dark recesses of the mountains, villas and copsewood glens, give an endless variety to the romantic scene.
The town contains about 2000 inhabitants, and there is a manufactory of flannels and woollen stockings.
At noon, as I was basking upon the sands, or Friar’s Island, which is situated at the mouth of the river, I had the pleasure to see my new acquaintance and friend gallop into the town, and old Charon having ferried me from the island to the main land once more, I hastened to welcome him, as fast as my damaged limb would suffer me. He proposed driving me to Corsygedol Hall,the seat of the Hon. E. M. L. Mostyn; which being agreed to, I ordered dinner to be ready at our return, and we started. The drive upon the Harlech road is bleak; upon the right, the hills are barren; and seaward, beneath the road, is an extensive flat, consisting chiefly of bog land and far from interesting. About a mile and a half from the town stands the Church of Llan Aber, upon the extreme verge of a cliff which overlooks the ocean. The Carnarvonshire mountains have a fine effect stretching into the sea; of which the Rivals, with their lofty peaks, are noble objects in the distance. Following the chain, the eye rests for a moment upon Carn Bodean, and in the flat between it and Carn Madryn is the town of Pwllheli. The chain is resumed at Rhiw mountain, and terminates at Aberdaron point, three leagues from which is Bardsey Island, a conspicuous and interesting object; for there dwelt the bards of old, amongst whom were numbered the fathers of science, the national interpreters, musicians, and legislators, priests, and princes of Cambria. With their oratory they soothed the savage ignorance of mankind into civilization and knowledge, and polished their minds with the powerful aid of music and poetry. After the dreadful slaughter of the monks of Bangor, those who survived took shelter upon this island. A few ruined walls alone remain of the ancient abbey; and the inhabitants, who do not exceed one hundred persons, support themselves chiefly by fishing.
About three miles from Barmouth, upon the summit of the mountain called Dinas Gortin, are the remains of a military encampment, and near to the town there stood a tower, where it is said the Earl of Richmond used to conceal himself, when he visited his secret allies in this part of the country.
Near the military station, are the tombs of the celebrated men of Ardudwy; who, in imitation of the Roman robbers, made an incursion into Denbighshire, and overcoming the men, forcibly tore the women from their families, and returned in triumph with them to their own country.
But the men of Denbighshire, rallying, pursued the spoilers, and overtaking them in the pass of Drws Ardudwy, routed them with great slaughter. But the infatuated women had by this time conceived so extraordinary a passion for their violators, that rather than survive their loss, or perhaps more probably, to escape the fury of their former husbands, they drowned themselves in a lake, which is called the Llyn y Morwynion, or Pool of the Maidens.
About two miles further, a road up a steep ascent conducted us to a fine avenue of trees, through which we passed, and at the termination of it came to a handsome gateway called Porth Mawr, which admitted us into the mansion of Corsygedol, which has nothing in it to interest the tourist. The interior of the building is incommodious and inelegant. The drawing-roomcontains a few wretched portraits and high-backed chairs; and the rest of the apartments are meanly furnished.
We returned to Barmouth by the sea shore, and after a most delightful drive upon Neptune’s boundaries, arrived at the inn, where the evening was passed in conviviality, tempered with prudence, and sweetened by social and interesting conversation. As I had determined upon proceeding to Harlech the following day, my companion was resolved to make the journey as agreeable as possible, and requesting me to forward my knapsack, &c., by the coach, informed me that he would be ready to accompany me in the morning. Requesting him, therefore, to be early at breakfast, we parted for the night.
After despatching a hasty meal next morning, the word was given “to horse and away.” My old favourite who bore me so gallantly to the black cataract, was again resigned to my care, and I to his, gentle as a lamb, proud as a war horse, and agile as an antelope. I felt like an Arab, on his steed, and I thought I could defy the winds to overtake me. We proceeded once more to Corsygedol Hall, which was the appointed spot of rendezvous for a pic-nic party. Here I had the happiness of meeting some of the choicest flowers of the Welsh Highlands. Youth, beauty, freedom, and innocence, beamed from the laughing eyes and unsullied cheeks of our fair companions. The “how d’ye do’s?” “glad to see you,” “fine morning,” &c., &c., being ended,we moved forward in a formidable cavalcade. Mirth, wit, and pleasure played on the lips and sparkled in the eyes of the whole party; and the animals that bore us seemed to partake of the general feeling, by pricking up their glossy ears, and bounding over the rugged road with more spirit than prudence. Much mirth was occasioned by the opening of gates and crossing of brooks. At length the party plunged into a beautiful wood. I paused upon an eminence to mark the effect as they descended; it was picturesque in the extreme, as at intervals, through the openings, I caught a partial glimpse of the troop, pursuing their cheerful way down the steep path. Pleased with the sight, I passed the party at a gallop, and arriving at the foot of the hill, remained upon a bridge, close by the woodman’s cottage, which crosses a mountain stream, watching their approach.
It was delightful to see them advancing one by one through the thick foliage which hung on either side of the path, and arching over their heads. On arriving at the foot of the descent, the party drew up, and, had an artist been among us, I am confident he would have produced a picture which, even on the lifeless canvass, would have delighted the connoisseurs of Somerset House.
The variety of costume, the colour of the horses, the general sensation of delight which lighted up the features of the gay group; the picturesque cottage and bridge, the broad rushing stream, the waving woods,with now and then a glimpse of the sterile mountains, peeping above the beautiful fertility, formed a landscape which Salvator Rosa himself would have been delighted to delineate.
View from Carreg y Saeth
Penetrating through a woody maze, a glen upon our right, and huge wild masses of rock towering above our heads, we passed Cravnant, a house situated in the deep shade of the lonely wood. The rocks now assumed a wild and threatening aspect upon our left, as we emerged into a more open track, and entered upon the domain of Dolwreiddiog, a little beyond which commences perhaps the wildest scenery in North Wales. Descending by a rocky path, we came to
or, the lake of the little hollow, on the opposite margin of which, the wild and dismal Carreg-y-Saeth, the rock of the arrow, rears its black head in fearful grandeur. Cwm Bychan, is a grassy dell, surrounded on all sides by the most frightful sterility; which, while we gazed with wonder on the sublimity of the scene, made us shudder at the utter desolation it presented. A poor cottage stands at the further end of the valley, from which, having obtained a plentiful supply of milk, we dismounted, and, fastening our steeds to the gates, we seated ourselves under the shade of two trees, upon the inviting grass, which, like the smiles of the world, proved but too treacherous; many a scream and laugh announcing that the boggy soil had paid no respect tothe garments of either sex. Stones were therefore procured, and, having ranged them in a magic circle, the whole party seated themselves to partake of the good cheer, which a sturdy Welshman had borne upon his shoulders, and who now advanced into the middle of the ring. Knives and forks began to play with astonishing celerity. Fowls, ham, tongue, &c., vanished as if by enchantment, and mirth and good humour added zest to the repast.
Our lunch being concluded, we again mounted our horses, and commenced an ascent up a dank, cheerless hollow, called Bwlch Tyddiad. Nothing can exceed the wildness of the scenery by which we were surrounded. Huge masses of rock, riven by the thunderbolt, or loosened by the frost, lay scattered in every direction, while towering upon either side, the herbless mountains frowned, barren, black, grey, and terrible.
Our horses, accustomed, I presume, to such excursions, picked their way with the greatest care and safety, and my “gallant brown” cleared every impediment, as if he had been foaled amongst the Alps, and loved them better than the verdant plain. Drawing nearer to the top of the cliff, the shepherds had made a stair-like path of flat stones, along which our Cavalcade proceeded with caution; when suddenly we halted upon hearing the distant halloos of travellers ascending the opposite side of the mountain, and presently three persons, one of whom was leading awearied animal by the bridle, became distinctly visible. A shout of recognition from our party roused all the echoes of the surrounding hills. The figures, as they became more distinct, seemed magically transported with myself into the heart of the Sierra Morena, where Cardenio, Don Quixote, and Sancho Panza, appeared to me in their proper persons; for never was description better realized than in the figures that now presented themselves. The first was a handsome, well formed man, with light brown hair, which hung in plentiful thickness upon his shoulders; his untrimmed beard, joined by overhanging mustachios, and the two being united to the upper growth by a pair of whiskers, the luxuriance of which showed they were permitted to grow in uninterrupted freedom. His throat was bare, and his dress negligent. The second figure that attracted my attention, was a very tall and extremely thin young man, with a serious cast of features that would have done honour to the knight of the woful countenance. In his hand he led a jaded hack, which in the ascent seemed to have yielded up three parts of its existence. Here then was the Rosinante of Cervantes in a breathing form; while, by his side, a short good-humoured little man, with a large portmanteau buckled on his back, walked like a faithful squire, and made an admirable substitute for the immortal Sancho; and, as he turned his eyes from precipice to glen, it required no great stretch of imagination to think they were wandering in search of his beloved Dapple. We metupon a patch of green moss; and here our hamper was again unpacked, to cheer the hearts of these toil-worn travellers.
By their advice we ascended to the summit of the mountain, the view from which was grand and extensive. To the eastward, a vast country lies beneath, bounded by Cader Idris, the two Arrenigs, and a long range of mountains. Immediately under the lofty eminence upon which we rested, was a small round lake and the pass Ardudwy, which exceeds even the celebrated Llanberis in rugged grandeur. The way by which our new companions ascended was both laborious and dangerous; but they would not have sacrificed the prospect now presented to them on any account. North and south the eye glances over the summits of wild mountains, and to the west the Carnarvonshire chain, cut in two, as it were, by a high mountain, immediately before us, forms the shore of a noble sheet of water, resembling a spacious lake, where the sea stretches its arm into the Vale of Maentwrog, out of Cardigan Bay. The declining sun gave us warning that it was time to quit these wilds, and make the best of our way to the foot of the mountain.
The return is extremely hazardous on horseback. The ladies of the party therefore, resigning their steeds to the conduct of some mountaineers, and the gentlemen leading their horses by the bridle, commenced the descent. But as I could not from lameness advantagemyself by like caution, and feeling confident in the tact, strength, and docility of my favourite, I led the way, without experiencing the slightest symptom of uneasiness.
When we had proceeded about half way down, a circumstance occurred that occasioned some unpleasantness. A horse had broken loose from one of the leaders, and at full speed came galloping down the steep and rugged descent. The animal conducted by the tall, thin gentlemen before described, started as his fellow quadruped rushed by him, and, freeing himself from control, dashed after him at an alarming pace, leaving his late master, with eyes starting out of their sockets, and mouth wide open with affright, his arms spread out, and his whole frame in convulsions of terror, upon the top of a large stone, ludicrously bewildered. My steed, evincing the truth of the proverb, “evil communications,” &c., for a moment lost his presence of mind, and despising my efforts to restrain him, bounded over sundry perilous rocky fragments in desperate pursuit. However, by divers forcible arguments, I at length succeeded in convincing him of his error, and he returned to his duty.
The two runaways were soon out of sight, and as we concluded they had broken their necks, we moved rather solemnly to the bottom of the hollow, where our fears were dissipated, by finding them quietly browsing in the green meadows, where we had before seated ourselves at pic-nic. All here remounted; the sun’s raysstill lingering upon the heights of Carreg-y-Saeth, but the pool below looked black and cheerless. As we proceeded, the beautiful calm light of evening, the cool and refreshing air, “the shard borne beetle, with his drowsy hum,” the forest flies and midges dancing in the clear ether, the murmuring of mountain streams, and the joyous notes of our little party, uniting with the sharp tones of our horses’ shoes, clinking against the rocky fragments, formed a combination of pleasing sounds and images in this romantic solitude, which I shall ever remember with feelings of interest and delight. After riding about three miles, surrounded by every charm that could make the time pass pleasantly, we arrived at the place of parting. A road branching to the right led directly to Harlech, a distance of about two miles; and here, with a feeling of regret, I hardly ever before experienced, I took leave of my kind conductor, and his agreeable friends, a man being appointed to walk with me as far as Harlech, for the purpose of taking back his master’s horse.
Slowly and sadly I pursued my solitary ride, nor did I once address my attendant, until I arrived at the inn, where, dismounting, I committed to his charge my gallant supporter throughout the day.
Harlech.—The Inn.—The Castle.—Anecdote of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion.—Road to Maentwrog.—View.—A Persevering Cobbler.—The Oakeley Arms.—Angling Stations.—Road to Tremadoc.—Tan y Bwlch.—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described.—Tremadoc.—Tan yr Allt.—Pont Aber Glas Lyn.—Beddgelert.—The Inn.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,Waves the dark wand and chants the thrilling spell.”Prize Poem, T. S. S.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,Waves the dark wand and chants the thrilling spell.”
Prize Poem, T. S. S.
TheBlue Lion Inn, built by Sir R. W. Vaughan, for the accommodation of travellers and tourists, is most delightfully situated. A carriage road from the north leads round to the front, which faces the sea; and forming a semicircle, permits the vehicles to drive, through a gate on the south end of the house, again into the high road. Great taste is displayed in the erection ofthis pleasant building; the parapet wall, with its circular turrets, in which seats are placed for the accommodation of visitors, and the terrace with its neat shrubberies. I must also acknowledge, that the kind attention of the landlord and his servants deserves the highest commendation.
The view from the terrace is indescribably beautiful. The sea lies stretched beneath; the majestic ruins of Harlech Castle stand upon a rocky base, frowning in solitary grandeur upon the right; and beyond, the long line of Carnarvonshire hills projects, like Cambria’s lance, forbidding the waves to make further inroads upon her territories.
Pwllheli and Port Madoc are distinctly visible from this spot; and the lovers of fine prospects may remain at the Blue Lion for a week, without wishing to stray further than the terrace in search of the sublime and beautiful. The continual variety of light and shadow, with which the mountains are alternately robed, the freshness of the air, and the solemn majesty of the ruined fortress, form altogether a volume for the mind to peruse with intense and unwearied interest.
Harlech Castle
The present castle was built by Edward the First in 1283, upon the ruins of one erected by Maelgwn Gwynedd, Prince of North Wales, in 530. It was seized by the Welsh hero, Owen Glyndwr, during his struggle for freedom against Henry the Fourth, andwas retaken, about four years afterwards, by an army sent by that monarch into Wales. After the defeat of Henry the Sixth at Northampton, this castle afforded a retreat for his queen; but being hotly pursued by the Lord Stanley, she was compelled to fly from hence with great precipitation, leaving her jewels and other valuables behind her.
In 1468, this place was in possession of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion, a man of singular strength and beauty, and of unconquerable bravery. Being a firm friend to the Lancastrian line, the Earl William of Pembroke was despatched to reduce the fortress; and after encountering incredible difficulties, marching through the very heart of the British Alps, he at length invested the castle, and committed the management of the siege to his brother Sir Richard Herbert, a man equal in size and prowess to the British commandant. The reply of the Welshman, when called upon to surrender, deserves to be handed down as a specimen of bravery and loyalty. He had never acknowledged the sovereignty of Edward; and for nine years had defied his threats. His answer was in keeping with the line of conduct he had adopted: “Tell your leader,” said he to the messenger, “that some years ago I held a castle in France against its besiegers so long, that all the old women in Wales talked of me: tell your commander, that I intend to defend this Welsh castle now, until all the old women in France shall hear of it.”
Famine, however, at last subdued him; but heyielded only upon honourable terms, Sir Richard pledging himself for his safety. The king at first refused to subscribe to the conditions; but Sir Richard, with a spirit that cannot be sufficiently applauded, instantly informed his majesty that he must take his own life first; for if he lived he would certainly replace the Welsh chieftain in his strong hold again. The king was too well acquainted with the value of Sir Richard’s services and scrupulous honour, to persist in his unjust intentions. He, therefore, ratified the conditions, and pardoned the chief. But the brave Englishman was soon after recalled from his military command.
In the civil wars of Charles I. Harlech Castle was the last that held out for the king, under the command of William Owain, who surrendered on the 9th of March, 1647.
Upon the side which faces the sea, the castle must have been impregnable; the walls are scarcely distinguishable from the rocky base, the whole being a continued surface of dark grey masonry; and the north and south sides appear nearly as inaccessible. The gateway upon the eastward side is situated between two immense rounders, resembling those of Conway and Carnarvon. The form of the castle is a square, each side measuring seventy yards, and at each corner is a round tower; but the turrets that were once attached to them the unsparing hand of Time has destroyed. Before the entrance is a deep fosse, cut in the solidrock; across which a drawbridge was constructed for security and convenience.
The principal apartments are on the eastward, or entrance, side of the inner court. The banqueting hall is opposite; the windows of which look out upon the green surface of the sea; and, on the right of the court, there formerly stood a small chapel; the ruins of which are still visible, the pointed windows remaining entire. It is impossible to conceive a finer view than is obtained from the towers of Harlech Castle. With a clear atmosphere, the monarch of the Welsh mountains may be distinctly seen, towering above his subject hills. The promontories of Lleyn, and Cricaeth Castle, are likewise objects of considerable interest; the latter forming a head to a long neck of land that juts into the sea from the Carnarvonshire coast, backed by a chain of noble mountains. This castle likewise owes its foundation to Edward I.
Harlech is one of those places the traveller leaves with regret, and a feeling that he can never see any so beautiful again; and from this place to the village of Maentwrog, the road increases in beauty every mile.
The Bay of Cardigan, expanding to the ocean, lies beneath, on the left; upon the right, wild rocks and woody hills alternately diversify the prospect, and, approaching the northern extremity of the bay, the Traeth Mawr and Traeth Bâch, two arms of the sea (the former running up to Port Madoc, and the latter into the Vale of Maentwrog), are noble objects.
The Traeth Bâch, bounded by mountains upon either side, prepares the tourist for the heavenly quietude which reigns eternally in the bosom of this earthly paradise; and about two miles from the village, near a farm house called Cemlyn, one of the most beautiful views of the valley lies stretched before him. A woody dingle opens on the right, down which the Velin Rhyd rushes impetuously, mingling its bright waters with the smoothly meandering Dwyryd, which commingling, flow gracefully into Cardigan Bay.
The Vale of Maentwrog
In front, and upon the right of the vale, lies the little picturesque village of Maentwrog, reposing at the foot of a lofty mountain. Fine green meadow lands enrich the centre of the valley, through which the river, like a silver serpent, “drags its slow length along.” Upon the opposite side is seen the mansion of Tan y Bwlch, backed by a mountain forest, and ornamented by a noble terrace in front, with pleasure grounds and walks, which the eye loves to rest upon.
The road to Festiniog, at the extreme point of the landscape, winds up the enclosing hills that fill up the back ground. To be appreciated, the view must be seen: the most glowing description would fall incalculably short of the reality.
At this spot I was accosted by a very inquisitive personage.
“Fine evening, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Walking far to-day, sir?”
“Yes.”
“A great many gentlemen come from London to see this valley, sir.”
“I suppose so,” (trying to shake him off, but it would not do.)
“You come from London, I think, sir.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Only because a great many London people come this way, sir.”
“But do not many other travellers come this road, who are not Londoners?”
“Oh, yes, sir! but I took you for a Londoner by the cut of your coat. You’ve come a long way to-day, sir?”
“I have, but how should you know that?”
“By the condition of your boots, sir.”
This was a hit I did not anticipate; for, truth to say I was nearly bootless, at least thesoleshad nearly left theirbodies, upper leathers I mean, and stood mortally in need of regeneration; and, as I had not provided myself with a second pair, thinking they would prove cumbersome in my knapsack, his remark was felt from toe to heel.
“You’ll want these repaired, I dare say, sir, while you remain at the Oakeley Arms—comfortable inn—capital beds, sir.”
“Why I think I shall, my friend; perhaps you can recommend me to a cobbler, in the village yonder,” (pointing to Maentwrog.)
“I am a boot maker, sir, in the village, and have cobbled, as you are pleased to call it, the soles of all strangers in need, for the last twenty years. My father performed that office before me; and I may say my all (awl) of life depends upon the gentlemen who visit our beautiful valley.”
“You are not employed then by the inhabitants of your native village?”