SOUTH STACK SEA-BIRDS.

More fleet, on nimble-wing, the gullSweeps booming by, intent to cullVoracious, from the billow’s breast,Marked far away, his destined feast;Behold him now deep plunging dipHis sunny pinions sable tipIn the green wave; now lightly skimWith whirling flight the water’s brim,Wave in the blue sky his silver sailAloft, and frolic in the gale,Or sink again his breast to lave,And float upon the foaming wave;Oft o’er his form your eyes may roam,Not know him from the feathery foam,Nor ’mid the rolling waves, your earOn yelling blast, his clamour hear.

Though but a small number amongst the many who direct their steps to South Stack may have turned their attention to ornithology, yet none visit this romantic spot without expressing their unqualified admiration in reference to the thousands of sea-birds which perform their rapid circumlocutions in every direction, filling the air with their shrill screaming voices. Presuming, therefore, that a few remarks on the natural history of these aquatic tribes may not be deemed uninteresting, we give the following information concerning some of them.

We would, however, first observe, that we cannot complain of want of music on the sea-shore, for wind and wave make there a constant melody; but we rarely listen, when near the sea, to the voice of a singing-bird; such birds are uttering their joy far away over the corn fields, or among the leafy boughs of the deep green woodland, or in the stillness of the meadow, or among the water sedges. But if the voices of our sea-birds arenot in themselves musical, they please us by their association with the rude and wild scenes around us, and by their fitness for their haunts. Of little use to the sea-bird would be the sweet clear tones of the nightingale or the lark. Loud as they seem to us when uttered amid the stillness of the country, they would hardly be heard over the sea, and would be of small service as a language to the winged creatures whose homes are rocky precipices, ever dashed against by loud-sounding waves. To these the screaming hoarse voices of the sea-gulls are far better attuned, and these are indeed the only utterances which could avail them amidst the storm.

Nor is this powerful voice of the sea-bird the only fitness for its haunts which is presented to our minds as we look and listen. Besides that it possesses, in common with all birds, that wonderful power of vision, without which it could neither direct its flight with safety, nor gain any idea of distance or motion, it has immense strength of wing; and such species as the sea-gulls, which are destined to live on water rather than land, have small legs and feet; while such as are made like the curlew, to roam the marshes, have long legs, adapted for walking and wading in among them.

No bird is better known, on most parts of our coast, than the common gull, which is in some places called the winter-mew. Active and restless as it may seem on the wing, it has, when in repose, little that would remind us of the frequent comparison, “blithe as a bird.” We sometimes see it in gardens near the coast, with clipped wings, wandering in solitude over the paths with dejected and melancholy air, as if pining for its native sea and its companions. When free, its manners seem almost agitated as it darts eagerly on its prey, swallowing it so impetuously that it sometimes seizes the hook and bait which the fisherman has put out to take the fish, and thus wounds itself and becomes a captive. Buffon calls the clamorous and voracious gulls the vultures of the sea; they not only feed on fish, molluscous and other living animals, but seize on dead and putrid matter of every description, either floating on the waters or spread on the shore. Gulls do not dive into the water for food, but they dip now and then to seize it. They have been found by voyagers in all latitudes, and are very numerous in northern regions, where the carcases of whales and of large fish offer them an abundantstore of nourishment. Hard and tough as their flesh is, yet it may be eaten; and the eggs, which are placed in large nests made of grass and sea-weeds, are very good. The gull comes to South Stack in April or May, and leaves in September.

Much of that loud, wild screaming which resounds among the cliffs, and which sometimes rises shrill and hoarse, even above the wildest roar of the sea, is made by some of those birds which look like the diver, and which can also both swim and dive exceedingly well. The common guillemot is commonly called the foolish guillemot, or foolish Willie, or wild Willie; though why it should be deemed inferior to other sea-birds in sense is not very apparent, as it seems to surpass many of them in this respect. It may be that when on shore the bird has an awkward appearance, as the legs are placed so far back beneath the body that they walk badly, and their wings are so short and narrow that they can scarcely flutter. Let our bird, however, but get upon the face of the waters, and we shall see it swim with grace and ease, while the very position of its legs, which renders it a bad walker, is suited to facilitate its diving. It dives very low, and the wings aid its progress as it rises to the surface when some tempting fish, or marine insect, induces it to urge onwards with great rapidity. It is by means of these short wings, too, that the guillemots clear the projecting ledges of rocks and cliffs, and jump from point to point, till they reach those high, and to us inaccessible, spots where they often build. Its single egg is placed on the bare rock. The guillemot visits South Stack about the month of April, and by the month of September, both old and young, leave the rocks, and make their dwellings, both by night and by day, on that wide world of waters for which they are so admirably fitted.

Amidst the flashing and feathery foamThe common guillemot finds a home;A home, if such a place can beFor her who lives on the wide, wide sea.

The migratory movement of birds may be regarded as one of the most wonderful impulses possessed by animals, and it supplies an apt illustration of the Prophet’s view, when he reproached the chosen nation of God for their neglect of appointed duty.“Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed time; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming: but my people know not the judgment of the Lord.”—Jer.viii. 7.

Light-houses, beacons, warning-bells, and the like, are among the most indispensable adjuncts of maritime conveyance; without them, indeed, it would be utterly impossible to conduct it with anything like regularity or safety; and if there be one thing more than another that has given me pleasure while writing these pages, it is that of recordingthree light-houses(viz., South Stack, Skerries, and Holyhead) connected with the thriving Port of Holyhead. If it would not be deemed too figurative and fanciful, I should denominate these light-houses—BRILLIANT EYES LOOKING OUT FOR THE RETURN OF THE WEATHER-BEATEN SONS OF THE OCEAN. What vast improvements have been made in this, as well as in other departments of nautical affairs! Humanity, as well as interest, led to the adoption of light-houses, both as beacons and guides; and it speaks well for the sympathy and benevolence of Britons that there are on and about the British coasts upwards of 200 light-houses, which are classed as “harbour lights” and “general lights.”

The first attempts were rude; common fires, first of wood, and then of coals, were originally used to furnish light. A coal fire was employed for this purpose in the Isle of Man for 180 years (as late as the year 1816). Tallow candles succeeded;—candles fastened on wooden rods were burnt in the Eddystone light-house for 40 years after it was completed by Smeaton; then came lamps with twisted cotton wicks. The glimmering lamps of by-gone days have disappeared, and are superseded by Argand lamps, with lenses and reflecting prisms. The hand of science has extinguished the faint splendours of the last century, and lighted up midnight suns, fixing them in their furbished orbits, on elegant structures, high in aerial heaven, whose reflected rays mingle together, so as to form one concentrated blaze of light, intense and beautiful, illuminating and adorning the shore and rock.

One of the most remarkable light-houses in England is the Eddystone, erected on a solitary rock, opposite the coast of Plymouth: it has withstood many a terrific tempest, and appearslikely to stand firm amid the elemental wars for years to come. Not unfrequently, at the mouth of harbours, as at Harwich, two light-houses are erected, one more elevated than the other; one to guide the vessels in their approach to the coast, and the other to direct them in their entrance to the harbour.

Not far from the room where I am now writing, break the waves of St. George’s Channel. I hear the roar—it is, indeed, a stormy night—wild blows the wind,—

I think of the mariner tossed on the billow,Afar from the home of his childhood and youth;No mother to watch o’er his sleep-broken pillow,No father to counsel—no sister to soothe![33]

A tide of joy rises in my soul at the thought that, close to my own door, I can gaze upon two light-houses, one of which is, mid the foaming deep, presenting a brilliant point of light—a distinct and striking object—though some nine miles of waters are rolling between us. It is theSkerries Light-house. I love to look at it. Itsconstancyandfixednessinterest me. No sooner are the last rays of the sun retiring from land and sea, than the watchful keeper hastens to kindle the beacon. If to the midnight hour I protract my musings, and cast a glance upon the sea, there shines the light. If long before the dawn of day I have arisen to my labours, there it still shines. The week, the month, the year rolls round, and there is no failure. What deeply interesting facts are announced by that brilliant light; it is as if an angel of mercy, with a voice of thunder, stood and announced what part it was of a dangerous coast to which the mariner was most contiguous, and in which direction he must look for shoal and breaker. He is kindly told when there is peril, and when safety. There is language in that radiance which streams far forth upon the dark, deep sea. Facts of highest moment are announced by it. The whole surrounding region of shore andsea is suggested to the sailor by that welcome light. There it stands—a beacon against danger, and a guide to the desired haven. For the erection and maintenance of light-houses, a rate is levied on all vessels passing them within certain limits, this rate varying from one farthing to one penny per ton for each light so passed.

Let the reader picture to himself the advantage of light-houses, when the storm is up—when the bright beacons send forth their refulgent beams through the blackness of tempest, on the dark winter night. Who can say how many mariners owe their lives to their friendly warnings. The vessels that are wrecked through want of light-houses are recorded; but there is no record of the greater number which, no doubt, light-houses have saved. Melancholy indeed would be the consequences were all the lighthouses to be extinguished. What would become of our ships and our sailors? How dreary a scene would be presented,—the hope of the sailor would be wrecked, and dismal despair would sit on the countenances of the navigators of the sea. The swift ship approaches—the mariner looks for the friendly beacon; but it is gone! There is no voice to announce the presence of peril, and, for want of it, the noble vessel strikes the rock, and all the horrors of shipwreck ensue. Shine on, thou brilliant beacon of the perilous path of the mariner! Thou canst not rival the bright luminary of the sky, but a noble office canst thou do for seafaring men.

I love the light that streams afar to saveThe storm-tossed seaman from the ’whelming wave;The ocean-beacon and the river-ranger,That lures from evil, and that warns from danger.

Placed on this mount, what various views delightThe ravished soul, and captivate the sight!Lo! yonder mountains high o’er mountains rise,Each higher than the last, the highest strike the skies.

The beauty of rural scenery has engaged the attention and been the theme of the poet and novelist under every clime and in every nation, from the arctic regions of the North to the burning tropics of the South. It arouses the slumbering energies of the mind, pours delight into the heart, and beguiles the languishing understanding by its smiling, soothing, refreshing loveliness, andwonderful effect. Where is there a man so callous who has not felt the vivifying influence of nature, when the summer’s sun in his meridian glory shoots abroad his dazzling rays over many a fair and beautiful prospect, animating everything with the warmth of his genial fire. The view is not bounded by tall houses and slooping roofs, between which we can only get a bird’s eye view of a narrow strip of sky, but we see across the fields, and meadows, and landscape, for many miles, to a distant horizon, where sky, and earth, and sea seem to meet, strongly reminding one of the following poetic dash:—

God made the country, and man made the town.

In tracing the beauties of old Cambria through its length and breadth, but few spots have given a more pleasing idea of its graces than those seen from the summit of Holyhead Mountain, which is nearly 800 feet above the level of the sea. Though it cannot boast of the wonders of the untrodden glaciers of Switzerland, the mighty Alps, the stupendous Andes, and the Himalaya of other hemispheres, still the mountain partakes sufficiently of the magnitude to impress the beholder with feelings of awe and admiration. If not on the largest scale, it can yet boast almost every variety of the noblest characteristics of mountain scenery, even to the terrible. Let the visitor make up his mind

To face the breeze and catch its sweetness.

Let him, pointing to the pomp of mountain summit, inspire his companions in travel by exclaiming

Now for our mountain sport—up yon hill.

The stroll, which is only from two to three miles, will be most delightful. On reaching the base of the mountain, I may just remind you, that

To climb steep hills requires slow pace at first.

If you are a lover of nature many objects will attract your attention, and beguile your moments, as you ascend higher and higher. Do you take a pleasure inBotany? There are theshrub, bush, diversified flowers, and rare plants, emitting a reviving fragrance; and there is not

A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but containsA folio volume. You may read, and read,And read again, and still find something new.

Do you delight in the study ofOrnithology? There is the lark soaring high, and pouring forth his lovely notes, and other songsters of the feathered tribes in varied music warbling their wildest notes; and it is hardly an unnatural suggestion, that a new laid egg has cleared the rejoicing throat of the cuckoo that is loudly exulting. HasEntomologyany attractions for you? There is thehumble-beepursuing his busy course, too happy to keep his joy to himself, humming aloud while on the wing; but suspending his monotonous song, if song it may be called, the moment he alights upon a flower.—Thebutterflyof no common kind fluttering up and down the air with his companion, banquetting on pleasure in the sunny beams, enjoying its fourth state of existence. Stand and gaze for a moment on that pretty rainbow-tinted creature; and as you look, consider the different grades of its existence,—metamorphosis to its final transformation,—the egg of the butterfly has one life, and the caterpillar which springs from it has another, and the chrysalis into which the caterpillar changes has a third, and the gay butterfly which rises from the chrysalis has a fourth;—then there is thegossamer spider, which has just covered the bush with its webs in every direction, and while spangling with dew, and trembling in the breeze, they glitter in the sun-light like some silver tissue woven with gems; and unnumbered species of insects, of peculiar kind, may be seen buzzing and flying, creeping and jumping, above, around, beneath;—

And each, within its little bulk, containsA heart, which drives the torrents through its veins;Muscles to move its limbs aright; a brainAnd nerves disposed for pleasure and for pain:Eyes to distinguish; sense whereby they knowWhat’s good or bad; is, or is not, its foe.

Is the tourist aGeologist? Here are unnumbered stones, of different sizes, shapes, and colours, which Nature appears to have thrown up in one of her wildest freaks.—Is he anAntiquarian? If he will follow the path chalked out in these pages,he will find materials which will furnish him with an intellectual repast, before he leaves the mountain. But more of this anon.

What are these mast-like things just a-head, peeping over the mountain’s brow? A few more steps, enquiring traveller, and they will answer for themselves. Another minute, and you will reach the breathing point. The panoramic view that suddenly opens, after gaining the eminence, baffles all description. You will feel a thrill of pleasure as you stand and gaze on the majestic ocean, ruffled by the breeze, giving back the sun-beam from ten thousand glittering waves, rolling clear and deep, carrying on her liquid bosom her rich and varied burdens. While, however, you form a Pic Nic for a few minutes, I will amuse you with the following apposite poetic effusion:—

Now welcome May comes brightly in,With sunny shower and azure sky;Come, quit the city’s dust and dinEre yet the season’s freshness fly.This is a spot of ancient turf,The grass is purely fresh and green;Just within hearing of the surf:Few lovelier spots than this, I ween,Both land and sea in prospect fair,Well have a merryPic Nichere.Come woo we nature’s loveliness,Her landscapes fair, her scenes sublime,While young and lightsome footsteps pressFresh odours from the mountain thyme.’Tis good to be where old and youngIn social happiness are met,And every heart to mirth is strung,As if life’s sunshine ne’er would set.The younger folk shall dance and sing,The older chat of bye-gone times;Or poet of the party bringThe tribute of some idle rhymes.Let every one dismiss dull careAnd have a happyPic Nichere.

Come woo we nature’s loveliness,Her landscapes fair, her scenes sublime,While young and lightsome footsteps pressFresh odours from the mountain thyme.’Tis good to be where old and youngIn social happiness are met,And every heart to mirth is strung,As if life’s sunshine ne’er would set.The younger folk shall dance and sing,The older chat of bye-gone times;Or poet of the party bringThe tribute of some idle rhymes.Let every one dismiss dull careAnd have a happyPic Nichere.

This is a most ingenious invention, for the purpose of carrying on a communication with distant persons. The line of Telegraphs, or stations (eleven in number), was established by the Trustees of the Liverpool Docks; they extend along the coast as far as Liverpool, and are fixed on commanding heights, at an average distance of a little less than eight miles apart. A constant look-outis kept during the day at each of these stations. The rapidity with which a communication is made from Holyhead mountain to Liverpool, a distance of about 80 miles, is truly astonishing. A question is sometimes asked at Liverpool, and an answer received from Holyhead in less than a minute,—on some occasions in 30 seconds. The ordinary intelligence of what ships are in sight, &c., is generally conveyed in 5 minutes. The Telegraph consists of two vertical columns. Each of these columns is provided with two pairs of arms, moveable on pivots, at a sufficient distance from each other to prevent any confusion in the working. There are thus eight arms, which, when out of operation or indicating a cipher, or the ciphers required in expressing hundreds and thousands, are invisible within the mast. Each arm is capable of three points of elevation, and is worked from below by means of chains hitched on to levers of a peculiar construction. Any number, from 1 to 9, is indicated by one or both of the arms being pointed obliquely or horizontally. This arrangement of motion is applicable to each of the four pairs of arms; but otherwise, each has a different arithmetical power, indicating units, tens, hundreds, thousands; so that the four powers in combination are capable of exhibiting every number from 1 to 9,999; but in order to extend the number still further, each mast is provided with an indicator, or board, working vertically on its summit; these indicators, when not in operation, being invisible. By this means four series of numbers, from 1 to 9,999, may be obtained, the telegraphic powers being extended to 39,996 signals. Contiguous to this telegraph is one of older date, connected with the Holyhead Harbour.

By the aid of the excellent telescopes of the Telegraph, all the more distant objects of attraction can be seen, and with a singular mellowness. The South Stack Light-house is brought so near, although about two miles off, as to make the individuality of persons in the lantern (previously known) easily and amusingly recognisable. Should the sky be unclouded and the weather propitious, the natural scenery that presents itself will be surpassingly grand. The view of the vast Snowdonian amphitheatre of mountains—

So shadowy, so sublime,

breaks like magic upon the eye, extending in one connectedAlpine chain from the Irish Sea to the Bristol Channel, the contour of which is varied, at irregular intervals, by the numerous diversified peaks towering above the rest, till they gradually advance to the summit of Snowdon, and then uniformly declining, till they terminate in the North horn of Cardigan Bay. The Isle of Anglesey, with her distant little hills and coasts, spread like a map,

Lies smiling before you;

that time-honoured Isle—a land of chivalry, of exciting incident, of music and of song, of venerable tradition and marvellous legend—the chief seat of the ancient Druids—where the Princes of Wales had their Palace for centuries. There the Picts, the Danes, the Irish, the Saxons, and other warlike tribes,

All armed in rugged steel unfiled,

pursued their conquests with great ferocity; ravaging the Island with fire and sword, blood and slaughter, their banners were

Fanned by conquest’s crimson wing,

and the hungry ravens reddened their beaks from the war of men. From this mountainous throne may also be seen the Isle of Man; Wicklow, the garden of Ireland; the mountains in the county of Down, near the Bay of Dundrum; Bardsey Island; the Cumberland hills, and parts of the Highlands of Scotland: the vast expanding waters of the Carnarvon Bay, St. George’s Channel, and Holyhead Bay, roll before you. Below you lies the Pier on Salt Island, with the Light-house on the extremity—the New Harbour, with its whistling engines, bustling workmen, and prancing horses; contiguous to which stand the modern mansions erected for the accommodation of those whose intellectual brains, like a main-spring, keep the stupendous machinery in operation, and whose engineering mappings and dottings, and sketchings and plannings, keep this corner of the world wide awake—the Old Harbour, with its vessels and smaller craft in different stages of preparation, and packets busily preparing for immediate sail—the modest Obelisk peeping over the town—the Skerry Rocks—the sea-washed South Stack, and other objects of interest, open out on every side perspicuously to the view. The painter would be at a loss upon what particular spot to fix his eye; turn which way he will, some beauty, variable andexhaustless, is before him; it is impossible for either the artist or poet to describe, with a hope of doing anything like justice to, so picturesque and varied a landscape. The impression is that of singular wildness and solitude, stretching in a succession of prospects, fading into distant softening vista, as agreeable to the eye as the imagination. While standing on this promontory, your thoughts flow poetically, although you have neither rhythm nor music in your composition.

Having filled every cell in the lungs with exquisitely pure air, that comes direct from a “high ethereal source”—air so uncorrupted as to be met with only far, far from the haunts of men, and the hum of human cities, we must now bid farewell to this enchanting and enchaining spot, but the scene will leave an undying impression on the mind.

I love to stand upon the hill,And gaze on the ocean wide;See ships of commerce—not of war,On her bright bosom glide.But now before our eyes the mirror fades,Yet our strain’d glance shall linger on the scene.

O! let us away to yon heights,Where the Roman encamp’d him of old;With his train’d bowmen and Knights,And his banner all burnish’d with gold.

Having reluctantly turned our backs upon the Telegraph, we now direct our steps to the mountain apex. The road is not macadamized, but a romantic walk of 30 minutes will scarcely be felt between the bracing effects of the atmosphere and the excitement; and I feel assured that the antiquities will amply repay the additional toil. From the summit there is a commanding view of the Promontory, and you may mark its varying breadth and inequalities, its storm indented figure, and its broken fantastic cliffs, abrupt declivities, and deep gorges, as by some earthquake cleft.

There is, indeed, a charm connected with this mount, before which the pageant of pomp, and the heralds of emblazonry must bow down. That charm is

The power of thought, the magic of the mind.

What thoughts crowd upon the mind while standing on thismemorable mountain! What triumphs and defeats have been experienced here. Hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, have alternately swelled the breasts of thousands mid these rocks, while watching every movement of an adverse fleet, or the approach of distant armies. The transactions of bye-gone centuries pass in review before our eyes—

Pen Caer Gybi stands renown’d,Proud in song, and known in story;Where proud Rome in triumph frown’dO’er the Welsh, who died in glory.

These were the mighty fastnesses to which the ancient Britons had recourse when overpowered by numbers and military tactics in the plain. There is no wonder that these “sons of the mountain heroes” so long successfully withstood the inroads of Roman legions, when such craggy and adamantine rocks, were the “external circumstances” in their “formation of character;” and nothing less than the refined expedient of powder and ball could dislodge them from these rocky fastnesses and natural barricades; bows and arrows, swords and spears, were only adapted for milder game, or closer quarters. On this mountain our hardy ancestors stood and nobly fought, when liberty made her last stand in this kingdom against the strides of Roman power; their determination was

To leave the battle only on their biers,

“to conquer or to die,” and thousands fell

Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.Here we treadOn sacred ground, and press the mingled dust of heroes;Far, far beneath they sleep, nor does a stoneOr marble column rear its head to showThe spot where now they moulder.

There are several remains of military forts in this neighbourhood, whose appearance indicates them to be of Roman origin. While reviewing them our thoughts are instinctively carried back to those days when the stranger tenanted the land—

When o’er this rugged mountainRome’s earliest legions past.

Upon the summit of the mountain calledPen Caer Gybi(theHead of Cybi’s Fort) is a remarkable Roman antiquity, viz.:Caer Twr, (Fort Tower). This circular building was formerly strongly cemented with the same kind of mortar as the Fort (church walls) of the Town, and supposed to have been aRoman Pharos, or Watch Tower. It had stood and braved the crushing thunder, vivid lightning, and warring winds and storms, for perhaps sixteen hundred centuries. But the rude hand of man has marred it, hoping by so doing to meet with an Australian digging.

Upon this mount a tower standsWell known in days of yore;When chieftains with their hostile bands,Shed floods of human gore.’Tis now in ruins—but a spellOf grandeur haunts the scene;While none remain the deeds to tell,The deeds of blood there seen.

Upon this mount a tower standsWell known in days of yore;When chieftains with their hostile bands,Shed floods of human gore.

’Tis now in ruins—but a spellOf grandeur haunts the scene;While none remain the deeds to tell,The deeds of blood there seen.

Upon the side of the mountain runs a long dry wall, several feet high in many places. The peculiar form of the wall exhibits the Roman architect; and there is no doubt the Romans had here one of their posts, or walled encampments.

There is a powerAnd magic in the ruined battlementFor which the palace of the present hourMust yield, and wait, till ages are its dower.

On the opposite or West side of the mountain, and about ten minutes’ walk from the Telegraph, on the right hand of the footpath leading to South Stack, and in a situation awfully romantic, may be seen traces of a religious house calledCapel Lochwyd. Here also the hand of man has effected a greater demolition than the elemental war of many centuries; the altar and walls have been removed with the hope of finding treasure. It is worth while to visit this spot were it but to admire the taste which these hermits of old had in fixing their residence; and the piety, it may be, which led them to seek a solitary abode so favourable to devotion. From this spot has ascended the voice of prayer, and the hymn of praise. I doubt not but the surrounding rocks have witnessed such acts of self-denial, fervent devotion, and entire consecration to God as would put many of us, who are making a flaming profession, to the blush. I should imagine thatfew could view these remarkable remains of ancient piety without feeling, in some degree, the sentiment so admirably expressed by the Poet—

I do love these ancient ruins;We never tread upon them but we setOur foot upon some reverend history.

Close to this sacred spot is one of the most extraordinary clefts in the solid rock ever seen by man. It would well repay the walk of miles to see it. It was here the Welsh lads and lasses of the last century descended and ascended, when they tested their fortunes in reference to the profound hymeneal question named in page17. My friend who accompanied me to view these ancient ruins, descended the ravine, but I preferred remaining in meditative mood. The information, however, which he gave, on returning, of the scenery of the “lower regions,” created in my bosom a desire, which I purpose, at some future period, should life be spared, to gratify. It is a delightful walk from here to South Stack, which may be accomplished in about half-an-hour. Many Roman coins of the time of late emperors were found a few years ago in this mountain; also several coins of Constantine the Great, in a very perfect state, one of which was presented to the Marquis of Anglesey by Captain H. Evans. In 1835, in removing some old walls atTy Mawr(Large House) the property of Lord Stanley of Alderley, were found several spear-heads, axes, and rings, of bronze, with red amber blades, which, from the form and nature of the materials, appear to be of Phœnician origin.

It is a pity that ruins of such thrilling interest should have been so shamefully demolished. As the number of visitors to Holyhead will increase annually, it is hoped that efforts will be made to restore some of them, for they will always be objects of attraction.

By this time, I presume, you feel disposed for the “good things” of this life, and cast a longing look towards your quarters. Of one thing I am fully persuaded, that you will feel your health better, your spirits brighter, your appetite keener, your mind expanded, your thoughts assuming a loftier and yet more refined bearing, from your having visited Nature in a few of her sublimer abodes.

While descending the rugged mount, the scenes you have just left behind may lead to a train of thought somewhat similar tothe following. What a great change has taken place in this Island since the Roman Eagle fluttered in the breeze, and the conquering legions rent the heavens with shouts of victory. When the historic lamp disclosed this land, it presented a race of rude barbarians,

Wild as the untaught Indian brood.

Superstition then triumphed over the minds of the masses. In yon valley was the sequestered grove devoted to obscure and horrid mysteries—altars were reared, on which the innocent, as well as the guilty, were doomed to bleed—the Druid priests performed the horrid murders, and pretended that they could, by such means, foretel future events, blasphemously asserting that the attitude in which the victim fell, the writhing agonies of expiring life, the manner in which the blood flowed, or the convulsions of the wounds opened, or closed, were indications of futurity—they conducted gloomy processions, with victims, bound with cords, for slaughter and sacrifice, filling the air with shrieks of agony and screams of horror—gross idolatry, savage manners, bloody rites, funeral pile, echoing whoop—all, all were there!

Wrapped in deep sleep, the ancient Britons lay,Hugged their vile chains, and dream’d their age away.

Such was Wales, and such was Britain too, before the light of the Christian Religion shone on her coasts. That heaven-born system, with its train of imperishable blessings, took its stand amid these wild regions, and like yon sun in the heavens, diffused her light, extended her influence, and multiplied her bloodless conquests. She has organized, humanized, civilized, moralized, and, in many instances, evangelized the inhabitants. Christianity has expelled idolatry, restored natural affection, and has conferred, and is conferring, numerous, most substantial, and positive blessings. And while she has, on the one hand, discouraged and eradicated those vices which were the harbingers of a nation’s ruin, she has, on the other, implanted those principles on which the welfare of nations depend. It is true she has prepared weapons, but they are not carnal; enlisted soldiers, but their fight is without “confused noise of warriors, and garments rolled in blood;” she has erected a standard, but it is the Cross; unfurled a banner, but its emblem is the dove—the bond of brotherhood; and when sovereigns, senators, and legislators, are properly influenced by the pacific principles of the Gospel, warwill be known no more; the sun will no more rise upon an embattled plain, nor set upon a field of blood.

Then the labourer willDrive his yoked oxen, and with careless stepsLean o’er the share, and carol as he guidesThe obliterating furrow o’er their graves.

Contrasting the present with the past, we feel that other times now bless our land, and that while peace and joy bound over the mountain tops, we can with peculiar feelings give utterance to the language of the poet:—

Where once the Roman marshall’d his bold host,Bristling with swords and spears the rocky heights,The shepherd leads his flock, and the young lambsIn sporting gambols tread the flowery turf.

Here numerous ships security may gainFrom raging tempests and the blustering main.

For want of a more extensive area of shelter, and deeper water, great destruction of shipping has occurred on the rocks outside the Holyhead Old Harbour by vessels endeavouring to reach the Pier; hence the necessity of an outer harbour, sufficiently spacious to admit a man-of-war at all times. This necessity had for many years been deeply impressed upon the minds of gentlemen of talent and experience. The many fearful wrecks in the bay tended to produce a conviction that no money, within a reasonable limit, should be spared for effecting a spacious and complete harbour. It is an admitted fact that the aspect of entrance to the present harbour, together with its inefficiency in size, have been the sole cause of most of the shipwrecks in the bay. The following melancholy record will serve to shew that it was high time some effort should be made to save life and property.

Dec. 18th, 1790.—On the north point of Salt Island theCharlemontpacket, on her passage from Parkgate to Dublin, was lost, when 110 souls perished, owing to the want of a sufficient draught in the Old Harbour.

Feb. 5th, 1824.—TheJohn, from Cork to Liverpool, was driven on the rocks at Penrhos, in this bay—13 lives lost. She came under the lee of the Light-house in the entrance of the harbour, but, owing to its aspect, could not come into it, consequently was blown off.

Nov. 24th, 1826.—TheMarquis of Wellington, from Liverpool to Buenos Ayres, drove on shore out of the Old Harbour upon Brynglas Rocks—16 lost. This vessel was from 2 o’clock, p.m., until 5 30, p.m., at the entrance of the Harbour. The captain had actually written to Liverpool that evening, and sent the letter on shore with the boatman, informing his owner and friends of his safe arrival at Holyhead; before 12 o’clock all had perished!

Jan. 14th, 1827.—ThePanthia, N. Y. packet, bound for Liverpool, was driven into the bay by the violence of the gale, and in attempting to make the harbour, went on shore about 300 yards to the eastward of the South-pier-head. Ship broken up.

April 28th, 1829.—TheHarlequin, from Palermo to Liverpool, drifted on the rocks at Turkey Shore, at the entrance of the harbour, and became a total wreck.

April 28th, 1829.—TheFame, from Barbadoes to Liverpool, drifted on the rocks at Turkey Shore, at the entrance of the harbour, south side.

April 28, 1829, the “Fitia,” from Rotterdam to Liverpool, drifted from the pier to Pen Manarch, Penrhos Point, and was much damaged. The captain’s wife was drowned. This vessel approached so near to the north pier that a pound weight could have been thrown on her deck; notwithstanding owing to the aspect of the harbour, shipwreck was the consequence. To this affecting catalogue a long and fearful list might be added, shewing that a vast amount of life and property has been lost—lost for ever. But sufficient has been recorded to prove that the New Harbour, which is now stretching out her welcome wings across the beautiful Bay of Holyhead, was adesideratum.

Holyhead is formed by Nature to become a great trading community. The bay presents a fine spacious opening, one half sheltered by eternal rocks, and on each side of its entrance, are brilliant lights to guide the mariner. It is, moreover, centrally situated in St. George’s Channel, in the tract of all its trade; and presents the only station from the Land’s End to the Clyde, on the east side of the channel, (except Milford,) to which vessels can approach when the tide has considerably ebbed. No wonder then, that the various commissioners appointed by Government, consisting of some of the most eminent naval and civil engineers, should select it as the best place on the coast for an asylum harbour, and a packet station.

Several plans were proposed for the New Harbour by differenteminent engineers. The first plan proposed was by the late noble spirited and indefatigably enterprising, Captain H. Evans, Holyhead Harbour Master; but it enclosed too small an area, and too wide an entrance. J. Walker, Esq., C.E., to the Admiralty, proposed a plan which was to enclose an area of 90 acres, and 3,300 feet of breakwater, and 2,500 feet of pier, at an expense of £400,000. Captain Beechy, R.N., proposed to enclose 176 acres, with 4,500 feet of breakwater, and 3,500 feet of pier, at an expense of £500,000; and J. M. Rendall, Esq., C.E., of Westminster, (the constructor of the Docks at Birkenhead, Great Grimsby, and Leith,) proposed a splendid design, on a very large scale, and adopted by the Government. It consists of a breakwater of 5,100 feet from Soldier’s Point eastward, to terminate at the Platter’s Buoy; and a pier of 2,100 feet fromYnys Halen, (Salt Island,) with its head resting on the outward Platter, enclosing an area of 316 acres,—three quarters of a mile long, and in seven fathoms of water,—making one of the most splendid refuge harbours and packet stations in the universe; the estimate cost of which is £700,000.

The Contractors for this gigantic project are Messrs J. and C. Rigby, London. G. C. Dobson, Esq., C.E., is the Resident Engineer; G. F. Lyster, Esq., C.E., Assistant Engineer; Mr. J. Radford, General Manager; and Mr. R. Cousins, Engineer for the Contractors. The works were commenced in January, 1848; and they have been going on since then as rapidly as it was possible to proceed. Twelve months were occupied in laying down rails to the quarries, erecting stages, and making other necessary preparations for the works; since which, an average of 1,300 men have been employed on the works. The broad gauge has been used for the railway, by which means the contractors, are enabled to bring larger pieces of stone than the narrow gauge could accommodate. There are two quarries used, one called Moelfry Quarry, from which limestone is produced, and the other is, in fact, the Holyhead Mountain, from the sides of which the materials for the works are taken. A railway is formed from the extensive quarry on the side of the mountain to the Soldier’s Point, and Salt Island. Wooden staging is run out into the sea; strong long balks or piles are fixed in a vertical position in the water, resting on the base; these are secured with beams placed longitudinally so as to form a base for the construction of the railway. The top of the staging is considerably above high-water mark. The depth of the sea at low water, on theline of the breakwater, varies from 20 to 40 feet; the tide rising, on an average, to a further height of 17 feet in spring, and 7 feet in neaps. Along the top of the staging are railways capable of sustaining the weight of a locomotive engine and a number of waggons loaded. In the erection of these stages the utmost care has been evinced by the contractors and engineers to prevent accident; in order to obtain this object, no expense has been spared; the machinery and staging being of the best and strongest description. The work may be described as consisting of two breakwaters, one to the north, (Soldier’s Point,) and the other to east, (Salt Island.) The quarries are contiguous to the works, and here a great number of the workmen are employed; they are, perhaps, the most extensive in the country, and it is not an hypothesis to say that in no quarries extant is work of such magnitude and rapidity carried on. Holyhead Mountain, which affords the source of supply, consists of schistus quartz of so hard a nature that the tools of the workmen will scarcely touch it, and its edges will cut glass. The quarrying begun with the foot of the mountain slope, and it has progressed into the mountain until an elevation of 130 feet perpendicular has been attained. The scene at the quarries exhibits one of the most active pictures of industry, from the width of the workings, and the number of labourers employed.

The huge mountain, towering from 700 to 800 feet above the level of the sea, expanding its full breast, and showing its fine broad forehead, and which, comparatively speaking, had slumbered for centuries, is at length disturbed from its long repose, by “physical force.” A visit to this scene of industry, which literally swarms with men and horses, is no small treat. Tramways are laid in every direction, along which waggons roll to the point where they are required. Locomotive engines of unique design and requirements are continually at work, pouring their dense smoke into the air, passing along with amazing velocity to the terminus of the stage,—

Quick moves the balanced beam, of giant birth,Wields his large limbs, and nodding shakes the earth.

The clang of the hammer of the blacksmith—the whirl of the wheel of the grinding mill—the jerking of the punching machine, perforating thick sheet iron, as easily as a lady would put herneedle through pasteboard—the buz in the engineers’ compartment—the pendulum-like tick, tick, tick, of the strikers pursuing their monotonous vocations—the enormous cranes, with their pullies, hooks, and ponderous weights attached, demonstrating the laws of gravitation—the miners, deep buried in the bowels of the mountain, the sound of whose strokes, forcibly reminds one of the fairies of by-gone days—the signal-flags floating in the breeze, and announcing in telegraphic language, “to all whom it may concern,” that it is high time to take care of “number one”—the blasting, which is on a most magnificent scale, report after report, making one almost feel as if we were in the vicinity of an embattled plain, and last, though not least, the strong, sleek, well-fed horses, prancing in their furbished harness—all, all are before you and around you. Nor are the workmen less striking and peculiar—the ease with which the most unwieldy hammers are heaved by them attest their prodigious strength and profound skill—some may be seen, high in the quarry, suspended by ropes, reminding one of the bye-gone practice of egg-taking from the high cliffs of the promontory, pushing down the rocks, loosened by the terrible blasting, shouting to each other as if they gloried in their elevated position—the engine drivers guiding their iron horses along the stages, while the sea roars 60 feet beneath them, meeting each other on the up and down lines, with all the pleasantry of stage-coach men of olden time; fear is not in their vocabulary; though the yawning gulf is beneath them, they sing, and smile, and whistle, as they sweep along the trembling stage, as if seated in their respective cottages, with their playful wives beside them, and their merry children round them.

But to return—to cut into so hard a rock the contractors have to adopt the process of blasting, which is carried on upon a magnitude which has never been equalled. To penetrate the rocks sets of workmen, in twos, are employed in different parts of the face of the mountain, and these men drive a heading or gallery into the solid rock, about five feet high and three wide, for a distance of 30 to 40 feet, which is accomplished chiefly by blasting. In the extremity of this gallery, which runs first horizontally, and is then sunk perpendicularly, the powder is placed in a wood-case or bag, and the hole being tamped or filled up with clay, it is fired by the galvanic battery. The charges vary from one to five tons of gunpowder, according to the face of the rock to be acted upon; and the quantities thrown down varies from six to thirty thousand tons in an explosion. One of these “headings” or“shots” as they are called, went off this day (Dec. 7, 1852). Sir Richard Bulkeley, Bart., the Rev. J. Williams, M. Errington Stanley, Esq., and G. F. Lyster, Esq., were present on the occasion, and took their station on a bridge to witness the “shot;” but on seeing the stones roll through the air, they deemed it prudent to act upon the well known maxim, “retreat is the better part of valour,” and instantly left their elevated position, and placed themselves beneath the abutment of the bridge. The writer, who was present, was a little amused to see such a fine illustration of the first law of nature—Self Preservation. As a proof of the fearful extent of these explosions, I would just observe, that although the bridge on which the aforesaid gentlemen stood was about 800 yards from the quarry, a stone fell within a few yards of it. The effect of these blastings on the rock are sometimes of a curious character, but generally speaking the rock when thrown down leaves the surface of the cliff smooth and perpendicular. The stones thrown out are generally large, many of them weighing twenty tons. Shafts are also sunk from 30 to 40 feet deep. The quantity of stone taken from the quarries is accurately weighed, and already about two million tons have been buried in the sea. During the past year the average deposit has amounted to 3,500 tons per day, and supposing that there have been 250 full working days, this would give a deposit for the year of 875,000 tons.

The mode of operation is as follows. The rough breakwater is formed by rubble-stones, brought from the mountain in waggons peculiarly constructed for the express purpose (the design of which, I understand, was furnished by the resident engineer, and proves the versatility of his genius), and dropped perpendicularly through the staging into the sea, and is then left to be dealt with by the sea, which arranges the deposit in a manner best suited to form a consolidated mass; and it is calculated that, when a sufficient portion of the mountain has been dropped into the sea, there will be formed a breakwater which will have an average base of from 400 to 500 feet, and this will gradually slope upwards to about 50 feet on the summit of the breakwater on which the stone pier will be built. But after all the sea is the great workman. We find the materials, and it makes the foundation; or as the celebrated French engineer, Monsieur Cachin, observes, “If man be strong enough to heap together rocks in the midst of the ocean, the action of the sea alone can dispose them in the manner most likely to ensure their stability.”This is now most effectually carried out by this new means of depositing stones. When a heavy sea comes on, it breaks over the ridges of rubble-rocks, which are interspersed amongst the timber of the staging, and gradually lowers them, carrying away ridge after ridge, until that which was far above the water is completely submerged; and the sea acting upon these stones gradually solidifies the mass, which binds itself into the clayey bottom of the harbour, and the whole becomes tenaciously cemented to the ground. And this process will go on until the deposit shall have formed a place sufficiently inclined to sustain the breaking of the sea without removal.

The slopes, it is understood, will be faced with dressed stone to a certain extent, similar to the fine specimen of beautiful workmanship, which has been executed for about 100 yards, at the seaward side of “Soldier’s Point.”

The present effective staff consists of eight locomotive engines, running on five lines of railway on the breakwater; a fixed engine for grinding, fifty horses, and 1,300 men; and the stores embrace all things requisite for conducting the work in a self-supporting manner. This mass of mind and matter is able every day to accomplish a removal into the sea of 4,000 tons weight of the mountain, and so the work proceeds.

The works are being carried on by the spirited contractors with the utmost expedition compatible with good workmanship. The present extent of the north breakwater is 3,700 feet, which leaves about 1,400 feet to be constructed. The east pier extends 1,000 feet, which is about half its intended length.[51]Attention has also been directed to the permanent wall of the great breakwater on the harbour side, with a view to find quay accommodation for vessels to discharge, and for steamers to take in coals. About 800 feet of this walling is now being levelled for the quay, on which cranes, &c., are to be placed immediately, and a connection may ultimately be made with the railway.

When the work will be ended is a wide question. It is said the Contractors are under an engagement to finish their work by the close of 1855. The works are certainly progressing satisfactorily, and on the part of the Contractors there is a desire to urge them forward as rapidly as it is possible to proceed. It is a work which all desire to see accomplished and in use at as early a moment as the works can be safely and scientifically completed.

The public mind exults in these vast undertakings, “vain man would” now-a-days not only “be wise,” but he would bepowerful, and he delights, not merely in soliciting the aid of Nature, but in “attacking” it. When the whole undertaking is completed, protected by batteries, and ornamented with light-houses, observatories, and telegraphs, and adorned with promenades, and a Sailors’ Chapel, it will present a very interesting illustration of the success with which intellect and perseverance and enterprise have been crowned; and will be indicative not only of the wealth of the nation, but a proof of the mental over the physical world, worthy of Britain in the nineteenth century.

The words of the immortal Shakespeare, put into the mouth of one of his heroines, may, with a slight alteration, be applied to the New Harbour:—

— This same blessed (Milford) Holyhead, and, by the wayTell me how Wales was made so happy asTo inherit such a haven.

For certain purposes, such as shelter, the harbour will become progressively available. Great benefit has been derived from the works, even in their present imperfect state. Hundreds of vessels have already taken shelter under the breakwater; the writer has counted as many as forty vessels at one time anchored in the Harbour; and the time is not far distant, when the spacious and beautiful haven will afford a refuge to ships of all sizes. When the foaming surges rave, and the billows roar—when the storm-cloud broods, and the thunder-storms crash—when hurricane howls music, on the wild wide sea, and the big waves roll the chorus; when the shattered vessel is driven the mock of ocean, and the sport of winds, her tars will anchor here, and, safely moored, will tell their wonders over.—

Safe from the wind and tideThe mighty vessels will triumphant ride.

The works may be seen by visitors, subject to certain regulations,by seeking a pass at the Engineer’s Office, near the works, in the obtaining of which there is no difficulty.

Railways have given an impetus to our country’s civilization. They are the veins and arteries by means of which the circulation of the social body is carried on. Remote places are, by this means, virtually brought near to each other; and thus, while intelligence is diffused, an impulse is given to commerce, each of which advantages most powerfully affects the conditions of the people. The benefits of cheap and quick communication to a great commercial state are too evident to require to be enlarged upon. Time and money are thus importantly saved, and a rapid and economical transit of goods, by lessening their costs, enable the humblest to partake of comforts which were formerly considered as luxuries only for the rich.

Amongst the railway enterprises in this kingdom, the Chester and Holyhead line must be considered as possessing peculiar claims to public attention. The stupendous character of the work—the difficulties which had to be overcome, and the vast sum invested in the undertaking, place this line in the foremost rank amongst the splendid achievements of our days; indeed we may justly consider it the masterpiece of the human intellect, and the wonder of the nineteenth century. In its course, it divides broad estuaries, it penetrates the bowels of the loftiest hills, forming an iron-road where the foot of man had never trod, and the hardiest rocks have succumbed to the irresistible energy of human actions and scientific skill—it crosses the important navigable river at Conway, and the Menai Straits, by means of immense iron-tubes, at such an elevation as not to impede the progress of the largest vessels. It presents an extraordinary display of enterprise and wealth; so large an accumulation of the conquests of energy, and the constituent elements of riches, it may be safely said, was never before collected in the same compass. The whole line is a noble exemplification of art subjugating and triumphing over the opposition of natural difficulties. Its completion formed an epoch in the history and application of mechanical power. If only a few years ago it had been said that people could pass over the Menai Straits, without inconvenience and without danger, at the rate of from 30 to 40 miles per hour,the tale would have been treated as one of those visionary stories, which in former days were the amusements of the nursery.

Holyhead is the terminus of this extraordinary line—a line of great value to this place, effecting as it has done a rapid communication between this port and the eastern part of the county, as well as the manufacturing districts of Cheshire, Lancashire, and the North; while, uniting with other lines, a connexion is opened up with the Metropolis.

The Holyhead Station is an extensive and commodious one, connected with which are Refreshment Rooms, with Waiting and Dressing Rooms attached, Telegraph Office and a well furnished Book Room, the whole fitted up on a most splendid scale, well arranged and in excellent order, and plentifully supplied with luxurious food. A table d’hote at the Refreshment Rooms on the arrival of the mail and express packets from Ireland, conducted by Mrs. Hibbert, late of Wolverton. In Mr. Massinberd, manager of the Railway Station, the traveller will meet with a gentleman anxious to give every information which even the most timorous and querulous may require to further his views, or quell his fears. The Railway Company have also erected a large cattle and luggage station on the pier. A new line of railroad has been constructed along the margin of thetraeth, or sandy estuary, which forms the Harbour, extending nearly a mile from the Station to the Pier. Arrangements for the transit of goods and live stock between Ireland and England have been made. A steamer leaves the North Wall, Dublin, every evening; but the period has been so short that no opportunity has been afforded to ascertain its success; there is, however, every prospect of the traffic becoming a very important feature in the developement of this line, and certain to be productive of a large additional revenue to the company.

There are many distinguished men in the railway world, who have been accustomed for many years to lookaforeandaft, who do not despair of seeing the Chester and Holyhead one of the most profitable, as it is one of the best officered, lines of railway in the kingdom; but we think that the government should take upon itself to cover the vast outlay which it caused in the erection of that wonder of the world, the Britannia Tubular Bridge—aNATIONAL CONVENIENCE.

It has been a cause of regret to thousands that the proposals for the erection of the Hotel in Britannia Park, the grounds of which are in rapid progress towards completion, have not been taken up with that warmth and spirit, which the zeal and penetration of S. M. Peto, Esq., M.P., Chairman of the Chester and Holyhead Railway Company, led him to consider desirable. It is to be hoped, however, that the vast expenditure already incurred will not be thrown away, and the property suffered again to become almost a waste, affording as it does the most beautiful prospects, and the most healthy and convenient positions in the neighbourhood, to which multitudes of wealthy families, carrying on business in the crowded cities of England, would be glad to retire, could sufficient accommodation be secured to them. In conclusion, we would respectfully urge upon the shareholders not to sacrifice their interests in an undertaking whose prospects are of a most cheering character, in parting with their shares at present prices.

General Manager for the Line, J. O. Binger, Esq., Chester.—Resident Engineer, H. Lee, Esq., C.E., Bangor.

Mail Train, 2 a.m., and 7 p.m. Express, 2 40 p.m. For the Ordinary Trains see Time Table.

Ploughing the seas’Gainst wind, and tide, and elemental strife.

Holyheadderives its chief prosperity and consequence from being the Station of the Government Packets, which convey the London and other English mails to and from Ireland, to which it lies exactly opposite, and is the shortest and safest passage across St. George’s Channel; and now that the Railway is completed through to Chester, a new interest is awakened, and hopes entertained that the port will become one of the first importance to this remote peninsular of the kingdom. In addition to Her Majesty’s packets, there are regular steam vessels, in connection with the Railway Company, that sail from the harbour daily. These are splendid first class and fast sailing steam-ships; the fittings-up are of superior character, excellent tables are kept,stewards and stewardesses are most attentive, the crew are steady, sober, and experienced sailors, the commanders are true seamen, assiduous in the discharge of their highly responsible and arduous professional duties, civil and easy in address, intelligent in conversation, and most desirous to secure, by the best attention, the comfort and convenience of their passengers—these form an aggregate of all possible auxiliaries to the enjoyment of a swift and pleasant run of 4½ hours, which lands you on the Irish shores. These superb steamers dart boldly forward, like some ocean bird upon its wing, on their trip across the channel. There is something almost startling in looking intensely on that strange unconscious power which produces results of living motion, with a beauty, majesty, and rapidity of action, without any approach to violence or hurry; it is at such moments that the light of modern science appears almost too dazzling to the human eye. It is said that between Holyhead and Dublin no packet has been lost since the days of Queen Elizabeth. In 1652, a weekly postal communication was established between Dublin and England, by packet to Holyhead.

Mail Packets—Every night, 1 o’clock. Morning, 6.

Express,Company’s Packets—Every evening, 6 o’clock (Sunday excepted).

Luggage and Cattle Packet—Every evening.

Windermere—To Liverpool, calling at Amlwch, every Thursday.

Mail Packets—Every night, 12 30. Evening, 6.

Express,Company’s Packets—2 o’clock, p.m., (Sunday excepted). A Railway Train leaves Holyhead soon after the arrival of the Mail and Express Packets.

Luggage and Cattle Packet—Every morning.

Windermere—From Liverpool, every Wednesday.

The “Royal Hotel” is conducted by Mr. and Mrs. Hibbert, and the “Castle Hotel” by Mr. and Mrs. Mc Vittie. At thesehotels there is every comfort and convenience, whether for the invalid in hopes of renovated health, or the tourist delighting in creature comforts. They are replete with every requisite for the accommodation of visitors, and afford every inducement to persons desirous, by quietness, to enjoy a relaxation from the cares of business and the bustle of populous districts. Cleanliness, prompt attention, combined with moderate charges, are the characteristics of these establishments, and render them pleasant places for a short stay.

The Royal Hotel, which is contiguous to the Station, has undergone thorough alteration, and every care has been taken to adopt all modern improvements, with a view of securing to travellers and families every accommodation which a first-class hotel can afford. It is fitted up in a style of elegance which renders it one of the most complete establishments of the kind in the kingdom, and in every way suited for visitors of the highest grade of society; it is fit to accommodate Royalty itself, and we opine the day is not far distant when it will be honoured with such illustrious guests. It is presided over by Mrs. Hibbert, late of Wolverton Station, whose unwearied exertions are employed to secure her inmates, as far as possible, all that can be desired. Here are hot, cold, and shower baths; carriages, cars, post-horses, &c. Omnibuses to and from the Railway Station and Steam-packets, for the convenience of parties frequenting this hotel,gratis.

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