“Who could believe that all would be in vain! The mother answered me in plain prose, briefly and carelessly, that her daughter was very sorry that she had always had an idiosyncratical antipathy to herrings; so strong indeed, that she had not been able to sit out the last play of the celebrated Wilibald Alexis, having accidentally heard that his real name was Herring. She therefore sent me back my fish and the accompanying poetry, with many thanks for my good intentions.
“Happily, godliness consoles a spirit truly possessed by it for every thing; but I was obliged to read the Bible two hours before I recovered my accustomed patience and composure. I read for my edification the history of Jonas; and although the whale which swallowed him was so very large, it continually disappeared in my fancy before the luckless herrings.
“In my anger (which alas! I have not yet completely conquered) I must now censure some things in the two blotting-paper periodicals above mentioned. They ought not only to strive after a more correct orthography in their advertisements, but to pay some attention to the sense. In a collection of natural curiosities made by a Berlin friend of mine, I find two of the above-named newspapers, containing the two following notices of deaths inserted by the same unfortunate father; and an old advertisement of a concert.
1. ‘This day the Lord, on his journey through Tettow, took to himself my youngest son Fritz, with his teeth.’
2. (A month later). ‘This day the Lord again took to himself my daughter Agnes to eternal blessedness.’
3. ‘On Monday a concert will be given at the theatre. The receipts are to serve as the basis of a fund destined for the support of our countrymen who fell in defence of their country.’
“Now I ask anybody whether this is not making death ludicrous,—certainly a grievous sin, even when done unintentionally.”
So far friend L——.
But the night grows pale—already the morning dawns. I must say, therefore, like Moore, it is day—therefore good night. I send you this long letter, which an acquaintance takes to London to-morrow morning, through our embassy; and with it a hearty kiss, which I hope the P—— custom-house will suffer to pass undisputed.
Your faithful L——
Caernarvon, July 19th, 1828.
My Beloved Friend,
I am now returned, dog-tired, from ascending Snowdon, the highest mountain in England, Scotland, and Wales, which indeed is not saying much. Excuse me till morning, when I will give you a faithful relation of my ‘fata’. Meantime, good night.
July 20th.
As soon as I had committed the packet for you to Mr. S——, with the strongest injunctions to care, I left Bangor as quickly as four post-horses could convey me. On the way I visited some iron-foundries, which, however, I shall spare you, as I observed nothing new in them. I was rather unwell when I arrived at the inn at Caernarvon, where a most beautiful girl with long black hair, the daughter of the absent host, did the honours with great grace and sweetness. The following morning at nine o’clock I set out in tolerable weather on a ‘char-à-banc,’ drawn by two horses of the country. My driver was a little boy who did not understand a word of English. He drove like mad, ‘en train de chasse,’ over the narrow cross-roads of this rocky country. All my shouts and expostulations were vain, or seemed to be interpreted by him in the very contrary sense from what I intended; so that we went nine miles from the lake of Llanberis in less than half an hour, over stock and stone: I do not understand how the horses and carriages bore it. By the fishermen’s huts which lie scattered along the shore, I found a gentler mode of conveyance, a pretty little boat, in which I embarked with two robust mountaineers. Snowdon now lay before us, but unfortunately had, as the country-people say, put on his night-cap, while the lower mountains around shone in the brightest sunshine. It is not more than about four thousand feet high, but has a very imposing aspect, in consequence of its immediate rise from the shore of the lake, whereas most other mountains of the same class spring from a base of considerable elevation. From the point where we embarked, to the little inn at the foot of Snowdon, the lake is three miles over; and as the wind was very high, our voyage was rough and tedious. The water of the lake is black as ink; the mountains bare and strewed with rock, and only varied by occasional small green glens: here and there are a few stunted trees, but the general aspect is wild and desert. Not far from the small church of Llanberis is the so-called Holy Well, inhabited by a solitary trout of enormous size, who has for centuries been exhibited to strangers. Frequently, however, he will not be tempted from his hiding-place; and the country-people think it an unlucky omen if he appears immediately. As I am an enemy of all oracles, I did not visit it. My companions also told me a history of a wondrous amazon of gigantic strength, who long led a wild masculine sort of life here: and described to me certain enormous bees, which the Welsh admire and venerate so much that they think them natives of Paradise. Excellent salmon are caught here: the manner of catching them is strange; they are hunted by small dogs trained to the sport, who drag them out of the mud into which they occasionally creep.
As soon as I arrived at the inn I secured a ‘poney’ (a small mountain horse), and a guide, and hastened to set out, in hope that the threatening clouds would break about noon. Unfortunately, the very contrary happened; it grew darker and darker, and before I had climbed half an hour, followed by my guide leading the poney, one uniform mantle enshrouded hill and valley; and a heavy rain, against which my umbrella did not long protect me, beat upon us. We at length took refuge in the ruins of an old castle; and after I had laboriously climbed a decayed winding staircase I reached the remains of a balcony, where I found shelter under a dense mass of ivy. Everything around me wore an air of profound gloom; the crumbling walls, the wind which moaned plaintively through their fissures, the monotonous dropping of the rain, and the disagreeable termination of my hopes conspired to throw me into a melancholy frame of mind. I thought with a sigh, how nothing,—not even the smallest trifle,—falls out as I wish it;—how all that I undertake looks ill-timed and eccentricas soon asIundertake it; so that everywhere, as here, what others accomplish in light and sunshine, I must toil through in storm and rain. Impatiently I left the old walls, and once more climbed the mountain. The weather was, however, now so terrible, and the increasing storm so dangerous even, that we were once more compelled to seek shelter in a miserable ruinous hut. The inside was filled with smoke, in the midst of which sat an old woman spinning in silence, while some half-naked children lay on the ground, gnawing dry crusts of bread. The whole family seemed hardly conscious of my entrance; at least they made no pause or change in their occupations. For a moment the children stared stupidly and incuriously at me, and then fell again into the apathy of wretchedness. I seated myself on the round table, the only piece of furniture in the house, and once more gave audience to my thoughts, which were not the most exhilarating. Meanwhile, as the storm raged more furiously, my guide earnestly advised me to turn back. This would doubtless have been the most reasonable course, particularly as we had not yet ascended a third way up the mountain. But as I had long resolved to drink your health, dear Julia, on the summit of Snowdon, in champagne, and had brought a bottle with me from Caernarvon for that express purpose, it seemed to me of ill omen to give it up. With the cheerfulness which a firm determination and fixed purpose, whether in great things or small, never fails to impart, I said, laughing, to my guide, “If it were to rain stones instead of water, I would not turn back till I had been at the top of Snowdon.” I made the poor old woman a little present, which she received with apathy. The road was become extremely difficult; it lay over loose and smooth stones washed by the rain, or over very slippery turf. I admired how my active sturdy little beast, shod as he was with smooth English shoes, could step so securely forward on such a road.
Meanwhile it soon became so piercingly cold, that, drenched as I was by the rain, I could keep my seat no longer. I am so out of practice in climbing, that I was sometimes nearly overpowered by weariness; but as the Knight in the Romance of old Spiess was cheered by the sound of the bells of the twelve sleeping virgins, so I was continually exhorted to perseverance by the “ma—ma” of the mountain sheep, who were feeding in hundreds on the thin herbage around me. I thought of our pet lamb at home, and stepped vigorously onward, till at the end of an hour I had recovered from my fatigue, and felt fresher than at setting out. I was not compensated for my sufferings by the view, for, shrouded as I was in clouds, I could hardly see twenty paces before me. In this mysterious ‘clair obscur’ I reached the wished-for summit, the way to which lies over a narrow irregular wall of rocks. A pile of stones, in the centre of which is a wooden pillar, marks the highest point.
I thought I met mywraith, as a young man emerged from the mist who precisely resembled me, that is to say what I was when I wandered over the Swiss Alps sixteen years ago. He had, like myself, a light knapsack on his back, a sturdy staff in his hand, and a substantial dress, which may be called the classical costume of mountain travellers, contrasting as strongly with my London boots, stiff cravat, and tight frock-coat, as the youthful freshness of his face with the yellow, city hue of mine. He looked like the young son of Nature; I like the ‘ci-devant jeune homme.’ He had ascended the mountain from the other side, and, without stopping, asked me eagerly how far it was to the inn and what sort of road it was. As soon as I had given him the information he desired, he bounded away over the rocks, singing carelessly, and soon disappeared from my sight. I scratched my name near a thousand others on a block of stone, took outthe drinking-horn which my host had lent me, and ordered the guide to draw the cork out of my bottle of Champagne. It must have contained an unusual portion of fixed air, for the cork flew higher than the top of the pillar by which we stood; and you may therefore, without imitating Münchausen, assert, that when I drank your health on the 17th of July, 1828, the cork of the Champagne bottle flew four thousand feet above the level of the sea. I filled the horn, to the foaming brim, and shouted with stentor voice into the dim obscure, ‘Long life to Julia!’ with nine times nine (in the English style). Three times I emptied the cup; and thirsty and exhausted as I was, never did I relish Champagne more. After my libation was completed, the prayers I sent up were not words, but profound emotions; the most fervent among which was the wish, that it might be Heaven’s will to grant happiness on earth to you, and then ‘if possible,’ to me;—and see, a pretty lamb sprang forth from the cloudy veil, and the mist opened and rolled away, and before us lay the earth suddenly gilded by a momentary gleam of sunshine. But in a minute the curtain fell again,—an emblem of my destiny: the beautiful and the desirable—thegildedearth—appear now and then like delusive meteors before me: as soon as I seek to grasp them, they vanish like dreams.
As there was no hope that the weather would become permanently clear in these elevated regions, we resolved to return. I found myself so strengthened that I not only felt no trace of weariness, but experienced a feeling unknown for years, in which walking and running, so far from being irksome, are in themselves a source of elastic enjoyment. I sprang, therefore, like my youthfuldouble, so rapidly over the rocks and down the wet rushy slopes, that in a few minutes I accomplished a portion of the way which it had taken me an hour and a half to ascend. I emerged at length from the interminable cloud; and if the prospect were less magnificent than from the summit, it still afforded me great delight. It was still about seven hundred feet above the level of the sea, which lay in boundless extent before me. The Island of Anglesea reposed on its bosom; and in the mountain-gorges, which intersected each other in every direction, I counted above twenty small lakes; some dark, some so brightly illumined by the sun that the eye could scarcely bear to rest on their mirror-like surface. Meanwhile the guide had overtaken me; but as I could now perfectly distinguish the ‘terrain,’ the evening was beautiful, and I felt no fatigue, I let him and his clever little horse return home by the straight road, and determined to take my solitary way across the most striking points, ‘et bien m’en,’ for since I was in Switzerland I remember no more delicious walk.—I followed a defile along the wild pass of Llanberis, celebrated in the wars between the English and the Welsh, and where the latter, under their great prince Llewellyn, often contemplated the destruction of their foreign invaders, perhaps from the very spot where I then stood.
The jagged walls of rock which in many places sank perpendicularly to the pass, are a good exercise for heads subject to giddiness. I gradually ascended many considerable peaks of the same kind, and found only an enjoyment the more in the slight shudder which my perilous station excited. “L’émotion du danger plait à l’homme,” says Madame de Staël. My solitude was not complete. The mountain sheep which I have already mentioned, much smaller than the ordinary breeds, wild and agile as the chamois, often bounded before me like roes, and in their flight leaped down crags and precipices where it would not have been easy for any one to follow them. The wool of these sheep is as remarkable for coarseness, as their flesh for tenderness and delicacy. The London ‘gourmands’ seta high value upon it, and maintain that a man who has not eaten roast mutton from Snowdon has no conception of theidealin that kind.
I came almost into collision with a large bird of prey, which hovering slowly with out-spread wings, had fixed his eyes so intently on something beneath, and had so little calculated on making my acquaintance in this impracticable path, that I could almost have seized him with my hands before he perceived me. He darted away with the velocity of an arrow, but did not for a moment lose sight of the object of his eager pursuit; and I saw him for a long time like a point, poised in the blue ether, till the sun sunk behind the surrounding mountain.
I now endeavoured to reach the hut at which I had before stopped, in as straight a line as possible. Not far from it a girl was milking her cow, which afforded me a refreshing draught. Here too I found my guide, and thankfully availed myself of his services during the rest of my way, wrapt in my cloak and resting most luxuriously on my sure-footed ‘poney.’ After returning to my inn and changing my clothes, I set out afresh and embarked on the lake, now splendidly burnished with the glow of evening. The air was become mild and soft; fish leaped sportively from the water, and herons wheeled their graceful flight around the sedgy shores; while here and there a fire gleamed upon the mountains, and the heavy thunder of blasted rocks resounded from the distant quarries.
Long had the moon’s sickle stood aloft in the deep blue heavens, when the dark-locked Hebe welcomed me back to Caernarvon.
July 21st.
I was still somewhat fatigued by my yesterday’s expedition, and contented myself with a walk to the celebrated castle built by Edward I. the conqueror of Wales, and destroyed by Cromwell. It is one of the most magnificent ruins in England. The only thing to regret is, that it stands so near the town, and not in solitary grandeur amid the mountains. The outer walls, although in ruins, still form an unbroken line, enclosing nearly three acres of ground. The interior space, overgrown with grass and filled with rubbish and with thistles, is nearly eight hundred paces long. It is surrounded by seven slender but strong towers, of different forms and sizes. One of them may still be ascended, and I climbed by a crumbling staircase of a hundred and forty steps to its platform, whence I enjoyed a magnificent view over sea, mountains, and town. On descending, my guide showed me the remains of a vaulted chamber, in which, according to tradition, Edward II., the first prince of Wales, was born. The Welsh, in consequence of the oppression of English governors in the earlier times of partial and momentary conquest, had declared to the king that they would obey none but a prince of their own nation. Edward therefore sent for his wife Eleanor in the depth of winter that she might lie-in in Caernarvon castle. She bore a prince: upon which the king summoned the nobles and chiefs of the land, and asked them solemnly whether they would submit to the rule of a prince who was born in Wales, and could not speak a word of English. On their giving a joyful and surprised assent, he presented to them his new-born son, exclaiming in broken Welsh,Eich dyn!i. e. “This is your man!” which has been corrupted into the present motto of the English arms,Ich Dien.
Over the great gate still stands the statue of Edward, with a crown on his head and a drawn dagger in his right hand, as if after six centuries he were still guarding the crumbling walls of his castle. He might justly have broken out into indignant complaint at the desecration I witnessed. In the midst of these majestic ruins, a camel and some monkeys in red jackets were performing their antics, while a ragged multitude stood shoutingand laughing around, unconscious of the wretched contrast which they formed with these solemn remains of past ages.
The tower in which the prince was born is called the Eagle Tower; not from that circumstance, but from four colossal eagles which crowned its pinnacles, one of which is still remaining. It is believed to be Roman, for Caernarvon stands on the site of the ancient Segontium, which.... But I am wandering too far, and am in the high road to fall into the tone of a tour-writer by profession, who thinks himself privileged toboreif he does not instruct, although his information is generally the result of a weary search through road-books and local descriptions. ‘Je n’ai pas cette prétension, vous le savez, je laisse errer ma plume,’ heedless whither it leads me.
The Marquis of Anglesea has lately established a sea-bath here, which is supplied by a steam-engine, and very elegantly fitted up. I availed myself of it on my way back from the castle, and observed in the entertaining-room a billiard-table of metal set in stone. It is impossible to desire one more accurate;—whether the steam-engine performed the office of marking, I forgot to ask. This is by no means impossible, in a country in which somebody has gravely proposed to establish steam-waiters in coffee-houses, and in which affairs would go on much the same if a forty-horsepower steam-engine sat upon the throne.
Dear Julia, a traveller must be allowed to speak often and much of weather and of eating. The Novels of the Illustrious, erst Unknown, or the Illustrious Unknown, derive no inconsiderable part of their attractions from the masterly pictures of this kind they contain. Whose mouth does not water when he sees Dalgetty, the soldier of fortune, display at the table a prowess even greater than in the fight? I am really not in joke when I assure you that when I have lost my appetite, I often read an hour or two in the works of the Great Unknown, and find it completely restored. To-day I wanted no stimulus of this or any kind. It was sufficient to see the most excellent fresh fish and the far-famed ‘mountain mutton’ smoking on the table, to induce me to fall on them with ravenous hunger; for a sea-bath and the ascent of Snowdon have a yet greater influence on the stomach than Walter Scott. My dark-locked maiden, who, as I was the only guest in the house, waited on me herself, was at length impatient of my reiterated attacks on the mutton; and said somewhat sullenly that I did nothing but eat, except when I was rambling about. She was of a much more ethereal nature, and in the short time I had been here, had read through half my portable Novel library. Every time I saw her she presented me with a newly devoured volume, and begged so earnestly for another, that I must have had a hard heart to refuse her.
July 22.
A large packet has been sent after me to-day from Bangor. I vainly searched it for tidings from you; but could not refrain from laughing heartily over a letter from L——, who writes to me in despair at the scrape he is in. He tells me that he suffered his “Reflections” (the beginning of which I sent you,) to be printed in fragments, and a certain party which feels itself too sore not to be over-sensitive ‘y a entendu malice.’ They have inserted a furious article against him in the Lamb’s Journal; and poor L——, who knows the people he has to deal with, is afraid that he will certainly be rejected at his examination. As this philippic is not long, and is very characteristic of our times, and as I have a holiday to-day, I shall transcribe it with some abridgments.
“On theREFLECTIONSof a pious Soul of Sandomir: A discourse by Herr von Frommel, Adjutant of his Highness the Prince of ——. Pronounced in the Nobility’s pious Conventicle for both sexes, at A——, No. 33, Zion Street, May 4th, 1828. (Reprinted separately, from the Collection, for true Christians.)
“On theREFLECTIONSof a pious Soul of Sandomir: A discourse by Herr von Frommel, Adjutant of his Highness the Prince of ——. Pronounced in the Nobility’s pious Conventicle for both sexes, at A——, No. 33, Zion Street, May 4th, 1828. (Reprinted separately, from the Collection, for true Christians.)
“High and high-well born, pious brethren and sisters! Truly is it said there be many wolves in sheep’s clothing! The author of these reflections is doubtless the wearer of such a sheepskin. It is not difficult to discover that under the mask of godliness, and of a simplicity approaching to silliness, are heard the hissings of that same mischievous serpent who seduced our pious mother Eve, who has since incessantly vented his venom upon our holy Religion, and still labours to overthrow the throne and the altar. But we, my brethren, will not resemble our, alas! too credulous Mother, but will exterminate the satellites of the Devil wherever we find them, with fire and sword.
“Yes, my friends,youknow and are certain that the Devil is, and lives—not as the unbelieving herd say,in us, as the demon of anger, of vanity, of hatred, of sin;—no, bodily he roams over the earth, like a roaring lion, with goat’s horns and a long tail and pestilential stench, wherever he chooses to show himself. He who does notthusbelieve on the Devil, has no true religion. But wherefore do I urge this?Weare no reasoners—no worldly-wise: here are none but simple lambs, one flock under one shepherd.
“A warning is, however, necessary; and therefore I now give the alarm. We have as yet seen only fragments of these poisonous ‘Reflections,’ and know not how far the author means to go;—but they are aimed at us; of that there is no doubt; and, God be praised! we find already enough fully to justify our denouncing him as an Atheist. Is it not obvious that he jests at Providence and its omnipotence? We hope, we pray, therefore, confidently and earnestly, that Omnipotence will speedily avenge itself, and give this presumptuous soul a foretaste of what awaits him in the everlasting flames. And may the all-merciful God do this promptly and fearfully, that no innocent lamb of our flock may be led astray by that unclean one. Certainly, my friends, a fiend, a vampire, an atheist wrote these words. Nothing is sacred to him. He attacks not alone the Creator, but even the Redeemer of the world.
“Oh my brethren and sisters! horrible—we may reckon upon it assuredly—horrible will be the lot of such an one at the last day! when the dead shall arise in the body, and his carnal ear shall hear again, only to listen to the thunders of the trumpets which announce to him his eternal damnation.Therewill be no pity! There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth! And let us follow that example, and be inexorable towards him, as will be that eternal condemnation.
“We could scarcely have believed that after all our Christian labours in our so truly—I say it with pride—Christian city, in which everything is done to destroy the poison of toleration and of mad confidence in our own judgment, men could be found amongst us, who would dare, unrestrained by all authority, to go their own way in search of truth;—these free-thinkers and heathens spring up only because the constituted authorities (even our otherwise so active Censorship at their head) are far too indulgent towards the greatest of all crimes, unbelief. It would perhaps have been expedient and beneficial to introduce a moderate Inquisition, together with the new prayer book, for the defence of true believers, those genuine Christians, those sole predestined favourites of God, who believe whatever theirKing and their Church order, without hesitation or examination. Only such can have any real value for Church or State. Away then with all others! Be they damned for ever! like all the unbaptized children of Jews and Heathens. Oh could we but for ever expunge from our annals that disgraceful period in which a philosopher (and not merely an ideological but a practical philosopher) sat on a German throne,—and, my Christian brethren, would you believe it? received the name of the Great! The mildest that we, converted to the grace of godliness with tears of blood, can now say of him is, the Lord be merciful to his poor soul! Long however must the pious and their sacred legion struggle, before the seed which thisgreat(!!!) man sowed will be wholly trodden down; before the last trace of that miserable Reason which he fostered will be entirely eradicated. Nevertheless, despair not, my Christian brethren; to such holy zeal as ours nothing is impossible, and this world’s rewards await you in various forms here, from those exalted sources from which we daily draw; and hereafter yet greater glories in the Palace of the Lord. Only beware of reasoning, in every shape: believe—not upon your own inquiry—but as it is prescribed to you; and above all, beware of Toleration! Love your Redeemer not only above all, but solely and alone. But he who is not for him is against him, and upon such have no mercy. Persecute them without intermission. And if this cannot be done openly, undermine him with calumnies, with secret detraction; yea, shun not the rankest lies, provided you can disseminate them with security to yourselves; for remember that the end sanctifies all means. Ah, were we but in such a frame of mind as never to wax cool in our zeal! It is only because we are luke-warm, that these philosophers have dared to preach that virtue of heathens, toleration. We have seen to what it brought us when the delirious raving about freedom seized the mob, and universal anarchy threatened to overthrow the throne, the church, our old nobility, and everything venerable. Therefore away with every thought of mischievous tolerance towards those who think otherwise! Christ indeed has said, “Bless those who curse you:” and further, “If any man strike you on one cheek, offer him the other also.” But upon this subject I have my own thoughts. Passages of this sort ought certainly to be differently understood: for how could they be reconciled with the indispensable laws of our station? Does not the honour of our rank, and of our uniform, command us instantly and without hesitation, to strike again a man who should dare to lay hands upon us? Yes, I know not whether even I, the favourite of my prince, should dare to show myself at court or in the highest places, after publicly receiving a slap on the face. It is therefore highly probable that our Saviour intended these words to be taken with one limitation,—that is,for the common people, in whom it is unquestionably meritorious when struck on one cheek, instead of giving way to wrath and bitterness, to offer the other. Let it be remembered also, that when Christ became man, he sought out not only a noble but a royal race. And who knows whether the disciples were really of such mean extraction as they are represented, and not perhaps men of old Jewish families of high descent? the matter is wrapt in so much historical darkness. And doth not Christ say, “My coming is not to bring peace, but rather the sword?” These two passages would seem to contradict each other, if we did not understand that patience is enjoined to one class and warfare to the other. For is not that the primitive destination of the nobility?—formerly with the sword, now with the pen and the word. For this cause, my brethren and sisters, strive against the unbelieving. Gird on the sword of the times, and strive for the Lord with the Bible and Jacob Böhmen, with the Chamberlain’s Key and the FieldMarshal’s Baton, with the Prayer-book and the Surplice. Believe me, my dear friends, soon shall we earn the fruits of our holy zeal; soon shall we begin to stand on the brazen floor.
“People yield more and more to our secret influence and strong union: the powerful support which we give to all our fellow-labourers when their labours in the vineyard deserve it; the many favours from exalted sources, of which we are the sharers; above all, the inexorable piety we are known to possess, hold even the most daring within bounds, and lay the timid in shoals at our feet.
“But whenever an Antichrist dares to attack us, (and whoever dares to do so is one,) I exhort you again,—watch, strive, destroy, and rest not till your victim is fallen. It is all for Charity’s sake, the last effort for a poor erring mortal, to force him, if possible, to acknowledge Christ.—Amen.
“It will perhaps be agreeable to this noble congregation in Christ, and moving to their hearts, if I hereby communicate to them, that we have been so happy in the course of the present month as to bring seven and a half condemned souls to the true faith, which has cost us not more than a hundred reichsthalers. As we are obliged to keep a worldly account of these matters, we have agreed to reckon children under twelve years of age as half souls. And may Heaven in like manner bless our further pious efforts, and the disinterested zeal with which the unconverted are drawn to the lap of Jesus.—Amen.”
I had read thus far when the little Eliza appeared with my breakfast, and with an arch good-nature bid me good morning “after my long sleep.” She had just been to church, had all the consciousness of being well-dressed, and was waiting upon a foreigner; three things which greatly incline women to be tender-hearted. She accordingly seemed almost embarrassed when I inquired about my departure early the following morning; but was soon consoled when I promised to leave her my travelling library, and to bring her a fresh assortment of books in a week.
After dinner I went, under her guidance, to visit the walks around the town. One of these is most romantically placed on a large rock. We saw from hence to Snowdon, in almost transparent clearness, undimmed by a single cloud; and I could not restrain some feelings of vexation at having so exactly missed the right day.
After this pastoral walk, ‘tender mutton’ closed a day of which I am sorry to have nothing more interesting to record.
But I now recollect a somewhat singular incident which my host told me to-day. On the night of the 5th of August, 1820, the boat which crossed a ferry at this place was lost, and out of twenty-six persons only one man was saved. Exactly thirty-seven years before, the same disaster occurred, and out of sixty-nine persons only one survived. What renders the coincidence the more perfect is, that on both occasions the name of the sole survivor was Hugh Williams.
Bangor, July 22d.
Bangor is also a bathing place; that is, every body may jump into the sea who likes it. The artificial arrangements for the purpose are reduced to the private tub-establishment of one old woman, who lives in a wretched hovel on the shore; and if an order is given an hour before, heats the sea-water in pots and kettles on her hearth, and proceeds ‘sans façon,’ to undress and afterwards to rub down and dress again any stranger who may come unprovided with a servant. I entered her hut accidentally, and after I had taken a bath of this sort, ‘pour la rarité du fait,’ I hired a boat to take me across the arm of the sea which divides Wales from the island of Anglesea. Here is another castle built by Edward I., and destroyed by Cromwell; it was originally even of greater extentthan that at Caernarvon, and covered five acres of ground; but the ruins are less picturesque, in consequence of its having lost all its towers. To see it thoroughly one must walk along the narrow and lofty walls, which are wholly unprotected. The boy who keeps the keys ran along like a squirrel; but the barber of the town, who offered his services as guide when I landed, left me in the lurch at the first step. The ruin stands in the park of a Mr. Bulkley: with singular bad taste he has made a tennis-court within its enclosure. His house commands a very celebrated view. It is, however, far surpassed by one I met with about a mile and a half further on, from a simple and elegant cottage called Craig y Don. This is a true gem,—one of those blessed spots which leave nothing to wish. It lies between thickly wooded rocks close to the sea: not too large, but adorned like a boudoir, surrounded by the greenest turf, and by the blended beauty of flowers of all colours; the whole house, with its thatched roof and verandah tapestried with China roses and blue convolvuluses, forms a picture which, enclosed as it is between wood and rock, formed the most indescribably beautiful contrast with the sublime scenery around it. Labyrinthine footpaths wind in all directions through the cool and shady thicket, subdividing into many and exquisite fragments the rich treasures of landscape beauty afforded by the situation. Beneath and in front lies the deep blue sea, whose surf beats against the sharp pointed rocks upon which I stood; while further away on its smooth mirror a hundred fishing-boats and other vessels glided to and fro. Among them I descried the cutter of the proprietor of Craig y Don lying at anchor, and two steam-boats, one of which, far in the distance, left a long line of smoke; the other, close to shore, sent up a slender column of white vapour. On the right, a deep bay stretches into the land, studded with little islands of every character and form; some clothed with brushwood, others bare and almost polished by the waves; some covered with little huts, others crowned with upright tower-like rocks. On turning again toward the strait, and following its gradual contraction, my eye rested with amazement on that stupendous chain-bridge which closes the prospect: that giant work which is justly called the eighth wonder of the world, and which, bidding defiance to nature, has united two portions of land which she had severed by the ocean. I shall have an opportunity hereafter of describing it more nearly; from this point it looks as if spiders had woven it in the air.
After I had satisfied myself with gazing at this romantic specimen of human power and skill, I turned to one of the greatest and most varied works of nature;—the entire range of the Welsh mountains, which rises immediately from the water, distinct and near enough clearly to distinguish woods, villages and valleys, and stretches along an extent of ten miles. The mountains grouped themselves in every variety of light and shadow; some were wrapped in clouds, some gleamed brightly in the sun, others stretched their blue heads even above the clouds; and villages, towns, white churches, handsome country-houses and castles, were visible in their gorges, while shifting gleams of light played on the green slopes at their foot. The eye, wearied with a variety, turns to the north, which is on my left. Here nothing distracts the gaze: the wide ocean alone blends with the sky. For a short time you follow the retreating shore of Anglesea at your side, on which large nut-trees and oaks droop their pliant boughs into the sea, and then you are alone with air and water; or at most you fancy you descry the sails of a distant vessel, or shape fantastic pictures in the clouds.
After an hour of intense enjoyment, I rode at the full speed of a pony, which I hired in Anglesea, to the great bridge. The best point of view is from the beach, near some fishing huts about a hundred paces from the bridge. The more thoroughly and minutely I viewed it, the greater was my astonishment. I thought I beheld in a dream a filagree work suspended by fairies in the air. In short, the fancy cannot exhaust itself in comparisons; and as a stage-coach with four horses drove rapidly over the arch a hundred feet high and six hundred wide, half concealed by the intertexture of the chains on which the bridge is suspended, I thought I saw larks fluttering in a net. The men who were seated in various parts of the chain-work, giving it its first coat of paint, were like captive insects. Those who know the castle at Berlin will be able to form some idea of the enormous dimensions of this bridge, when they hear that it would stand perfectly well under the centre arch: and yet the chains hold the latter so firmly, that even driving at the quickest rate or with the heaviest burden, which is by no means forbidden, does not excite the smallest perceptible vibration. The bridge is divided at the top into three roads, one for going, another for returning, and a third for foot-passengers. The planks rest on an iron grating, so that they are easily removed when out of repair, and no danger is to be apprehended when they break. Every three years the whole iron work receives a fresh coat of paint, to prevent rust. The name of the architect, who has earned a high and lasting reputation, is Telford. ‘Sur ce, n’ayant plus rien à dire,’ I close my epistle, and wish you, my dear Julia, all the happiness and blessings you deserve, ‘et c’est beaucoup dire.’
Ever your most faithful
L——.
Bangor, July 23, 1828.
Chere et bonne,
One little defect in this otherwise so beautiful landscape is caused by the ebb and flow. During a considerable part of the day a large portion of the channel of the Menai (as this strait is called) is dry, and exhibits only a tract of sand and mud. Probably the indescribably persecuting swarms of flies which infest this place, pouring forth in thousands in search of prey, attacking man and beast, and pursuing their victims with relentless pertinacity, may be ascribed to the same cause. In vain do you put your horse to his full speed: the swarm, congregated into a ball like the Macedonian phalanx, accompany your flight, and disperse themselves over their prey the moment you stop; nor will anything but their complete destruction deliver you from them. Even a house does not always afford secure refuge. I have found in some of my expeditions that when once they have seized upon a victim, they will wait patiently at the door till he comes out again. The only way is to seek out some place through which a strong current of wind passes. This they cannot resist. The cows which graze on the hilly shores are quite aware of this fact, and are always to be seen standing perfectly still, ruminating, in such spots. I watched one to-day for a long time, as she stood on a solitary point of rock, her outline thrown out sharply on the sky behind; motionless, but for the slight working of her jaw, or the occassional sweep of her tail against her sides. How well, thought I, might an ingenious mechanic frame a colossal image of this animal, and provide it with the simple mechanical apparatus necessary to imitate that slight motion,—and what an acquisition were this for a German-English garden athome! for instance at Cassel, opposite to the Hercules, or at Wörlitz, where she might be set to graze on the burning mountain. This meritorious conception you must try to put in execution.
Do you remember Clementi Brentano? When the amiable and kind-hearted grandson of Count L—— was showing him the view from his hunting-seat over a flat but beautifully wooded country, the Count joined them, and asked Brentano rather absurdly, “what great improvement he could suggest?” Brentano fell into a profound meditation, and after some time replied, looking earnestly at the attentive and expecting Count, “What think you, Count, of making some hills of boards and painting them blue?” Improvements in this taste, though perhaps not quite so absurd and palpable, are still daily perpetrated in our beloved fatherland, in spite even of the Berlin Horticultural Society.
Dearest Julia, will you drive with me to Plâs Newydd, Lord Anglesea’s park in Anglesea? The horses of fancy are soon harnessed.
We repass the giant bridge, follow the high-road to Ireland for a short time, and soon see from afar the summit of the pillar which a grateful country has raised to General Paget, then Lord Uxbridge, and now Marquis of Anglesea, in memory of the leg which he left on the field of Waterloo. About a mile and a half further on, we arrive at the gate of Plâs Newydd. The most remarkable things here are the cromlechs, whose precise destination is unknown; they are generally believed to be druidical burial places. They are huge stones, commonly three or four in number, forming a sort of rude gateway. Some are of such enormous size that it is inexplicable how they could be brought to such elevated situations without the most mechanical aid. It is, however, difficult to say what is possible to human strength, excited by unfettered will or by religious fanaticism. I remember reading that a captain of a ship coasting along the shore of Japan, saw two junks of the largest size, that is, nearly as big as frigates, carried by thousands of men across a chain of hills.
The cromlechs of Anglesea, which are not of the largest class, have probably suggested the thought of building a druidical cottage in an appropriate spot, commanding a beautiful view of Snowdon. It is, however, a strange heterogeneous chaos of ancient and modern things. In the small dark rooms light is very prettily introduced, by means of looking-glass doors, which answer the double purpose of reflecting the most beautiful bits of the landscape like framed pictures. In the window stood a large sort of show-box, a camera-obscura, and a kaleidescope of a new kind—not filled like the old one, but exhibiting under countless changes any object beheld through it. Flowers especially produce a most extraordinary effect, by the constantly varying brilliancy of their colours. If you wish for one I will send it you from London: it costs eight guineas. The house and grounds contain nothing remarkable, and are seldom inhabited by the proprietor, whose principal residence is in England.
July 23rd.
To-day I received, with great delight, a long letter from you * * *
* * * I am very glad that you are not offended at L——’s jest, and that you do not, like Herr von Frömmel,[116]consider him an impious wretch. You must see, in the first place, that he aims his wit only at the servile credulity of those men who convert the Unutterable, the Being of all Beings,—who is ever present to us in a deep and dim consciousness, but whom we can never comprehend,—into a strange compound of tyrant, pedagogue, and attendant spirit: who think themselves constantly guided by him in leading-strings, and regard all they see and hear, or whatever happens to them, as an interposition of God, and regarding theirown littleness alone. If, for instance, they fall into the water, or if they win a prize in the lottery, they see the finger of God incontestably in that incident; if they escape any danger, they pour out the most vehement thanks to God, as if some strange power had sent the danger, and God, like a careful and prompt guardian, had flown to their succour and deliverance. They might reflect, that whence the deliverance comes, thence comes also the danger; whence the pleasure, the pain; whence life, death. The whole is one scheme of existence, bestowed and governed not according to momentary caprice, but to immutable laws. Such petty views as those he satirizes, bring down the idea of Omnipotence to our own mutability and frailty. Our thanks, be they even speechless, are due to Eternal Love, for all that is; and perhaps no prayer offered by man can be more worthy of the Deity, than that mute and rapturous feeling of gratitude. But it is childish to be ever ascribing to the intervention of Omnipotence common-place andexternalindividual occurrences; such as lucky and unlucky accidents, riches, poverty, death, and the like, which are subjected to the laws of nature; or (according to the measure of our powers) to our own control. Such an intervention on the behalf of our beloved selves, would be no less strange and ill-adapted, with a view to our instruction and improvement, than experience proves it to be useless.
His satire is also directed against Christians—who are no Christians—and are neither so-called Atheists (almost always a senseless denomination), nor yet genuine sincere fanatics; but that odious race of modern pietists, who are either feeble creatures with irritable nerves, or hypocrites of the most impious sort, and further removed from the elevated purity of Christ than the Dalai Lama. These are the true Pharisees and dealers in the temple, whom Christ would cast out were he now on earth. These are they who, were he now to appear, under a new and obscure name, would be the first to cry out, ‘Crucify him!’[117]
In the main I confess I agree with L——; though, with regard to the subject of the ‘Reflections,’ every opinion can be but hypothetical, and in truth, what relates to another state of existence must, of necessity, be totally different from all that we have the capacity of understanding in this. Had we been able to know it, or had it been designed that we should do so, the Author of our nature would have rendered it as clear, as obvious to us, as it is that we feel, or think, or exist. What is needful, is revealed to usinwardly; and this has been declared from all time, in words more or less plain and significant, by the great spirits whom He has sent on earth.
That the human race is not destined to stand still like a machine devoid of will, or to revolve in one perpetual circle,—but, on the contrary, continually to advance, till it has ended its cycle of existence, and attained the highest perfection of which it is capable, I never for an instant doubt. But my hypothesis is this;—that our earth, like a vessel loosened from her moorings, is left, under the protection and coercion of the immutable laws of nature, to the management of her own crew. We ourselves, thenceforth, are the framers of our own destiny, (insofar as it depends on human operation, and not on those immutable laws,)and of our own history, whether great or small, by our own moral strength or weakness.
It is not, in my opinion, necessary to suppose the extraordinary and special interposition of any power who causes a hard winter in Russia for the special overthrow of Napoleon;—Napoleon rather is overthrown by the vicious principle which guides him; and which, in the long run, must inevitably wreck him upon some such external and immediate cause or other. The physical incident happens,with reference to him, only accidentally; with reference to itself, doubtless, in that necessary series of laws to which it is subject, although these laws are unknown to us.
On the same grounds, Providence will generally favour the virtuous, the industrious, the frugal, the prudent, and grant many or most of their desires; while the foolish and the wicked, who set themselves in opposition and hostility to the world, are not ordinarily so successful or so happy. If a man lets his hand lie in the ice, it is probable that Providence will ordain it to be frozen; or if he holds it in the fire, to be burnt. Those who go to sea, Providence will sometimes permit to be drowned; those, on the other hand, who never quit dry ground, Providence will hardly suffer to perish in the sea.
It is therefore justly said, “Help yourself, and Heaven will help you.” The truth is, that Godhashelped us from the beginning: the work of the master is completed; and, as far as it was intended to be so, perfect: it requires, therefore, no further extraordinary aids and corrections from above; its further development and improvement in this world is placed in our own hands. We may be good or bad, wise or foolish, not always perhaps in the degree which we, asindividuals, might choose, were our wills perfectly free, but so far as the state of the human race immediately preceding us has formed us to decide.
Virtue and vice, wisdom and folly, are indeed words which receive their meaning solely from human society, and apart from that would have no signification. The ideas of the good and the wicked are excited solely by the effect of our actions upon others; for a man who never saw a fellow-man can act neither well nor ill,—nay, can scarcely feel or think, well or ill: he possesses, indeed, all the requisite capacities which form the groundwork of his higher moral and intellectual nature; but it is only by means of creatures of a like nature, that these capacities can be brought into activity; as fire can only exist, or become sensible, when combustible materials are present. The ideas of prudent and imprudent arise indeed earlier, and with reference to the individual alone; for a single man in conflict with inanimate nature may either injure himself foolishly, or employ the materials given him with prudence and skill; and may have a full perception of these qualities or modes of action in himself. To be good, therefore, in every point of view, means nothing but to love other men, and to submit to the laws and rules imposed by society: to be wicked, to rebel against those laws, to disregard the weal of others, and in our conduct to have only our own momentary gratification in view. To be prudent, on the other hand, is only to have the power of perceiving and securing our own advantage by the best and aptest means: to be imprudent, to neglect these means, or to form a false estimate concerning them.
It is evident also that good and prudent—wicked and imprudent—are in the highest sense nearly synonymous: for a man who is good, will, in the common order of events, please his fellow-men, consequently will be beloved by them, and consequently will be found to be prudent,—that is, to have secured his own greatest happiness and advantage: while thebad man, engaged in an interminable conflict, must at length have the worst, and consequently suffer loss and injury.
But when once the moral sense has received its last development and highest culture, the virtuous man, though insulated, frames laws to himself, which he follows, unheeding of advantage, danger, or the opinion of others. The bases of these laws will, however, always be what I have described;—consideration of the well-being of his fellow-men, and of the duty thence deduced, which follows as a consequence of the way he has traced out to himself. But when this point is reached, the inward consciousness of having fulfilled this duty, gives the moral man purer and higher satisfaction than the possession of all earthly enjoyments could confer upon him. It is therefore permanently, and in both views of the subject, true, that it is the highest prudence to be virtuous, the greatest folly to be wicked.
But here, indeed, from the busy and complicated nature of human life, arise many and varied shades and distinctions. It is very easy, even with great prudence, where the earthly and external is concerned, to seize upon appearance instead of reality. It is possible for one man to deceive others, and to make them believe that he does them good, that he deserves their respect and their thanks, when he only uses them as instruments of his own advantage, and does them the bitterest injury. Folly too often produces the opposite effect, and imputes to others wicked designs and bad motives, where the very contrary have place. Hence arises the maxim,—painful indeed! but too firmly based on universal experience,—that in worldly connections and affairs, folly and imprudence are productive of more certain disadvantage to the individual than vice and wickedness. The external consequences of the latter may be kept off, perhaps entirely prevented, by prudence; but nothing can ward off the consequences of folly, which is perpetually working against itself.
The want, and the existence, of positive religions are mainly attributable to the general persuasion of this truth, and of the consequent insufficiency of penal laws of human institution. Hence arises the doctrine of future rewards and punishments, awarded by an All-seeing Power, against whose eye the precautions of prudence are vain, and from whom the imprudent expects pity and compensation: for truly he who has combined prudence and virtue needs no further recompense,—he finds it rich and overflowing in himself. Who would not, without a moment’s hesitation, give everything in the world to enjoy the blessedness of being perfectly good? A time may perhaps come, when all church and state religions may be buried and forgotten; but Poetry and Love, whose flower is true religion, whose fruit Virtue, must forever rule the human heart in their holy Tri-unity,—the adoration of God as the source of all existence, the admiration of nature as his high work, and love to men as our brethren. And this is the true doctrine of Christ,—by none more purely, touchingly, simple, and deeply expressed, although its forms and premises are adapted to the times in which he lived. And therefore is he become the seed from which the fruit of after-times shall arise; the true Mediator, whose doctrine, as we must hope, will, in time, become Christianity in deed and in truth, and not in words alone. * * *
[Here occurs a chasm in the letters, which begin again on the 28th.]
Capel Cerig, July 28th, late in the evening.
As the weather cleared up, and the friends whom I expected did not arrive, I hastened to take advantage of the first ray of sun to penetrate deeper amid the mountains; and set off about seven in the evening, in an Irish car drawn by one horse, for Capel Cerig. I left my servant, and took only a light travelling-bag containing a little linen and a change ofclothes.—This carriage consists of an open box, standing on two wheels, resting on four horizontal springs, and containing two opposite benches, on which four persons can commodiously sit. You ascend from behind, as the door is between the wheels;—the whole is very light and convenient. The moment was unusually propitious;—nearly a week of rain had so swollen all the waterfalls, brooks, and rivers, that they appeared in their fullest beauty; trees and grass were clothed in their softest green, and the air was transparent and pure as crystal. I admired the rich masses of gay mountain flowers and heaths which grew luxuriantly in the clefts of the rocks, and regretted that I did not know enough of botany to enjoy them with more than my eye. I soon reached that sterner region in which flowers are rarely seen, and trees never.
I alighted at the waterfall of Idwal to visit a little lake, which might serve as the entrance to Hades.
The dreary and wild aspect of the deep mountain enclosure is really awful. I had read that it was possible to reach Capel Cerig from hence, going in a straight line over Trivaen (the mountain with basaltic columns, of which I have spoken) and the surrounding rocks. The passage was represented as very difficult, but surpassingly beautiful. At this moment I saw a shepherd descending from the mountain, and I felt the strongest inclination to attempt the expedition with the guide which chance thus so opportunely threw in my way. I got the postilion to act as interpreter of my wishes. The man thought it was too late, and that the descent on the other side by night would be hazardous. On my pressing him further, he said, however, that there would be a moon, and that if I could follow him at a brisk rate, he thought we might manage to cross the mountain in two hours,—but that there were some very awkward places to pass. I had tried my strength too well on Snowdon to shrink from the enterprise; I therefore closed the bargain, only taking the precaution to order the driver to wait for me an hour, lest any unforeseen difficulties should cause me to return, and then to drive back to Capel Cerig.
The path along which we had to climb was from the outset very steep, and lay over a boggy soil between enormous detached masses of rock strewed in wild disorder. It might be about half past seven o’clock:—there was no trace of any beaten path; Trivaen reared its grotesque peak like an embattled wall before us, nor was it easy to discover how we were to cross it. The mountain sheep here rendered us good service; they climbed before us, and showed the often uncertain guide the most practicable places. After a quarter of an hour of very wearisome climbing, with many a giddy glance into the chasms beneath, to which, however, the eye became gradually familiarized, we came to a little swampy ‘plateau’ through which we were obliged to wade knee-deep in a bog. Here we had a beautiful view of the sea, the Isle of Man, and Ireland dimly appearing in the distance.
Immediately above the bog a completely different sort of ground awaited us; a wall of perpendicular and compact sharp and ragged rocks, over which we scrambled on hands and feet. The sun had already sunk behind a high mountain sideward of us, and reddened the whole wild scenery around, as well as the wall on which we hung, with a dark and fiery glow—one of the strangest effects of sunlight I ever beheld. It was like a theatrical representation of Hell. Our way now lay across a swollen mountain-stream, over which a fallen block of stone had formed a natural bridge; and then over bare rocks wholly unmixed with earth, till at length we reached the high crest which had so long stood right before us, and at which I expected an end of all our difficulties.I was therefore not a little disappointed when I saw another defile before me, which we must first descend and then climb up the opposite side, for no human foot could have found a sure hold on the semicircular edge of the crest, across which lay a shorter road.
We had now entirely lost sight of the sea; our view lay landward, where the mountain region of Wales lay before us in its whole breadth; peak above peak, solitary, silent, and mighty. The sterile valley beneath us was filled with giant stones hurled about in wild disorder; and truly the game which was here played, with rocks for balls, must have been a spectacle for Gods. While I stood lost in contemplation of this chaos, I heard a shrill reiterated cry close to me, and looking up saw two majestic eagles soaring over our heads with outstretched wings—a rarity in these mountains. Welcome faithful birds[118]of my house, exclaimed I,—here, where there are only hard rocks, but no false hearts; are you come to carry me, like the Roc bird, into some valley of diamonds? or do you bring me tidings from my far distant home? The noble creatures seemed as if they answered me by their cries; but unfortunately I am not skilled in the language of birds: and they left me, wheeling higher, till they disappeared among the columns of Trivaen. I look upon the repeated attentions paid me by birds of prey as a good omen. It was extremely inconvenient that I could no more speak with my guide than with the eagles, for he understood not a word of English. We could therefore only converse by signs. After we had for some time descended with comparative ease, he pointed to a place to which we must now turn our steps:—we had arrived at the ‘bad passage.’ This consisted of a perfectly perpendicular wall, certainly not less than six hundred feet in depth; and above it a scarcely less steep ascent of earth, washed over by the rain, and strewed with small loose stones. Across this we were to make our way—a distance of fifteen hundred paces. Formerly, I should have regarded this undertaking as impracticable; but being urged by necessity, after the first few steps I found it quite easy.
It certainly looked most terrific, but the numerous stones and the moist soft earth afforded a firmer footing than might have been expected: indeed these things, even in an unexaggerated description, always sound more perilous than they are. It is very true that one false step would cause inevitable destruction; but this is exactly what one takes good care not to set: so a man must be drowned in the water, if he leaves off swimming. Any body who can walk, and has a steady head, may perform such exploits without the slightest danger. Twilight now began to close in; the mountains became dim and indistinct; under us lay, like steaming cauldrons, the misty lakes of Capel Cerig and Beddgelert. We had reached the highest point, and hastened as much as possible to reach the former lake. We waded through another bog, and scrambled down over rocks, till we came to the part of our way which looked the least difficult, but was in fact the most fatiguing;—a firm and smooth hill covered with turf, very steep, and with a substratum of rock which in many parts presented itself at the surface in broad smooth shelves. Down this declivity we rather slid than walked; and the effort was at length followed by such pain in the knees, that both the guide and I fell several times, though without sustaining any hurt. The lofty mountains around us had hitherto concealed the moon, which now arose large and bloody-red above their wavy line. We soon lost her again. Near our journey’s end she once more rose upon us, golden, clear, and small,mirrored in the still waters of the lake, on whose shores the inn stood. The last part of the way lay along a level high-road, and offered such a contrast to what had preceded it, that I felt as if I could have walked along it sleeping. It was as if my steps were not the result of any act of the will, but rather of some mechanical power; like children’s toys, which when wound up run round and round the table without stopping. We completed our expedition in an hour and three quarters; and proud of my achievement, I entered Capel Cerig, where my host would hardly believe we had accomplished the distance by night in so short a time.—I had lived such an indolent, effeminate life for some years, that I fancied myself grown almost old; but to-day’s experience proved, to my great joy, that I want nothing but stimulus and opportunity, to recover all the freshness and vigour of my bodily and mental powers;—danger and difficulty had always been my most kindred element when fate threw them in my way.
My driver had not yet returned with the carriage, and I was obliged to equip myself in the clothes of my portly host, in which I now doubtless cut a very extraordinary figure; while my own are drying at the kitchen-fire; and I am alternately occupied in writing to you, and in drinking tea.
To-morrow morning I shall leave my pillow at four o’clock,—guess in search of what;—the rock of the enchanter Merlin, where he prophesied to king Vortigern the history of coming times, and where his wondrous treasures, the golden throne and diamond sword, still lie buried in its hidden caves. Here is a new and most safe object of speculation to the mining companies of London and Elberfield.
Beddgelert, July 29th, early.
Admire Merlin’s vale with me, dearest Julia. It is indeed enchanting; but its rocks—Dinas Emrys, I shall long remember. But let me begin at the beginning. I went to bed at one, rose again punctually at four, and in ten minutes was ready to start: for as soon as you bid adieu to servants and luxuries, everything goes at an easier and quicker pace. The fine weather had given place to the usual mists of these mountains; and I was glad to avail myself of my mountain walking-stick of yesterday in its other capacity of umbrella, as well as of that venerable cloak, the honoured relic of my warlike services against France, which I was once forced to throw out of a balloon, together with all other ballast, to avoid ending my aerial excursion in the water.
At first the road was dull and uninteresting enough, till we came to the foot of Snowdon, which reared its uncovered head majestically above the clouds, by which we were encircled and bedewed. Its aspect is peculiarly grand and sublime from this point. It rises in nearly perpendicular height from the vale of Gwynant, which commences here. This richly watered valley unites the most luxuriant vegetation with the sublimest views. The loftiest mountains of Wales are grouped around it in manifold forms and colours. The river which flows through it forms, in its course, two lakes, not broad but deep, the valley being narrow throughout, a circumstance which greatly contributes to enhance the colossal air of the mountains which enclose it. In the richest part of it a merchant of Chester has a park, which he justly calls Elysium.
On a high and thickly wooded ridge, out of whose deep verdure rocks which rival each other in wildness of form break forth, overlooking the mountain river which flows through a beautiful stretch of meadows, stands the unpretending and lovely villa. Below lies the lake, behind which stands Merlin’s solitary rock, apparently closing the valley, which here makes an abrupt turn.
Dinas Emrys is doubly impressed on my memory: first, for its romanticbeauty; secondly, because on it I literally hung between life and death. Although not above four or five hundred feet high, it is considered accessible only on one side. I had taken a little boy with me as guide, but when we reached the spot he seemed to know very little about the matter. The way which he took through an oak copse appeared to me from the first suspicious, from its uncommon steepness; but he tranquillized my fears in broken English, and I could do nothing but follow the little fellow, (who sprang before me like a chamois,) as well as I could. Merlin appeared to frown upon us: a violent wind had arisen, and the sun, which had shone upon us for a moment, imbedded himself behind black clouds; while the long wet grass which hung over the blocks of stone made climbing very dangerous. This did not much impede the barefooted little boy, but was a serious obstacle to my limbs, somewhat stiff from my yesterday’s exploits. The higher we went, the steeper the rocks became; often we were obliged to swing ourselves up by the help of the shrubs which grew out of the clefts, avoiding as well as we could to look behind us. At length I observed that the boy himself was quite irresolute, and creeping on his belly looked anxiously around. We now wriggled right and left through some clefts, and suddenly found ourselves standing on the peak of a smooth and lofty wall, with scarcely room to set our feet, and above us a similar wall, out of which grew some tufts of grass. The summit of this appeared to overtop the whole.
The prospect was not encouraging: the child began to cry, and I considered not without some uneasy feelings what was to be done. Willingly, I confess, should I have climbed down again, and left Merlin’s rock to witches and gnomes, if I had thought it possible to descend without dizziness, or indeed to find the way by which we had ascended. Before us there lay no chance of escape but by scaling the wall as we best might. The boy, as the lightest and most practised, went first; I followed him step by step, holding by the slight support of tufts of grass, clinging with hand and foot in every little cleft; and thus hanging between heaven and earth we reached the giddy summit in safety. I was quite exhausted. A more daring climber may laugh at me; but I honestly confess to you, that when a tuft of grass or root seemed unsteady, and threatened to give way before I had raised myself up by it, I felt what terror is. As I lay now panting with fatigue and fright on the turf, I saw a large black lizard couched just opposite to me, who appeared to look at me with scornful, malicious eyes, as if he were the enchanter himself in disguise. I was however glad to see him, and in high good humour at having got out of the scrape so cheaply; though I thought fit to threaten the little imp, who like a mischievous gnome had enticed me into such perils, with all sorts of terrible punishments, if he did not make out the right way back. In his absence I examined the remains of the area, as it is here called,—the ruined walls, where