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Title: The Tourist's Guide through North Wales
Author: Bennett, George John
Language: English
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WALES***
Transcribed from the 1853 Whittaker and Co. edition by David Price.
[Picture: Llangollen]
THE
TOURIST’S
GUIDE THROUGH NORTH WALES.
BY
G. J. BENNETT.
* * * * *
WITH ETCHINGS, BY A. CLINT.
* * * * *
London:
WHITTAKER AND CO., AVE MARIA LANE.
G. PHILIP & SON, LIVERPOOL; J. MORGAN, OSWESTRY.
1853.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
1 Llangollen facing Title Page.
2 Chirk Castle 26
3 Font in the Grounds of Plâs Newydd 35
4 Castell Dinas Brân 39
5 Valle Crucis Abbey 40
6 Pillar of Eliseg 42
7 Bala Lake 50
8 Cader Idris, from the Bala Road 54
9 Parliament House of Owen Glyndwr 56
10 View from Carreg y Saeth 68
11 Harlech Castle 75
12 The Vale of Maentwrog 79
13 The Raven Fall, near Maentwrog 83
14 Pont Aber Glaslyn 88
15 Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn 92
Gwynant
16 Pass of Llanberis 96
17 The Coffin of Leolinus Magnus 114
18 Conwy Castle 119
PREFACE.
THE Author’s object in offering to the Public the following pages is,
that all who have a desire to examine the beauties of Welsh scenery may
also have an opportunity of seeing the most _interesting_ portion of it
in a tour which will not occupy more than a month. The route described
in this volume presents a variety of pictures which can scarcely be
equalled, and certainly not surpassed, in any quarter of the globe. It
is true there are hills higher far than any in Snowdonia, and valleys
more extensive; but, while we are astonished at a description of the
enormous magnitude of the Asiatic and American mountains, and the noble
rivers, and sea-like lakes of the latter, let us take into our
consideration which is the most desirable country to explore; that in
which nature’s prodigies are so extensive that we can neither ascend the
eminences, ford the rivers, nor view the opposite shores of the extensive
lakes; or _that_ where mountains may be scaled with ease, from the
summits of which a series of glorious panoramas burst upon the
eye,—wherein the valleys, glens, and wild ravines present an endless
variety of sublimity and beauty, and the loud torrent and the waterfall
pour forth their melody of never-tiring sweetness, to delight the ear?
Seas must be crossed, and miles of dreary and uninteresting country
traversed, in wandering from one grand object to another in the _former_;
while, in the route here represented to the Public—within the reach of
all—repose and admiration charm the heart by turns, in the rich fertile
valleys, lofty and wood-clad hills, or heather-mantled mountains, of
North Wales. The traveller is likewise insured the comfort of a good
inn, where he may rest his wearied limbs after a day’s ramble in whatever
part of the district he chooses to select for his excursion; and the
healthy and active should decidedly make _use_ of their _limbs_, to bear
them through this tour, in preference to the more easy and luxurious
vehicle, and even to the equestrian mode of conveyance. A good
horsewoman may venture into the dark defiles, or climb the craggy heights
upon the ponies, which are always in readiness at the inns for that
purpose; but between a man and his steed there will most assuredly be a
strong feeling of sympathy created by a conviction that the one is a most
unnecessary burthen to the other.
The peasantry are simple, honest, and obliging; and, as they trudge
along, a spirit of freedom sparkles in their eyes, and seems to animate
every action of their unfettered limbs. Though their fare is humble,
they enjoy it with an appetite to which the bracing air of their hills,
and their happy ignorance of luxuries, gives an enviable zest.
Drunkenness is a vice almost unknown among these primitive mountaineers:
milk is their common beverage, oatmeal cakes, and potatoes, with a
plentiful supply of trout from their native streams, form their chief
summer food; while, in winter, dry salted beef and mutton serve to
satisfy their utmost wishes.
“Though poor the peasant’s hut, his feasts tho’ small,
He sees his little lot the lot of all.
* * * *
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms.
And, as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother’s breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind’s roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.”
DIRECTIONS
TO THOSE UNACQUAINTED WITH THE WELSH LANGUAGE.
A knowledge of the Welsh alphabet is indispensable to those who are
desirous of correctly pronouncing the necessary questions and answers
that transpire upon the road. The names of places must effectually
puzzle any tourist, who is not acquainted with the peculiar sound of each
letter particularly where there are many consonants in a word. In order,
therefore, to aid the traveller in Wales, I have selected the following
rules.
In the Welsh alphabet there are no mutes; and all letters that are
circumflex must be pronounced long, as
Bôn like the English bone.
Bin, as been.
C, always as K in English.
Ch, is pronounced as the Greek _Χ_.
Dd, as the English th in this, that, thou.
F, as V in English.
Ff as F and double F in English.
G, as G in good, but never soft as in genial.
I, as I in king, but never as in fire.
Ll, as L aspirated.
Th, as in thought.
U, as I in the English words bliss, kiss, &c.
W, as double O in good, wood.
Y, as U in burn; but in the last syllable of a word, and in all
monosyllables except Y, Ydd, Ym, Yn, Yr, Ys, Fy, Dy, Myn, it is like I in
Sin.
By attending to these rules, the stranger will easily make himself
understood by the peasantry, and on his tours, in enquiring for any place
to which he may be journeying.
GLOSSARY.
_Ab_, (or _Ap_,) the son of.
_Aber_, the junction of a river with the sea.
_Allt_, a hill; a mutation of _gallt_.
_Annedd_, a dwelling place.
_Am_, about.
_Ar_, upon. _Arvon_, bordering upon _Môn_, or Anglesey.
_Ardal_, a region.
_Argae_, an embankment.
_Avon_, a river.
_Bâch_, little; when joined to a substantive feminine, it is written
_vâch_.
_Bala_, an outlet.
_Ban_, high, lofty. Plur. _banau_, heights, or eminences.
_Banc_, a bank.
_Bâs_, shallow.
_Bedd_, a grave.
_Blaen_, a point, upper end, or extremity.
_Bôd_, an abode, residence, habitation.
_Bôn_, the base.
_Braenar_, fallow land.
_Braich_, an arm.
_Brîg_, top, summit.
_Brîth_, speckled, mottled.
_Bron_, a breast, the slope of a hill.
_Bryn_, a hill, or mount. Pl. _bryniau_.
_Buwch_, a cow.
_Bwlch_, a pass, or defile. Pl. _bylchau_.
_Câd_, battle, war.
_Cader_, a chair.
_Cae_, a field. Pl. _caeau_.
_Caer_, a fortress, or fortified town.
_Cantrev_, a district containing 100 townships. A canton, a hundred.
_Capel_, a chapel.
_Careg_, a stone. Pl. _ceryg_.
_Carn_, a heap of stones. The hoof of a horse.
_Carnedd_, a heap of stones. Pl. _carneddau_.
_Castell_, a castle. Pl. _cestyll_.
_Ceulan_, bank of a river.
_Cevn_, the bank, ridge of a hill.
_Cîl_, a recess. _Cilvach_, a small recess.
_Clawdd_, a hedge, dyke. _Clawdd Offa_, Offa’s dyke.
_Clogwyn_, a precipice.
_Côch_, red.
_Coed_, trees. Sing. _coeden_, a tree.
_Côr_, a circle, a choir. _Bangor_, high choir.
_Corlan_, a sheepfold.
_Cors_, a bog, or fen.
_Craig_, a rock, a crag. Pl. _creigiau_.
_Croes_, a cross.
_Crug_, a hillock. Pl. _crugion_.
_Cwm_, a valley, dingle, glen.
_Cymmer_, the junction of two rivers.
_Dau_, two.
_Dehau_, south, the right side.
_Din_, _dinas_, a city, a fort, a fortified place on a hill.
_Dôl_, a meadow.
_Drws_, a doorway.
_Du_, black; hence _dwrdu_, the river Dee; literally, Black-water.
_Dwy_, two. (fem.)
_Dwr_, or _dwvr_, water. Pl. _dyvroedd_.
_Eglwys_, a church.
_Erw_, an acre.
_Esgair_, a leg, a long ridge of mountain.
_Fordd_, a road.
_Fynnon_, a fountain, a well.
_Gaer_, a mutation of _caer_, as _y gaer_, the fortress.
_Gallt_, a hill; in construction, _allt_.
_Gardd_, a garden.
_Garth_, a promontory.
_Gelli_, a grove of hazels.
_Glan_, the brink, bank; _glan y môr_, the sea side.
_Glâs_, blue, grey, green.
_Glyn_, a glen.
_Gorsav_, a station, stand.
_Grug_, heath.
_Gwaelod_, a bottom.
_Gwaen_, a large plain.
_Gwern_, watery meadow. Alder.
_Gwydd_, wood.
_Gwyn_, white. Fem. _gwen_, _wen_.
_Gwyrdd_, green. Fem. _gwerdd_, _werdd_.
_Havod_, a summer dwelling.
_Hen_, old. _Hendre_, old mansion.
_Heol_, a street.
_Hir_, long.
_Iâl_, open country.
_Is_, lower. _Isav_, lowest.
_Llain_, a long piece.
_Llan_, a church; a village with a church.
_Llawr_, a floor.
_Llech_, a flat stone, slate, slab.
_Lluest_, an encampment.
_Llwyd_, grey, hoary.
_Llwyn_, a grove, a bush, a copse.
_Llyn_, a lake, pool.
_Llys_, a court, a palace.
_Maen_, a stone. Pl. _meini_.
_Maenor_, a manor.
_Maes_, an open field.
_Mall_, bad, rotten.
_Man_, a place.
_Mawn_, peat. _Mawnog_, a turbary.
_Mawr_, great, large.
_Melin_, a mill.
_Melyn_, yellow.
_Merthyr_, a martyr.
_Moel_, bald, bare; a bare hill.
_Môn_, Anglesey.
_Môr_, the sea.
_Morva_, a marsh.
_Mynach_, a monk.
_Mynydd_, a mountain.
_Nant_, a brook, ravine, glen.
_Neuadd_, a hall.
_Newydd_, new.
_Ochr_, a side.
_Pant_, a hollow.
_Parth_, a division, a part.
_Pen_, a head.
_Penmaen_, a promontory, a rocky head.
_Penrhyn_, a promontory, a cape.
_Pentrev_, a village, a hamlet.
_Perth_, a brake, a thornbush.
_Pistyll_, a spout of water.
_Plâs_, a mansion, a hall.
_Plwyv_, a parish.
_Pont_, a bridge.
_Porth_, a gate, a ferry.
_Pwll_, a pit, a pool.
_Rhaiadr_, a cataract, a waterfall.
_Rhiw_, a slope.
_Rhôs_, a moor.
_Rhudd_, crimson, ruddy.
_Rhyd_, a ford. _Rhydycroesau_, the ford of the Crosses.
_Sarn_, a causeway.
_Serth_, steep, abrupt.
_Swydd_, an office, a county.
_Tal_, the head or front. _Talcen_, the forehead.
_Tan_, under.
_Tervyn_, the boundary.
_Tir_, the earth.
_Tommen_, a tumulus.
_Traeth_, a sand.
_Trev_, a town.
_Tri_, three.
_Troed_, a foot. Pl. _traed_, feet.
_Trwyn_, a nose.
_Twr_, a tower.
_Ty_, a house. Pl. _Tai_, houses.
_Tyddyn_, a farm.
_Tywyn_, a strand, a sandy shore.
_Uchav_, highest.
_Uwch_, higher.
_Y_, the.
_Yn_, in.
_Ynys_, an island.
_Yspytty_, a hospital.
_Ystlys_, the side, the flank.
_Ystrad_, a flat, a vale.
_Ystum_, a bend.
_Ystwyth_, flexible.
THE ROUTE.
ROUTE. MILES. OBSERVATIONS.
From LONDON to SHREWSBURY, thence 154 _Objects of
to Interest_.—Castle,
Abbey, Lord Hill’s
Column, Quarry Walk,
and Town Hall.
_Angling
Station_.—The Severn.
_Hotels_.—The Lion,
Raven, Raven and
Bell, and Crown.
CHIRK 22 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Castle, Brynkinalt,
Viaduct, Aqueduct,
and Vale.
_Angling
Station_.—The
Ceiriog.
_Hotel_.—The Chirk
Castle Arms.
LLANGOLLEN 7 _Objects of
Interest_.—Church,
Plâs Newydd, Castle
Dinas Brân, Valle
Crucis Abbey, Pillar
of Eliseg, Aqueduct
and Viaduct.
_Angling
Stations_.—The Dee,
to Corwen or Overton.
_Hotels_.—The Hand,
Royal Hotel, and
Ponsonby Arms.
CORWEN 10 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Church, Cross,
Glyndwr’s Seat, Vale
of Edeyrnion.
_Angling
Stations_.—Between
Corwen and
Llansaintffraid
bridge.
_Hotel_.—The Owen
Glyndwr.
LLANDRILLO 6 _Hotel_.—White Lion.
BALA 6 _Objects of
Interest_.—The Lake,
Aran Vawddwy, Arenig
Vawr, Arenig Vâch.
_Angling
Stations_.—Bala Lake,
River Dee, Treweryn,
&c.
_Hotels_.—White Lion
and Bull’s Head.
DOLGELLEY 18 _Objects of
Interest_.—Nannau
Park, Kymmer Abbey,
County Gaol,
Parliament House of
Owen Glyndwr, Pistyll
Cain, Rhaiadr
Mawddach, and
Dolymelynllyn.
Llanvachreth
Waterfall.
_Angling
Stations_.—Mawddach,
River Wnion, Llyn
Cregynan, S.W. 4
miles, Llyn-y-Gader,
1½ m., Llyn Geirw, 5
m., Tal-y-llyn, on
Cader Idris, 6 m.
_Hotels_.—Golden
Lion, Angel, & Ship.
BARMOUTH 10 _Objects of
Interest_.—Old Town,
Sarn Badrig,
Cors-y-gedol.
_Angling
Stations_.—Llyn
Raithlyn, nr.
Trawsvynydd, Arthog
Chapel, 3 m. distant,
Llyn Bodlyn, 4 miles
from Barmouth, Llyn
Irddyn and Llyn
Geirw, near the town.
_Hotel_.—Cors-y-gedol
Arms.
HARLECH 10 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Castle, Cwm Bychan,
Cromlech, 2 m. S. in
a farm called Gwern
Einion; Druidical
Circle between the
farm and Harlech.
_Angling
Stations_.—
Llanvihangel, on
Dwyryd, 5 m.;
Llanbedr on the
Artro, 3 m.;
Llyn-y-Vedw, Llyn
Eiddew, Gloywlyn;
Llyn y Cwm Bychan,
Llyn Trewyn.
_Hotel_.—The Blue
Lion.
MAENTWROG 10 _Objects of
Interest_.—Tan-y-
Bwlch, Slate
Quarries, 5 m.;
Rhaiadr Du and Raven
Fall, 2 m.;
Festiniog, 3 m.;
Falls of Cynvael,
Roman Encampment
(Tommen-y-Mur), 3 m.
from Festiniog.
_Angling
Stations_.—Llyn
Llenyrch, 3½ m. (good
trout); Cwmmorthin
Lake (in the Pass of
Cwmmorthin) 4½ m.;
Llyn-y-Manod, 6 m.
(large trout);
Llyn-y-Morwynion, 6
m.; Llyn Tecwyn, 3
m.; Llyn Conwy, Llyn
Garw.
_Hotels_.—Maentwrog
Inn, Oakley Arms. At
Festiniog, Pengwern
Arms.
TREMADOC 10½ _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Breakwater at Port
Madoc; Church.
_Angling Station_.—At
Tremadoc.
_Hotel_.—Madoc Arms.
BEDDGELERT 10½ _Objects of
Interest_.—Pont Aber
Glaslyn, Gelert’s
Grave, Chair of Rhys
Gôch o’r Eryri.
_Angling
Stations_.—Nant
Gwynnant, Llyn Dinas,
Cwm Llan, Llyn
Gwynnant, Llyn
Llydaw, Pont Aber
Glaslyn.
_Hotel_.—The Goat.
LLANBERIS 14 _Objects of
Interest_.—Dolbadarn
Castle, Church, Tomb
of Little John Closs,
Well of St. Peris,
Lakes, Pass.
_Angling
Stations_.—Upper and
Lower Lakes (bad
sport), Llyn Cwm
Dwythog, 2 m.; Llyn
Llydaw (on Snowdon),
5 m.; Glaslyn, on the
west of Snowdon.
_Hotels_.—Victoria
and Snowdonia.
CAPEL CURIG 10 _Objects of
Interest_.—Rhaiadr-y-
Wennol Waterfall,
Moel-Siabod,
Dolwyddelan Castle, 5
m.
_Angling
Stations_.—Same as
above.
_Hotel_.—Capel Curig
Inn.
BETTWS-Y-COED 5 _Objects of
Interest_.—Pont-y-
Pair, Shenkin’s Cave,
Church, Monument to
Davydd Gôch.
_Angling
Stations_.—Lake
Ogwen, Nant Francon,
Llyn Idwal, River
Llugwy.
LLANRWST 5 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Bridge, Gwydir
Castle, Church,
Gwydir Chapel.
_Angling
Stations_.—Bettws-y-
Coed, 3 m.; Trevriw,
2½ m.; Dolgarrog, 4
m.; Llanbedr, 5 m.;
Dolwyddelan, 8 m.;
Tal-y-Llyn, and Llyn
Cravnant, near
Llanrwst.
_Hotel_.—The Eagles.
CONWY 12 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Castle, Church,
Curious Monuments,
Plâs Mawr, Ormshead,
Suspension and
Tubular Bridges.
_Angling
Stations_.—Same as
above.
_Hotels_.—Castle &
Newborough Arms.
BANGOR 9 _Objects of
Interest_.—Penrhyn
Castle, Slate
Quarries, Britannia
Tubular Bridge, Menai
Bridge, Beaumaris,
Castle, Penmon
Monastery, Plas
Newydd, Baron Hill,
Puffin Island, and
the Cathedral.
_Angling
Stations_.—Llyn
Ogwen, Llyn Idwal,
and Ogwen River.
_Hotels_.—The Penrhyn
Arms, Castle,
Liverpool Arms, and
Albion.
CARNARVON 8 _Objects of
Interest_.—The
Castle, the Harbour,
and Ruins of
Segontium, at
Llanbeblig.
_Hotels_.—Uxbridge
Arms, Castle, and
Sportsman.
_Angling
Stations_.—The
Seiont, Pont Newydd.
_And back to Bangor_ 8
ABERGELE 25¼ _Objects of
Interest_.—Kinmel
Park, Gwrych Castle.
_Angling
Stations_.—Elwy,
Aled.
_Hotel_.—Bee.
RHYL 4¼ _Objects of
Interest_.—A _detour_
viâ Rhuddlan, 2 m.,
St. Asaph, 3½,
Denbigh, 6, affords a
pleasant day’s
excursion.
_Angling
Stations_.—Clwyd and
Elwy.
_Hotels_.—Belvoir,
Royal, Mostyn Arms.
HOLYWELL 13 _Objects of
Interest_.—St.
Winefred’s Well,
Basingwerk.
_Hotels_.—White
Horse, King’s Arms,
King’s Head, Red
Lion.
FLINT 5 _Object of
Interest_.—The
Castle.
_Hotels_.—Royal Oak,
Ship.
HAWARDEN 7½ _Objects of
Interest_.—Castle and
Park.
_Hotel_.—Glynne Arms.
CHESTER 7 _Objects of
Interest_.—The Castle
and Armory, the
Walls, Rows,
Cathedral, Old Houses
in Watergate Street,
Underground Chapel in
Bridge Street, and
the Ancient Residence
of the Earls of
Derby.
_Angling
Station_.—The Dee.
_Hotels_.—Royal,
Albion, Feathers,
White Lion, Green
Dragon, Blossoms,
Hop-pole.
FIVE DAYS’ EXCURSION FROM CHESTER OR SHREWSBURY.
FIRST DAY.—Chester or Shrewsbury to Llangollen Road Station by rail, 20
miles; Llangollen, 5 m; Corwen, 10 m.
SECOND DAY.—Bettws y Coed, 22½ m; Llanrwst, 5 m; Capel Curig, 10 m.
THIRD DAY.—Llanberis, 10 m; Dolbadarn Castle and back, 4 m; Beddgelert,
12 m; Pont Aber Glaslyn and back, 3 m; Carnarvon, 13 m.
FOURTH DAY.—Bangor, 8 m; Plas Newydd, 5 m; Beaumaris, 6½ m.
FIFTH DAY.—Conwy, 14¼ m; Llandudno, Orme’s Head, back to Conwy, 10; and
per rail to Chester, 45½ m.
NINE DAYS’ EXCURSION FROM CHESTER.
FIRST DAY.—Chester to Hawarden, 7 m; Flint, 7 m; Holywell, 5 m.
SECOND DAY.—Rhyl, 13½ m; Rhuddlan, 2 m; St. Asaph, 3½ m; Denbigh, 6 m.
THIRD DAY.—Abergele, 13 m; Conwy, 11 m.; Llandudno and back, 10 m.
FOURTH DAY.—Bangor, 14½ m.; Plas Newydd, 5 m; Beaumaris, 6 m. (See
Bridges.)
FIFTH DAY.—Holyhead and back, 50 m; Carnarvon, 8.
SIXTH DAY.—Beddgelert, 13 m; Pont Aber Glaslyn and back, 3 m; Llanberis,
12 m; Dolbadarn and back, 4 m.
SEVENTH DAY.—Capel Curig, 10 m.; Rhaiadr y Wennol, 3½ m.; Bettws y Coed,
1½ m; Llanrwst, 5 m.
EIGHTH DAY.—Corwen, 26 m; Llangollen, 10 m. (See Valle Crucis Abbey,
Castell Dinas Brân, and Plâs Newydd.)
NINTH DAY.—Pont y Cysylltau Aqueduct, 3 m; Chirk, 3 m; (see Chirk Castle
and Brynkinalt;) Ruabon, 6; (see Wynnstay); Wrexham, 4½; Chester, 12 m.
* * * * *
*** For objects of interest, angling stations, and hotels, see first
Route.
CHAPTER I.
Preliminary Observations.—Preparations for a Tour.—Rail to
Shrewsbury.—Battlefield Church.—Chirk.—The Castle.—Brynkinalt.—Viaducts
and Aqueducts.—A Delightful Walk.—Llangollen.
“Like brethren now do Welshmen still agree
In as much love as any men alive;
The friendship there and concord that I see
I doe compare to bees in honey hive,
Which keep in swarme, and hold together still,
Yet gladly showe to stranger great good will;
A courteous kinde of love in every place
A man may finde, in simple people’s face.”
CHURCHYARD.
VARIOUS, as the features of human nature, are the sources of human
happiness. Some derive their choicest pleasure from historical accounts
of men who lived in by-gone ages, and in re-creating events that have
long since been engulphed in the abyss of time,—breaking down the barrier
of intervening years, and mingling, in idea, with those who were once
deemed the glorious of the earth, who now lie blended with its grossest
atoms, or are confounded with the purer elements. Some, parching with
the thirst of knowledge, seek to slake the fever of their minds with most
laborious research; explore the utmost regions of the globe to find a
shorter marine passage; or pierce into its depths to seek for treasures
which only exist in their heated fancies. The vast ocean is fathomed to
satisfy the ruling principle of their natures,—curiosity; and the realms
of air traversed with the same motive to insure the universally desired
result, self-gratification. While some, leaving the elements to perform
the destined changes, are willing to agree with the poet, who in the
warmth of his philanthropy exclaims:
“The proper study of mankind is man;”
and among this class of beings the author of these pages may be ranked,
although he willingly confesses nature has the power of charming him in
her most minute as in her most stupendous works, from the curious and
confined instinct of the ant and of the bee to the wonderful and
exhaustless energies of the human mind,
“That source
Whence learning, virtue, wisdom, all things flow.”
The court, the city, and the country, present an endless variety of
subjects for contemplation; and the latter being the region of delight to
those whose business confines them to the metropolis for the winter
months, the author of this volume is anxious to be thought a useful and
amusing companion to such tourists who, in pursuit of health and the
charms of nature, may wander
“In the Welsh vales ’mid mountains high.”
where the sublime and beautiful present themselves at every turn to
captivate the eye, and ruddy health colours the smiling faces of every
peasant girl and shepherd boy, from Chirk to Holyhead.
To a mind capable of estimating fine scenery, how delightful are the
hurry and bustle which usually take place on the morning of departure, in
fond expectation of realizing the anticipated pleasure of viewing those
beauties of nature the imagination has but weakly painted! The sun is
scarcely sooner up than the traveller; and, although, perhaps, it is yet
three hours to the time of departure, his anxiety preponderates over the
now slighted comforts of his bed of down, and with an agile leap he quits
his restless pillow, and hastily despatching the business of his toilet,
with his heart beating high, and his knapsack already stuffed with three
shirts, as many pairs of stockings, guide books, and as few other
necessaries as may be, in order to make his walking wardrobe as light as
possible, he prepares to take the road. If a disciple of old Izaac
Walton and Cotton, he will not fail to have his book of flies, lines,
reels, &c., and a light fly-rod to carry in his hand, and for which he is
sure to have use whenever he feels inclined for piscatory pastime on his
tour. So stocked and provided, he bids defiance to the evils of life;
and may exclaim with the poet
“Warly cares and warly men
May a’ gae tapsalteeree O!”
“The cab is at the door, Sir.”
“Very good.”
“Is everything I want put into it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Well, good-bye!”
“Now, my man, drive to Euston-square Station.”
“All right, Sir.” And away we went,
What a scene of bustle and confusion a metropolitan railway station
presents a few minutes before the starting of a train, and more
especially in holiday time. Men, women, and children, in every
direction, hurriedly traversing the crowded platform; luggage barrows,
with porters, rushing to and fro; newspaper venders bawling “_Times_!
_Chronicle_! _Punch_!” Cabs galloping into the yard with anxious
passengers; others, after having deposited their living burthens, slowly
quitting it; the crowd of persons pressing forward for their tickets,
jamming and jostling each other, as if the existence of each individual
depended upon his or her obtaining that necessary passport. At length
all are supplied and seated in their various carriages. Phiz! goes the
steam, and the train slowly and majestically quits the station, gathering
fresh speed in its progress, until the travellers find themselves whirled
along at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour; station after station
appear and disappear like the lightning flash of a summer’s cloud—
“A moment bright, then lost for ever,”
and in the short space of a few hours the journey to Shrewsbury is
accomplished.
BATTLEFIELD.
Within two miles of Shrewsbury, and nearly the same distance from the
railway, upon the right of the line, the traveller will behold
Battlefield Church, built by Henry the Fourth to commemorate the
celebrated Battle of Shrewsbury, which, like that of Bosworth, has been
immortalised by the magic pen of Shakspere. Who cannot call to
remembrance the gallant and fiery Hotspur, or the future Hero of
Agincourt?—“Young Harry with his beaver on,”—and last, not least, fat
Jack Falstaff, his humourous catechism upon “Honour;” with whom
discretion was the better part of valour, notwithstanding his “long
hour’s fight by Shrewsbury clock?” Here, covered with wounds, the
ambitious Hotspur fell, and his dead body, which had been buried on the
field, was unearthed, and barbarously bruised between two millstones, and
afterwards beheaded and quartered.
SHREWSBURY.
The old town of Shrewsbury contains many objects of considerable interest
and historical association, which will afford to the antiquary or the
curious abundant gratification for the few hours he may devote to them.
Those to which the traveller should in particular direct his attention
are the Castle, the Abbey, and St. Giles’s Church; the two former were
built by the first Norman Earl of Shrewsbury, Roger de Montgomery.
The town is beautifully situated on the Severn, on a peninsula made by
the bend of the river; and, standing upon gentle eminences, it presents a
bold and commanding appearance. Upon the west side of the town,
stretching along upon the banks of the river, and over-arched with
magnificent lime trees, is a most delightful promenade—called the Quarry.
Having stayed the night in Shrewsbury, the following morning I once more
placed myself in a railway carriage for a short ride upon the line to
Chirk, at which place I had made up my mind to commence my pedestrian
tour. I think it necessary, however, to impress upon the minds of
tourists that the Llangollen Road Station (which is a mile beyond Chirk)
is unquestionably the key upon this side of the country to the very heart
of the finest scenery in Wales, and that from thence he can obtain public
conveyances which run daily to Capel Curig, Snowdon, Bala, Barmouth,
Dolgelley, and a hundred other enchanting places in the Principality.
Arriving at Chirk Station, I, like the Honourable Dick Dowlas, with my
wardrobe on my back, and a light heart, proceeded on the road to the
village. Bees hummed, birds sang, and blossoms sent forth their
fragrance, to delight the traveller as he gaily trudged “the footpath
way.” Cheerfulness was above, beneath, and around me, and in my heart.
I had not taken many paces when I was accosted by an elderly person, in a
straw hat, fustian shooting coat, knee breeches, gaiters, and shoes, he
had a stout cudgel in his hand, and knapsack more capacious than mine
strapped over his shoulders. He appeared to be about fifty-five years of
age, and being furnished like myself, it struck me that a passing
traveller might naturally take us for father and son.
Fortunately, we were pursuing the same route, and a desultory dialogue
commenced with the never-failing observation—
“A fine morning, Sir.”
“Very.”
“A great admirer of the charms of nature, I presume?”
“An enthusiastic one.”
“You’re for the Welsh vales, I suppose?”
“And mountains high,” I exclaimed, warming to my loquacious companion—
“In the Welsh vales ’mid mountains high,”
sang he, in a round-toned voice, with which I chimed in, and we were the
best friends on a sudden.
There certainly is no society so interesting as that picked up by the
tourist, who leaves with contempt the starched formalities of a great
city behind him, and walks forth unencumbered by care, to enjoy the
society of mankind in its varied and unsophisticated nature. Every
person we meet affords us information and delight; for a kindred spirit
animates almost every individual whom you may chance to encounter in
countries remarkable for beauties of scenery, and especially in a region
like North Wales, where inns of the best kind are situated at the most
convenient points, and the foot passenger is treated with as much respect
as a lord in his carriage. The landlords of inns here think that a man
may make the proper use of his legs without being a beggar; and that the
costume of a pedestrian may cover the form of a gentleman. This
philanthropic conception contributes to form that happy combination,
civil hosts and merry travellers.
There is no want of society, nor any difficulty in selecting that with
which you are best pleased; for every evening brings in fresh comers from
various quarters to the different places of rest and refreshment. The
exchange of information respecting routes, the different adventures of
the day, the peculiar feelings displayed in their recital, and
countenances lit up with pleasure, give a degree of animation to the
evening, never to be equalled in the brilliant drawing-room, the blaze of
which seems to put out the eyes of reason,—
“And men are—what they name not to themselves
And trust not to each other.”
THE VILLAGE OF CHIRK
is agreeably situated upon the northern bank of the river Ceiriog, which
divides England from Wales. The village church is dedicated to St. Mary,
and is an impropriation belonging to Valle Crucis Abbey, and contains
some monuments erected to the memories of the Chirk families. The most
interesting is that of the famous Sir Thomas Myddelton. In the
churchyard are some fine aged yew trees.
BRYNKINALT.
Taking the road upon the left of the church, we entered the charming park
of Brynkinalt, and visited one of the most picturesque seats in the
Principality. This elegant mansion, with its ivy-covered walls, is the
principal residence of the Viscount Dungannon, who is descended from
Tudor Trevor, Earl of Hereford, founder of one of the fifteen tribes of
North Wales. Valle Crucis Abbey, as well as many of the churches in the
neighbourhood, have been greatly improved at his lordship’s expense, who
is distinguished for archæological taste and research. The house was
built during the reign of James the First, from a design by Inigo Jones,
and is delightfully situated upon the brow of a hill, from which
circumstance it derives its name. The park is divided by the river
Ceiriog.
The late Duke of Wellington was maternally descended from this house.
His mother, the Countess of Mornington, who was a daughter of Arthur
Hill-Trevor, first Viscount Dungannon, spent much of her time here during
the boyhood of our illustrious hero, who frequently visited his noble
parent during the Eton holidays. There are yet living those who remember
the boyish frolics of him who was at a later period destined to act so
conspicuous a part in the world’s history.
By permission of the noble proprietor, the house and grounds are
accessible to strangers during the summer months, and the paintings by
Claude, Titian, Salvator Rosa, Carravaggio, Zucharelli, &c., are well
worthy the inspection of the connoisseur and artist.
CHIRK CASTLE.
“In Cambria’s noon of story,
Ere bright she set in glory,
The brave and great, in princely state,
All hail’d Chirk Castle walls.
With splendid arms returning,
The flaring torches burning,
’Mid armour’s clang the clarions rang,
And search’d the sounding halls.”
SONG BY F. M. DOVASTON, A.M.
Chirk Castle is delightfully situated on the spacious domain, spreading
over the summit of, what would be deemed, by a southern, a lofty
mountain, but which is here only designated a hill, projecting from the
range of the Berwyn Mountains, and is well calculated to recall the
stories of the days of old, when flourished—
“The good old rule, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.”
It is built of solid stone; and the ivy, mantling over the walls, gives
them an appearance of solemnity and grandeur peculiarly interesting. It
is quadrangular, and is strengthened by five massive towers, one at each
corner, and the fifth projecting from the principal front, through which
is a lofty entrance into the court-yard, 165 feet in length, and 100 feet
in breadth, surrounded on every side by noble suites of apartments. The
picture gallery measures 100 feet in length, by twenty-two in breadth,
and contains some very excellent paintings, and several portraits of the
Myddelton family. Amongst the latter is that of Sir Thomas Myddelton,
who defended himself gallantly against the forces of Cromwell. He was
rewarded for his loyalty by Charles the Second, who granted him £30,000
for the loss he had sustained, besides many valuable presents; amongst
others, a cabinet, which is shewn in the gallery, valued at £7000, richly
ornamented with silver; in various compartments of which are paintings,
said to have been executed by Rubens. The monarch offered to elevate Sir
Thomas to the peerage, which he declined.
[Picture: Chirk Castle]
The walls of the castle are eighteen feet in thickness; but sleeping and
other apartments have been cut into them, for the accommodation of the
family.
The celebrated picture of Pistyll Rhaiadr, in the dining-room, shows that
noble waterfall tumbling into the _sea_, _where several ships are quietly
riding at anchor_. “Pistyll Rhaiadr,” _i.e._ “The Spout of the
Cataract,” is considered the largest fall in Wales. In the valley of
Mochnant, about four miles from Llanrhaiadr, the river falls over an
almost perpendicular rock, 240 feet high; thence rushing furiously under
a natural arch towards the bottom, it plunges into a deep black pool,
overhung with impervious shaggy wood.
The story of the artist’s introducing the ocean, with ships, is rather
curious. He was a foreigner, and but little acquainted with the English
language; and when he had completed the picture, one of the persons to
whom it was first shown observed, that “a few _sheep_ placed near the
foot of the fall would be a great improvement.” Misunderstanding _sheep_
for _ship_, his amazement was extreme. He, however, took the picture to
his easel, and introduced _ships_, with the necessary element to float
them! A mistake so humourous determined the purchaser to allow of no
further alteration.
The present building was completed in two years. The first stone being
laid in the year 1011, and in 1013 the castle frowned defiance to the
foe.
It was built by Roger Mortimer, Earl of Wigmore, as a stronghold to
defend him from the just vengeance he had created by the murder of the
sons of Gruffydd ab Madoc, to whom he was appointed guardian, in
conjunction with John, Earl of Warren, in the hope of inheriting their
joint estates. Mortimer was to seize upon Nanheudwy and Chirk, the
property of the youngest; and Warren upon the lands of Bromfield, Yale,
and Dinas Bran, belonging to the eldest. Travellers should not neglect
to visit this noble specimen of warlike architecture. Its picture
gallery and dungeon will, in their different styles, excite admiration.
On the foundation of the present castle anciently stood Castle Crogen;
and the territory around bore the name of Trev-y Waun, the property of
the lords of Dinas Bran, which continued in their possession up to the
death of Gruffydd ab Madoc, in the reign of Edward the First.
The view from the highlands of the park is very extensive, and commands a
prospect of seventeen different counties.
The vale beneath, which winds along the foot of the vast Berwyn
Mountains, was the scene of a desperate conflict between Henry the Second
and the Welsh. Henry having determined once more to attempt the
subjugation of Wales, and to revenge the ravages carried through the
borders by its gallant prince, Owen Gwynedd, assembled a vast army at
Oswestry. Owen, on the contrary, collected all the chieftains and their
dependents at Corwen. The two armies met on the banks of the Ceiriog.
The conflict was obstinate and bloody, and numbers of brave men perished.
In the end the Welsh retired to Corwen. Henry reached the summit of the
Berwyn, but was so distressed by dreadful rains, and by the activity and
prudence of Owen, who cut him off from all supplies, that he was obliged
to return ingloriously, with considerable loss of men and equipage. The
place is still called _Adwy’r Beddau_, or the Pass of the Graves—of the
men who were slain there.
The remains of Offa’s Dyke, the ancient boundary between England and
Wales, are still visible near the castle, and may be traced a
considerable distance through the park.
The Vale of the Ceiriog at Chirk, like that of the Dee between Chirk and
Llangollen, is distinguished by two specimens of architectural skill and
enterprise, each valley being crossed by the Ellesmere Canal and the
Shrewsbury and Chester Railway, upon long ranges of arches, at a
considerable elevation.
The aqueducts of Chirk and Pont y Cysylltau have long been the objects of
general admiration, but for elegance of design, as well as magnitude,
they must now yield the palm to the viaducts of the railway, which are,
in truth, most noble structures.
In this lovely village we put up at the Chirk Castle Arms to take
luncheon, which was served with much civility—cold meat, a cream salad,
and a capital Cheshire cheese, with the best of Shropshire ale. This
excellent inn is kept by Mr. Moses.
After proceeding about a mile and a half on the Llangollen Road, and
leaving Wynnstay, the noble mansion of Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, Bart.,
M.P., on the right, we were conducted along the banks of a beautiful
canal (the same that crosses the valley at Chirk), which was here planted
with laurel and hazel in pleasing variety on either side. On a sudden,
an opening in the foliage presented us with a splendid view of the Vale
of the Dee, with the two noble structures, the viaduct and aqueduct,
gracefully stretching from hill to hill, and the waters of the river
making their way amongst the broken rocks and embowering trees, and
rolling under their arches with that delightful sound which is only heard
in mountain scenery.
Seldom had I experienced so delightful a sensation as the present
prospect occasioned. All was so calm, so quiet, it seemed, indeed, “the
Happy Valley.” Shortly after, however, we found that no golden pleasure
is entirely free from alloy, for on turning a projection upon the road,
we were nearly stifled from a lime furnace, and what was worse, another
and another still succeeded, resembling a line of batteries blazing and
vomiting forth smoke and destruction, while upon the opposite mountain an
uniform body of iron works were firing away from their tall chimneys, and
steadily maintained the never-ceasing conflict.
At length, however, having happily passed these belligerents, my
companion led me in triumph into a little public house on the road side,
which overlooked a precipice, the _Aqueduct Tavern_, the exterior of
which promised little better accommodation than is met with in an Irish
cabin. We entered, nevertheless, and although the floor was of brick, it
was very clean, and the household utensils glittered along the walls.
“Pray, gentlemen, walk into the back parlour,” said a comely-looking,
good-natured landlady of forty-three.
We gladly accepted her invitation, and were agreeably surprised to find a
neat room, carpeted, with a sofa, and half-a-dozen hair-bottomed chairs,
and every thing rurally comfortable. The window looked upon the
aqueduct, and commanded a beautiful prospect.
Having discussed our beverage, and lighted cigars, we quitted the
comfortable little cottage, and bent our steps towards the aqueduct, to
cross by it to the opposite side of the Vale.
A cigar in the cool of the evening is delightful,—
“Glorious tobacco, that from east to west,
Cheers the tar’s labour, and the Turk-man’s rest.”
So sang the noble bard, the music of whose lyre is left to charm the race
of mankind for ages yet to come.
We soon reached the centre of the aqueduct; it extends, from hill to
hill, in length 980 feet; it is sustained by twenty piers, 115 feet in
height from the bed of the river Dee, and the span of the arches is
forty-five feet.
The length of the viaduct is 1,538 feet; its height 147 feet, the number
of arches nineteen, and the span of each arch is sixty feet.
I never felt the influence of the sublime mingled with the beautiful so
deeply as when I stood upon this wonderful work of art; wherever I turned
my eyes the scene was calculated to excite the warmest feelings of
admiration. The Dee flowing beneath, shadowed by the rich tints of the
summer foliage; the ruined bridge; the dark mountain masses upon either
side, patched with gloomy pines, intermingled with the relieving
brightness of the graceful larch. Here waves the lovely blooming
heather, there stands the blasted rock in its naked majesty, the noble
amphitheatre at the extremity of the vale, with a distant view of the
viaduct; the twittering of the birds, as they settled to repose upon the
trees around, altogether gave a charm to the evening which can only be
felt while witnessing the scene, and which exceeds the power of
description.
Having crossed the aqueduct, we proceeded by the left bank of the canal,
passing a forge, that nearly stifled us with gaseous smoke, along a
pathway made of cinders and small coal, the refuse of the adjacent
iron-smelting foundry.
Trees of every description hung over our heads, and sloped down a deep
declivity to the margin of the Dee, while on the opposite bank the
mountain frowned above us. The partial glances we obtained of the vale
through the woods, discovered scenes which the artist’s fancy might
vainly attempt to equal.
At length we reached the Bridge of Llangollen, whence the river is seen
to great advantage, tumbling over its rocky bed, and rushing beneath the
dark shelter of the over-hanging trees. The village is small, and
contains two respectable hotels, viz., the Hand, at which we stopped by
the advice of my companion, and the Royal Hotel.
We were shown into a very good parlour, and after ordering a tea and
supper dinner, my friend, somewhat exhausted by the day’s march, flung
himself upon a sofa, while I resumed my journal, and soon afterwards
retired to my bed-room, where the murmurs of the flowing Dee were
distinctly heard beneath the window.
“Here I am, then,” said I, soliloquising, as I pressed the pillow; “here
am I, at length, in the Vale of Llangollen; in the village of
Llangollen,—a spot which I have so often longed to visit!”
“Flow on, thou shining river!”
and in a few moments I sank soundly to sleep.
CHAPTER II.
Plas Newydd.—Castell Dinas Brân.—Valle Crucis Abbey.—Pillar of
Eliseg.—Vale of the Dee.—Corwen.—Route to Llandrillo.—Vale of
Edeyrnion.—Arrival at Bala.
“I crossed in its beauty the Dee’s druid water,
The waves as I passed rippled lonely and lone,
For the brave on their borders had perished in slaughter,
The noble were banished, the gifted were gone.”
W. WIFFEN.
I WAS dreaming of home, and happiness, and a thousand lovely things, when
I was awakened by my new acquaintance, who stood before me dressed for a
sturdy walk. “A lovely morning,” said my companion, rubbing his hands
with much delight; “come, bustle, bustle, my young friend; you are not in
London, now. Permit me to open the lattice; you will find no perfume at
your chamber window in town like this; and, as he spoke, he flung open
the casement, and a rush of fragrance poured into the room from hundreds
of roses that clustered upon the wall without; nor was my friend at all
deficient in praising its sweetness, for, taking a long breath, he stood,
for a moment, with his mouth wide open, and then sent forth a sigh, long
enough to form a bridge over the river for the fairies to cross upon.
“Shall we breakfast before we set out upon our ramble? I think we had
better give orders for it, and visit the cottage where Lady Eleanor
Butler and Miss Ponsonby so long resided, while it is preparing.”
This being agreed to, we gave directions for a breakfast, that would
enable us to undergo the subsequent fatigue with cheerfulness, and then
struck into the road for Plas Newydd. This memorable little dwelling is
pleasantly situated upon a rising knoll, and commands a delightful
prospect of mountain scenery.
[Picture: Font in the Grounds of Plâs Newydd]
The front of the cottage is ornamented with an oaken palisade, curiously
carved with grotesque figures, giving a very tasty and aristocratic
appearance to the building. At the back of the house is a neat grass
plot, with a birdcote, where the robins find a grateful shelter in the
winter season, and where the ladies fed them every morning. It is
surrounded with a fence of evergreens. From thence, the gardener
conducted us under an archway, to a very pleasant and winding path, which
leads to a well-stocked fruit garden. We then descended by a shady walk,
arched over with tall trees, to the primrose vale, through which a
refreshing stream rushes over rocks, where the sun but rarely gilds it
with its beams. It is a delightful cool retreat, and well calculated to
awaken the dormant spirit of poesy, in any heart where it had ever
deigned to dwell. We passed over a rustic bridge which led us to the
verandah, from which we had a fine view of the valley, and the Pengwern
and Berwyn Mountains; and then proceeding a little farther up the glen,
we seated ourselves opposite a most picturesque font, brought hither from
the ruins of Valle Crucis, by the late proprietors of this spot. It is
enclosed in a small arched niche, and supplied with the purest water from
a murmuring rill, which falls in a thin stream into the bowl, a draught
from which is an exquisite treat—for _water_ drinkers.
The flower garden is laid out with great taste, and the little circular
dairy, sunk in the ground, on the left at the front entrance, gives a
most pleasing and picturesque effect. Altogether it is a place to which
any person, wearied with the bustle of society, would willingly fly for
refuge, and find repose.
Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby were young ladies of beauty and
rank, who loved each other with so true an affection that they could
never bear the afflicting idea of a separation which the marriage of
either might occasion. They, therefore, resolved upon lives of celibacy,
refusing many handsome offers, and remaining deaf to the persuasions of
their friends, they retired to the beautiful Vale of Llangollen to enjoy
the happiness of each other’s company, that as their friendship began in
infancy it might be perpetuated through life.
These celebrated ladies were the pride of Llangollen for more than half a
century, and by their numerous charities and general kindness of
disposition, had endeared themselves to the hearts of the whole
neighbourhood. It is worthy of remark that during the long period of
their residence in Wales, they never, for a single night slept from home.
They occasionally visited the theatres at Wrexham and Oswestry, on
charitable occasions, or when a “star” was engaged; but their invariable
custom was to return home after the performances, whatever might be the
state of the weather.
In the lively Memoirs of the late Mr. Charles Matthews, the celebrated
comedian, is the following description of “the Ladies of Llangollen,” but
it must be remembered that at that time
“Age, with stealing, stealing steps,
Had clawed them in his clutch.”
“OSWESTRY, Sept. 4, 1820.
“The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby were
in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen,
and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh! such curiosities!
I was nearly convulsed. I could scarcely get on for the first ten
minutes after my eye caught them. Though I had never seen them, I
instantly knew them. As they are seated, there is not one point to
distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair;
their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which
they always wear even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men’s
coats, and regular black beaver hats. They exactly looked like two
respectable superannuated clergymen.”
In returning through the churchyard we passed the monument to the memory
of Lady Eleanor Butler, Miss Ponsonby, and their faithful servant, Mary
Carroll.
The church is of considerable antiquity, but has very little left of
architectural beauty; some fine carvings on the roof and in the interior
still attest its former consequence. It is noteworthy, however, inasmuch
as the remains of the saint to whom it is dedicated are buried under its
sacred roof. Pennant gives his name in full, which is _Saint Collen ab
Gwynnawg_, _ab Clydawg_, _ab Cowrda_, _ab Caradog Vreicvhras_, _ab Llyr
Merim_, _ab Einion Yrth_, _ab Cunedda Wledig_, by _Ethni Wyddeles_,
daughter to _Matholwch_, lord of _Cwl_, in the kingdom of _Ireland_.
We now returned with good appetites to do justice to the fare provided by
our host of the Hand, and here I was first destined to hear the sounds of
the Welsh harp. As we discussed our fare, the harper in the hall played
up his liveliest tunes.
Breakfast being despatched, we slung our pistols, _i.e._, leathern
bottles, filled with _eau de vie_, to our sides, and started to view the
ruins of Dinas Brân, an ancient fortress up the summit of a conical
mountain, which forms the principal feature of this portion of the vale,
and is indeed a striking object from almost every part of the
neighbourhood. The ascent begins near the foot of the ancient bridge
opposite to the town, which was built in the early part of the fourteenth
century, by the first John Trevor, Bishop of St. Asaph. The view through
the arches, either up or down the river, is extremely picturesque.
My companion was strongly built, and being accustomed to rambling amongst
the Welsh vales and over its steepest mountains, far outstripped me in
the ascent, which was by no means easy. We took a zig-zag direction up
the hill, which was too precipitous to mount in a direct way, and as we
approached the summit the ascent became more difficult; at length, after
some little toil, we stood by the side of the _Well_, whose pure water
gave joy to the inhabitants of this ancient fortress many hundred years
ago, and still offers a welcome draught to the pilgrim who possesses
sufficient perseverance to seek it.
The view from the summit of this mountain is beautiful in the extreme;
commanding the vale east to west, with the widely spreading plains beyond
its eastern extremity, and the grand and picturesque mountain scenery
which forms the western boundary. Chirk Castle, Wynnstay, Valle Crucis
Abbey, and Glyndwrdu, are distinctly visible from this elevation, while
the romantic Dee is seen winding beneath, in light and shadow beautifully
varied by the hills and woods that droop over its banks.
CASTELL DINAS BRAN.
The present remains of this ancient fortress are a few scattered walls.
There is little doubt that it is of British origin, but the period of its
erection, as well as the name of its founder is buried in oblivion. The
original dimensions of its walls were about 300 feet long and 150 feet
broad.
[Picture: Castell Dinas Brân]
In the reign of Henry the Third it afforded an asylum from his enraged
countrymen to Gruffydd ab Madoc, who basely betrayed his country to that
monarch.
In 1390 this castle was inhabited by Myvanwy Vechan, a most beautiful and
accomplished female. She was of the house of Tudor Trevor, and her
father, Ednyved Vychan, then held the castle under the noble Earl of
Arundel, in the reign of the unfortunate Richard the Second. She was
beloved by Howel ab Einion Lygliw, a celebrated bard, who addressed her
in a most charming ode.
On the north-west side of the hill is an adjacent rock called Craig
Eglwyseg, or the Eagle’s Rock. For more than half a mile this rock lies
stratum upon stratum, in such a manner as to form a kind of steps,
parallel with the horizon, called by naturalists _saxa sedilia_,
affording a remarkable geological phenomenon.
VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY,
[Picture: Valle Crucis Abbey]
Like most abbeys, is beautifully situated. The monks of old well
appreciated the value of rich lands and clear streams. This exquisite
relic of a past age was founded in the year 1200, by Gruffydd ab Madoc,
Lord of Bromfield and Yale, and of the neighbouring castle, Dinas Brân;
and in conformity with the rule of the Cistercian fraternity, was
dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The remains of the abbey at
present existing consist of the church, and of a building on the southern
side, part of which seems to have formed the abbot’s lodgings, the
refectory, and the dormitory above, now tenanted by a farmer. The church
is a cruciform building, of which the northern side has been almost
destroyed, and no vestige remains of the roof except in the eastern aisle
of the southern transept.
In the midst of these hallowed precincts, and until the last
twelvemonths, the rubbish was heaped up to a great height, probably by
the fall of the northern wall, and by the remains of the roof, but
through the praiseworthy exertions of a nobleman in the neighbourhood,
Viscount Dungannon, the whole has been cleared away, leaving the pavement
and sides as they existed in former days.
The eastern end is most ancient, and it is adorned by three lancet
arches, forming one grand window.
The entrance was in the west, under a broad and beautiful window, above
which is a smaller one of marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret
work, and beneath it may be deciphered the following inscription:—
QUIESCAT AME
+ ADAM ABBAS FECIT HOC OPUS I PACE.
The intelligent _cicerone_ of this ancient building is Miss Jane Lloyd,
who has lived in this retired but delightful spot for some years. She
has a perfect knowledge of the Welsh language, and of the history of
these interesting ruins, which no one who has visited them can cease to
remember with admiration and regret.
THE PILLAR OF ELISEG.
Not far from the abbey, in a field called Llwyn-y-Groes, or the Grove of
the Cross, stands this famous pillar, which was erected above a thousand
years ago to the memory of Eliseg, the father of a Prince of Powis,
called Brochwel Ysgythrog, who met his death at the Battle of Chester, in
607.
It is among the first lettered stones that succeed the Meini-Hirion,
Meini-Gwyr, and Llechau, and stood on a great tumulus, perhaps always
environed with wood, according to the custom of the most ancient times.
During the civil wars it was thrown down and broken, and the shaft, which
was originally twelve feet, is now reduced to eight. At the suggestion
of Mr. Price, Bodleian Librarian, and a great antiquary, Mr. Lloyd, of
Trevor Hall, had it placed in its present position.
From Valle Crucis Abbey we proceeded to the banks of the Dee, and
crossing the rude bridge over the river, struck into the high road to
Corwen. The country became highly interesting. The mountains are lofty;
and beneath, upon the right, Glyndwrdu the _Valley of the Dee_, discloses
its picturesque beauty.
The vale is so serpentine that it presents a succession of most exquisite
views, and after a walk of three miles, on looking back, Castell Dinas
Brân seems placed upon a lower eminence. The Valley of Llangollen may be
seen likewise from hence for many miles, terminated by the distant
horizon.
[Picture: Pillar of Eliseg]
The Valley of the Dee was the patrimony of the renowned
Glyndwr—Shakspere’s Glendower—and with many a mountain side and summit do
the natives delight to associate his name. Just beyond the seventh
mile-stone, will be seen a kind of tumulus crested with a clump of firs;
this is Glyndwr’s Mount, and is, we believe, fixed upon as the site of
his palace.
After passing the picturesque village of Llansaintfraid, nothing occurs
to arrest the attention till Corwen is reached. The hotel is named after
the mighty Owen, and has a gigantic head over the door, much resembling
the Saracen’s, of Snow Hill notoriety.
The first question put to the jolly landlord was, “What can you give us
to eat?”—It was about three o’clock in the day.
“Why, sir, there is a nice roast duck, and some peas.”
“And how long, pray, will it be before it is ready?”
“A quarter of an hour.”
“Very well, that will do; and in the interim I will visit the church.”
In a few minutes I was conducted to the ancient edifice.
On one side of the altar is the lid of a coffin, which bears the
following inscription:—
“HIC JACET JORWERTH SULIEN, VICARIUS DE CORVAEN. ORA PRO EO.”
In the church wall is shewn the private doorway through which Owen
Glyndwr entered the building whenever he attended divine worship, and in
the rock which overhangs the churchyard, there is a recess which bears
the name of Owen Glyndwr’s Chair; and the stone which now forms the
lintel of the doorway leading to his pew, is said to retain the mark of
his dagger, half an inch in depth, which he threw from the said chair;
but upon what occasion it is not stated.
In the cemetery there is a Cross, fixed in a circular stone, westward of
the steeple; and it is supposed that the name of Corwen is a corruption
of Corvaen, and derived from this Cross. _Cor_ signifies a circle, and
_maen_ (which is likewise considered to have been changed into _vaen_) if
joined to _cor_, means a cross in the circle.
Having satisfied my curiosity here, I returned to the inn, and the first
object which met my delighted eyes, was the promised duck, accompanied by
a dish of most elegant trout: a dainty for which I had been longing ever
since I entered this territory of rocks and torrents. My friend was
already placed at the table, and he clapped his hands, and rubbed them
with evident delight and satisfaction at seeing me arrive so opportunely.
The fish despatched, duck and green peas, in close column brought up the
rear. But I and my gallant comrade—a better trencherman ne’er poised a
fork—attacked in line, cut up the one, and routed the other with the most
determined bravery. The right and left wings were attacked and cut off
from the main body, which, with all its materials, we dispersed in the
glorious conflict, remaining masters of the field.
Although I thus warmly express my satisfaction at partaking of this
not-easily-to-be-forgotten luxury, let me not be mistaken for a gourmand;
but a wet and tired traveller, however much his mind may be enchanted by
the scenery through which he passes, never beholds a more delightful
prospect than a comfortable meal at his journey’s end.
It so happened, however, that this was not to be my journey’s end, as it
was my intention to reach Bala before nightfall.
At this spot my companion and I were to separate: his path lay towards
Cerrig-y-druidion, and mine towards Llandrillo and the Vale of Edeyrnion.
With a feeling of regret I never before experienced at quitting a new
acquaintance of so short a standing, I squeezed his hand, and once more
took the road for another walk of ten miles.
At a short distance from Corwen, a road branches off to the left, along
which the traveller should trudge to the village of Llandrillo, and he
will be repaid by the sight of one of the most fertile valleys in Wales.
It is a mile farther to Bala by this route, but the superior beauty of
the scenery will amply recompence him for the extra distance, for, with
the exception of a view of Bala Lake, obtained from an eminence, the
road, which runs along the opposite side of the valley, is dull and
uninviting. But on the contrary, by the Llandrillo route, the eye is
delighted with a succession of scenes varied and interesting in the
extreme. Huge masses of rock hang over the road upon the left, in
threatening grandeur, while waving woods and falling streams give endless
variety to the picture.
After proceeding five miles, I crossed a bridge over a fine trout-stream,
the banks of which are shaded with trees, and turning into an avenue upon
the right, seated myself by the margin of the brook, secured from the hot
rays of the mid-day sun, I fancied myself the melancholy Jacques. There
only wanted a wounded stag, to make the illusion perfect.
As I entered the village of Llandrillo, I was much delighted with the
lively scene. The long street was crowded with peasantry, in their
holiday clothes. On each side were stalls, formed of tubs turned upside
down, and boards placed upon them, to support their merchandise; square
patches strewed with straw and covered with crockery and glass; tables
well stored with woollen hose and mittens; and stands of gingerbread and
ginger-pop were liberally stationed in different quarters, to gratify and
refresh the happy throng. At times, a sudden opening in the crowd took
place, the whole mass of people jamming each other upon either side of
the street, to make way for a trotting pony, or an ambling nag, to curvet
and prance down the middle and up again, to show his paces. At the upper
end of the fair, a hardware man harangued a crowd of people from his
travelling warehouse (a covered cart,) endeavouring to persuade them that
he came to Llandrillo solely for their benefit, and for no selfish motive
upon earth, and labouring to convince them, in brazier-like eloquence,
that the articles he offered to their notice were considerably under
prime cost, and could not be purchased elsewhere for treble the money;
but, though he sold at a great sacrifice to himself, he begged them not
to consider his loss, but their gain; such an opportunity would never
again present itself, therefore now was their only time to buy cheap!
A party of Welsh girls attracted my attention, gathered together in front
of a wall, upon which a line of men’s hats were ranged, of various
qualities and prices; and great glee and laughter were elicited as each
fitted the new beaver upon her head, it being considered the _ne plus
ultra_ of taste, and a powerful auxiliary to the coquetry of a Welsh
girl.
Leaving Llandrillo, and proceeding towards Bala, the traveller enters the
VALE OF EDEYRNION.
The mountains here, upon either side, are covered with plantations, and
the beautiful Dee winds gracefully in the centre of the valley, through
delightful meadows, while corn fields wave upon the sloping banks, and
everything presents to the eye the appearance of freshness and fertility,
cheerfulness and content. At the bridge near Llanddervel, a small
village, which is first observed upon the opposite bank of the Dee, a
splendid view presents itself. The river here is broad, shallow, and
deep, by turns, and looking up or down the vale, its meandering
sportiveness charms the eye. At the extremity of the valley is a lofty
mountain, planted to the summit, which seems so closely to envelope it as
to prevent all egress. To stand upon this bridge at sunset, and listen
to the whistle of the sheep-boy as he trudges merrily along the road, the
song of the husbandman, or the joyous laugh of the milkmaids—sounds that
float upon the silent air for miles, at such an hour—the twittering of
the birds—the low crake of the rail, amidst the corn—and sweeter than
all, the music of the river, discharging liquid sounds from its
transparent bosom—creates a sensation which we are at a loss how to
express. Excess of pleasure becomes painful; and, overpowered with
delight, nature asserts her influence, and we experience the luxury of
tears!—at least, I did, and I pity from my soul the man who is
unfortunately incapable of a similar feeling.
Passing through the little village of Llanvor, and crossing a stream over
the bridge close by the lodge of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas, I at length
arrived at the White Lion, in the town of Bala; and, tired with my day’s
exertions, called for a tea-dinner and slippers, and early retired to
rest.
CHAPTER III.
Bala.—The Lake.—A Jolter.—Glan y Llyn.—Vale of Drws y Nant.—Cader
Idris.—Dolgelley.—The Town Hall.—Parliament House.—St. Mary’s
Church.—Inns.—Angling Stations.—The Cataracts of Rhaiadr Du and Pistyll y
Cain.—Nannau Park.—Anecdote of Owen Glyndwr and Owen Sele.—Road to
Barmouth.—Arrival.—Inns.—A Walk on the Sands.
“I lay on the rock where the storms have their dwelling,
The birth-place of phantoms, the home of the cloud,
Around it for ever deep music is swelling—
The voice of the mountain wind, solemn and loud.”
MRS. HEMANS.
ON the following morning I found myself unable to walk, from the effect
produced by a sprained ancle, and I had the delightful prospect of being
confined to the room of an inn in a country town, without a being to
converse with, or a book to enliven me; but my kind landlord, a fine,
portly, rosy-cheeked, round-headed, honest-hearted Boniface, as ever drew
spigot, kindly offered me a pony, to take me to the lake, which, he said,
contained plenty of perch. This offer I thankfully accepted, and, by the
aid of mine host and his ostler, was soon seated upon the back of a quiet
not-to-be-put-out-of-his-way animal, as any clerical gentleman could
desire to ride upon, and
“With slow and solemn pace,”
proceeded to catch fish, and view the scenery around
LLYN TEGID, OR BALA LAKE.
Seated upon a rock that projects into the lake (under the shadow of which
is the boat-house of Mr. Price, of Rhiwlas,) I commenced my solitary
pastime; but my eyes continually wandered from the float to the
surrounding scenery, which is of a pleasing rather than an imposing
nature. The lake was slightly ruffled by a refreshing breeze, which
fortunately sprang up, and prevented me from dissolving in the heat of
the sun. It is about four miles in length, and in some parts it is forty
yards in depth. The shores are sloping, the soil gravelly, and
delightfully variegated with plantations of trees and shrubs. Towards
the head of the lake the mountains are upon a very grand scale, and rival
Snowdon in their altitude; Arran Vowddwy is the loftiest of these, near
the summit of which, upon its eastern side, beneath a huge crag, is
situated a lake, which affords excellent sport to the angler, although
the fish are not of the finest quality.
[Picture: Bala Lake]
Arrenig Vawr, (or great,) which is nearly as lofty as Arran Vowddwy, and
rises upon the N.W. side of the Llyn, has also a lake, containing trout
of a large size, which are noted for rejecting the artificial fly; but,
about half way up the Arrenig Vâch, (or little,) is a lake, which, when a
light breeze sweeps along its surface, will amply reward the angler for
his trouble in reaching it. A morning and an evening, at each of these
places, enable me to state thus much, for the benefit of the disciples of
Izaac Walton.
I was suddenly aroused from a dream of pleasure, which I was enjoying
with my eyes open, by a tug at my line, reminding me that a fish had
swallowed the hook. After a little coquetting, which lovers usually make
use of, I brought it to my arms, and then thrust it into my bag: a fine
perch! I now resolved to begin in earnest, and in an hour, by my
temptation and insinuation, contrived to obtain a very handsome dish,
with which I returned upon my pony to the inn, resigning them and myself
to the care of mine hostess.
The town of Bala consists of one long street, has about 2500 inhabitants,
and is celebrated for its manufacture of woollen articles, such as
stockings, gloves, and formerly Welsh wigs. Upon an eminence at the S.E.
end of the town, the old women and young girls assemble in considerable
numbers, during the summer months, to pursue their industrious avocations
in the open air. The mound is called Tommen y Bala; it is said to be of
Roman construction, and from the summit a very fine view may be obtained
of Llyn Tegid and the mountains. There is a town hall, and a chapel of
ease to the parish church at Llanycil, about a mile distant, where the
morning service is read in English only upon the first Sunday in each
month.
Rising early the following morning I found no inconvenience from my
ancle, and after a good breakfast took leave of my host and his wife,
both of whom appeared anxious to see me comfortably seated in the
vehicle.
The car in which I was bumped along the road, in every respect resembled
those delightful conveyances that rattle the astonished traveller from
Cork to Blarney. It is a sort of oval box, placed upon two wheels, with
a door behind, and with good wedging will contain four persons; but being
springless and cushionless, the passenger is jolted to his heart’s
content, that is, if his heart has been set on jolting; and, without
doubt, it is fine exercise for persons of sedentary habits, if by any
chance, their bones happen to escape dislocation. My knapsack (my
opposite, and only fellow passenger) and I, looked very black at each
other, as we bobbed up and down, like a cockney grocer’s apprentice upon
a high trotting horse; but I soon became resigned, and my knapsack having
shifted its berth for the bottom of the vehicle, seemed to rest more
comfortably than on the seat. Notwithstanding the inconvenience I
suffered from this carriage, I could not help admiring the extreme beauty
of the lake, as we pursued our course along its borders; sometimes only
catching a glimpse of it through the trees that shaded its delightful
margin. Its waters were smooth and motionless; not a ripple was visible
upon its surface; the lofty mountains reflected in its breast gave a
sombre tinge to the otherwise golden scene, and as I looked into the
clear depths of the shadows, I thought how peacefully one shattered by
the storms of life might sink beneath, and be at rest!
After passing Glan y Llyn (an estate belonging to Sir W. W. Wynn, who
claims the whole fishing of this beautiful piece of water, and has, by
putting a quantity of pike therein, destroyed all the trout and gwynniad
with which it once abounded) the scenery became wild, and cheerless,
until we reached
THE VALE OF DRWS Y NANT,
where, to my great satisfaction, the car stopped at the sign of the Welsh
Prince, a distance of ten miles from Bala, and eight from Dolgelley.
Being thoroughly tired with my ride, I thought I would endeavour to
obtain the proper use of my limbs, and rest myself by walking the
remainder of the journey. Dismissing the car, therefore, and strapping
my knapsack to my shoulders, I once more took the road.
About a mile beyond the Welsh Prince the valley becomes truly beautiful.
Waving woods adorn the mountains upon either side. The Wnion here begins
to be an important stream; and, though in its course towards Dolgelley it
is swelled by numerous mountain tributaries into a broad river, the trees
upon its banks form an impenetrable screen, which conceal it from the
traveller, and its hoarse murmur, as it dashes over the rocks that vainly
endeavour to intercept its way, alone remind him of its vicinity. At
length I arrived at a spot where a road leads over a bridge to the
opposite side of the river. Thinking this would be a proper place to see
the Wnion to advantage, I advanced to the centre of the bridge. The
effect is beautiful; hanging woods adorn the banks of the stream,
lofty-ash trees (around the trunks of which the ivy winds itself in
snakelike folds, feeding upon the tree that supports it), spread their
proud heads above, and form a pleasing shade, while below the river
roars, as it is precipitated beneath the arch in two large falls, that
form a deep pool on the opposite side.
Nearly the whole of this lovely valley is the property of Sir Robert
Vaughan. Pursuing my journey towards Dolgelley, a sudden turn in the
road and an opening in the dell revealed to my delighted eyes the
celebrated mountain called Cader Idris.
CADER IDRIS,
the loftiest mountain in Merionethshire, and the second in North Wales,
is said to be 950 yards in perpendicular height from Dolgelley Green.
Cader Idris literally means “Idris’s chair,” where he is supposed to have
studied astrology; and Idris is a name attributed to Enoch, the founder
of astronomy. Mr. Edward Jones, to whom the public are indebted for his
learned and ingenious work, entitled “The Bardic Museum,” observes that
“Caer Idris implies the city of the learned;” and Mr. Rowland, in his
“Mona Antiqua,” mentions a place in Anglesey called Caer Idris, also Bôd
Idris, or “Idris’s abode or mansion,” in Yale, Denbighshire, which still
retains the name, as well as that of Llêch Idris, or “the shelter of
Idris,” a farm so called, at Trawsvynydd in Merionethshire, which also
may imply the grave of Idris. Idris is supposed to have flourished in
the third or fourth century, and his genealogy from an old manuscript,
runs thus:—“Idris Gawr ab Gwyddno, ab Tibion, ab Cunedda Wledig.”
[Picture: Cader Idris, from the Bala Road]
Snowdon and Cader Idris were formerly supposed to be the Parnassian hills
of Wales, and none but good bards could claim so elevated a seat.
Idris, the champion or bard, invented the harp; or if the Gomerian
Britons brought that instrument into the country, when they first
inhabited the island, it seems to have been lost and forgotten; for Idris
is said to have invented something similar; but it is probable he only
made some improvement on the ancient harp, or perhaps his superior skill
in performing on it might have gained him that reputation. From all that
can be gathered from tradition, he was a learned man, an astrologer, and
a bard; and it is likely that the summit of this mountain was chosen by
him, to examine from thence the movements of the heavenly bodies, to
write his inspired verses, or to frame laws for the government and
benefit of his country.
The walk from this spot to Dolgelley is exceedingly beautiful; and as the
tourist approaches the town before crossing the bridge which is flung
over the river Mawddach, a sign of some importance attracts his attention
upon the right: it runs thus:—
R. PUGH,
Guide General
To the Waterfalls, Cader Idris,
And all the curious scenery in
The vicinity of Dolgelley.
N.B. Licenced to let saddled horses.
DOLGELLEY,
or Dolgelleu, the Dale of the Hazel, is the principal market town in
Merionethshire, and the assizes are held here, alternately with Bala.
The town hall, the most important building, is a neat stone edifice,
erected in the year 1825, and cost £3000. It is built near the banks of
the river Wnion, (pronounced Oonion) and the court room is fitted up with
every necessary accommodation for the officers of justice. In the hall
is a very fine portrait of Sir R. W. Vaughan, Bart., painted by Sir M. A.
Shee, F.R.A.
Part of an old building, called “Cwrt Plâs yn-y Drêv,” or the Town-hall
Court, is still remaining amongst a range of wretched hovels at the back
of the post office, in which a parliament was held by Owen Glyndwr. The
county jail at the outskirts of the town is of a semi-circular form,
built of stone, and was erected in 1811, at an expense of £5000.
St. Mary’s Church is a neat limestone edifice, of Grecian architecture,
with a handsome tower, and an expansive nave. In it is an ancient
monument of an armed knight, who is represented in a suit of mail,
helmet, a neck guard, a sword in his hand, and a dog at his feet; a lion
passant gardant is on his shield, upon which is inscribed: “Hic jacet
Mauric Filius Ynyr Vychan.” There is a modern one lately erected to the
memory of Baron Richards.
[Picture: Parliament House of Owen Glyndwr]
The town is celebrated for a manufacture of coarse woollen cloths and
flannels, called webs. The old town-hall is used for various purposes;
English church service is performed there every other Sunday; it is also
used as a national school, and children are there taught to sing the
church psalms. It is likewise known as the theatre.
Those fond of fine scenery should ascend the mountain from the north side
of the vale, to obtain the best view of the town, as it lies sheltered at
the foot of the majestic Cader Idris, which rears its lofty shoulders in
the clouds.
Clustering woods adorn the opposite range of mountains, as they slope in
irregular masses westward to the ocean. The river beautifully meandering
through the green meadows, the solemn quietude that prevails around,
disturbed only by the sound of the church clock, marking the progress of
the fleeting hours with lengthened tone, which, like the music of another
world, sweeps through the enchanting vale, combine to render this a place
where those not wedded to routs, masquerades, gambling, and
licentiousness, might wish to live and die.
Dolgelley contains several good inns, of which the most frequented are
the Golden Lion, the Angel, and the Ship. Comfortable lodgings may
likewise be obtained, at a cheap rate, by those who desire to remain in
the neighbourhood for the purpose of making excursions to the Falls,
Kymmer Abbey, and Nannau Park, the fishing stations, Dol y Gamedd on the
Aran, Llyn-tri-Graienyn, Llyn y Gader, Llyn Geirw, Tal y Llyn, &c.
The tourist should not quit Dolgelley without visiting the Waterfalls,
which, after heavy rains, are very magnificent. As I was still suffering
from the severe sprain, I was accommodated by my friend, who also obliged
me with his company, with a very fine horse to carry me to the falls;
and, bold and sure-footed, he performed his duty nobly, in spite of
crags, cliffs, hills, and hollows.
THE RHAIADR DU
is situated in the grounds belonging to Miss Madock, called Dôl
Melynllyn. Here the torrent leaps from a height of sixty feet over
precipitous rocks, and plunges with a violence that seems to shake the
crags and trees around, into a deep pool, from which it proceeds down the
dingle, over black and broken fragments, to the river Mawddach. A
footpath conducts the tourist to the bottom of the falls, from which,
stepping upon some loose stones in the middle of the stream, he will
obtain the best view of the cataract. A walk of about three miles brings
him to the falls of the Mawddach and Pistyll y Cain, returning from
which, he may visit Y Vanner, or Kymmer Abbey, founded in 1198, by
Meredith and Gruffydd, lords of Merioneth, dedicated to St. Mary, and
inhabited by monks of the Cistercian order. It is not now, however,
worthy of the tourist’s attention. But Nannau Park, the seat of Sir
Robert William Vaughan, will afford much pleasure to those who visit it.
The grounds are thickly wooded, and the mansion is supposed to occupy the
highest ground of any residence in Britain. The approach to it is five
miles in length; it stands 702 feet above the level of the sea, and the
park is celebrated for its venison. Previously to the year 1814, there
stood an oak in this park which bore a name terrible to the ears of the
peasantry; it was called
DERWEN CEUBREN YR ELLYLL,
which translated, means, “the hollow oak, the haunt of demons.” In this
oak, it is said, Owen Glyndwr immured the body of Howell Sele, the
proprietor of this estate, who, while they were walking together,
treacherously shot an arrow at the breast of Glyndwr, who, however,
having armour beneath his doublet, fortunately received no hurt. The
cause of this treachery is said to have been the indignation expressed by
Owen at his kinsman’s refusal to join his cause to redress his country’s
wrongs. Glyndwr forced his body into the hollow of this oak, most likely
after having slain him, where, forty years after this event, a skeleton
was discovered. The chieftain, after laying waste the mansion and domain
of Sele, hastened to join his friends. Sir W. Scott has written a very
beautiful poem upon this legend, which will be found in the fifth note to
his sixth canto of Marmion, and is called the “spirit’s blasted tree.”
In 1813, this monarch of the wood fell to the ground.
The country from Dolgelley to the mouth of the river is well worth a
journey of three hundred miles to visit, even though there were no other
objects worthy of notice in North Wales, and will amply compensate the
most eager researcher after the sublime and beautiful.
At a turn of the coach road from a place called Ty-gwyn, a splendid view
of Cader Idris is obtained, particularly in the evening, when the mists
arise from the numerous lakes in the vicinity, like volumes of smoke from
a domain of fire, curling in fantastic forms around the mountain’s waist,
leaving its summit stern and clear in an unclouded sky—like a proud giant
surveying with disdain the dwarfish host of which he is the leader.
Another noble view attracts attention, at a place called Glan
Mawddach—the broad arm of the sea, stretching for miles between the
rugged mountains, which, shrouded in veils of silvery mist, fling their
dark shadows into the depths of the water. Arriving at
BARMOUTH,
the coach stopped at the Corsygedol Arms; but I proceeded to the
Commercial Inn, where there is very good accommodation, and a good
look-out seaward. A warm bath of sea water refreshed me; and by the star
light I strolled upon the sands, which are very hard and pleasant to walk
upon, while my repast was preparing at the inn. The night was calm and
serene, and my mind naturally adapted itself to the surrounding scene.
“The brave o’erhanging firmament—the majestical roof fretted with golden
fire,” appeared to me far from being “a foul and pestilent congregation
of vapours.” My soul took wing, and bounded from star to star, leaping
the realms of space, and plunging into infinity, till wearied with its
immeasurable flight, it resought its earthly tenement, and my body, which
it left immoveable, as if transformed to marble, resumed its functions.
The low moan of the ocean swam on my ear, like heavenly music. A light
breeze brought with it delicious freshness; and, as I looked towards the
land, all seemed as quiet as the abode of peace. The lights from the
houses had a pleasing effect, as they streamed through the windows, row
above row, under and upon the side of the overhanging cliffs.
I returned to “mine inn,” and my meal being despatched, retired to bed.
CHAPTER IV.
Description of Barmouth.—Sketch of the Town.—The Estuary.—Friar’s
Island,—Dinas Gortin.—Earl of Richmond.—Anecdote of the Men of Ardudwy,
and the Men of Denbighshire.—Corsygedol Hall.—A Pic-nic Party.—Llyn Cwm
Bychan.—Carreg y Saeth.—Bwlch Tyddiad.—A Mountain Ride and a Regretful
Farewell.
“The mountayne men live longer many a year
Then those in vale, in plaine, or marrish soyle;
A lustie hart, a cleene complexion cleere,
They have on hill that for hard living toyle;
With ewe and lambe, with goats and kinds they play,
In greatest toyles to rub out wearie day;
And when to house and home good fellowes draw,
The lads can laugh at turning of a strawe.”
CHURCHYARD.
BARMOUTH, or Aber-Maw, derives its name from being situated at the
embouchure of the river Maw or Mawddach, which at the entrance is
obstructed by a bar. The old town, viewed from the sea, resembles a
fortress of some strength, hanging immediately over the sands. In most
cases a lofty situation is an advantage, but here it is the reverse; for
so steep is the side of the cliff on which it stands, that the
inhabitants of the upper regions are completely smoke-dried from the
chimneys of all the dwellings beneath.
The new town stands at the base of the rock, and but for some mounds of
sand, that appear likely to grow into mountains by the influence of the
winds and waves, would inevitably be washed away by the spring tides.
Some of the fishermen’s habitations on the beach are at times buried in
the drifting sands; and, after a strong wind from the seaward, the
inhabitants generally labour hard to clear the obstruction from their
doors.
Barmouth had few visitors during my stay, and from the report of those I
met with, is greatly decreasing in popularity, which says but little in
favour of the lovers of fine scenery. When the tide is at full, the
panorama around the estuary cannot be surpassed in beauty. The majestic
river winds amongst rocks, clad with purple heather, or projecting in
barren grandeur, that lift their jagged summits tier over tier, and peak
overtopping peak, while still tremendous, towering over all, the lofty
Idris looms in the back ground. Green hills and woody promontories,
forests that stretch into the dark recesses of the mountains, villas and
copsewood glens, give an endless variety to the romantic scene.
The town contains about 2000 inhabitants, and there is a manufactory of
flannels and woollen stockings.
At noon, as I was basking upon the sands, or Friar’s Island, which is
situated at the mouth of the river, I had the pleasure to see my new
acquaintance and friend gallop into the town, and old Charon having
ferried me from the island to the main land once more, I hastened to
welcome him, as fast as my damaged limb would suffer me. He proposed
driving me to Corsygedol Hall, the seat of the Hon. E. M. L. Mostyn;
which being agreed to, I ordered dinner to be ready at our return, and we
started. The drive upon the Harlech road is bleak; upon the right, the
hills are barren; and seaward, beneath the road, is an extensive flat,
consisting chiefly of bog land and far from interesting. About a mile
and a half from the town stands the Church of Llan Aber, upon the extreme
verge of a cliff which overlooks the ocean. The Carnarvonshire mountains
have a fine effect stretching into the sea; of which the Rivals, with
their lofty peaks, are noble objects in the distance. Following the
chain, the eye rests for a moment upon Carn Bodean, and in the flat
between it and Carn Madryn is the town of Pwllheli. The chain is resumed
at Rhiw mountain, and terminates at Aberdaron point, three leagues from
which is Bardsey Island, a conspicuous and interesting object; for there
dwelt the bards of old, amongst whom were numbered the fathers of
science, the national interpreters, musicians, and legislators, priests,
and princes of Cambria. With their oratory they soothed the savage
ignorance of mankind into civilization and knowledge, and polished their
minds with the powerful aid of music and poetry. After the dreadful
slaughter of the monks of Bangor, those who survived took shelter upon
this island. A few ruined walls alone remain of the ancient abbey; and
the inhabitants, who do not exceed one hundred persons, support
themselves chiefly by fishing.
About three miles from Barmouth, upon the summit of the mountain called
Dinas Gortin, are the remains of a military encampment, and near to the
town there stood a tower, where it is said the Earl of Richmond used to
conceal himself, when he visited his secret allies in this part of the
country.
Near the military station, are the tombs of the celebrated men of
Ardudwy; who, in imitation of the Roman robbers, made an incursion into
Denbighshire, and overcoming the men, forcibly tore the women from their
families, and returned in triumph with them to their own country.
But the men of Denbighshire, rallying, pursued the spoilers, and
overtaking them in the pass of Drws Ardudwy, routed them with great
slaughter. But the infatuated women had by this time conceived so
extraordinary a passion for their violators, that rather than survive
their loss, or perhaps more probably, to escape the fury of their former
husbands, they drowned themselves in a lake, which is called the Llyn y
Morwynion, or Pool of the Maidens.
About two miles further, a road up a steep ascent conducted us to a fine
avenue of trees, through which we passed, and at the termination of it
came to a handsome gateway called Porth Mawr, which admitted us into the
mansion of Corsygedol, which has nothing in it to interest the tourist.
The interior of the building is incommodious and inelegant. The
drawing-room contains a few wretched portraits and high-backed chairs;
and the rest of the apartments are meanly furnished.
We returned to Barmouth by the sea shore, and after a most delightful
drive upon Neptune’s boundaries, arrived at the inn, where the evening
was passed in conviviality, tempered with prudence, and sweetened by
social and interesting conversation. As I had determined upon proceeding
to Harlech the following day, my companion was resolved to make the
journey as agreeable as possible, and requesting me to forward my
knapsack, &c., by the coach, informed me that he would be ready to
accompany me in the morning. Requesting him, therefore, to be early at
breakfast, we parted for the night.
After despatching a hasty meal next morning, the word was given “to horse
and away.” My old favourite who bore me so gallantly to the black
cataract, was again resigned to my care, and I to his, gentle as a lamb,
proud as a war horse, and agile as an antelope. I felt like an Arab, on
his steed, and I thought I could defy the winds to overtake me. We
proceeded once more to Corsygedol Hall, which was the appointed spot of
rendezvous for a pic-nic party. Here I had the happiness of meeting some
of the choicest flowers of the Welsh Highlands. Youth, beauty, freedom,
and innocence, beamed from the laughing eyes and unsullied cheeks of our
fair companions. The “how d’ye do’s?” “glad to see you,” “fine morning,”
&c., &c., being ended, we moved forward in a formidable cavalcade.
Mirth, wit, and pleasure played on the lips and sparkled in the eyes of
the whole party; and the animals that bore us seemed to partake of the
general feeling, by pricking up their glossy ears, and bounding over the
rugged road with more spirit than prudence. Much mirth was occasioned by
the opening of gates and crossing of brooks. At length the party plunged
into a beautiful wood. I paused upon an eminence to mark the effect as
they descended; it was picturesque in the extreme, as at intervals,
through the openings, I caught a partial glimpse of the troop, pursuing
their cheerful way down the steep path. Pleased with the sight, I passed
the party at a gallop, and arriving at the foot of the hill, remained
upon a bridge, close by the woodman’s cottage, which crosses a mountain
stream, watching their approach.
It was delightful to see them advancing one by one through the thick
foliage which hung on either side of the path, and arching over their
heads. On arriving at the foot of the descent, the party drew up, and,
had an artist been among us, I am confident he would have produced a
picture which, even on the lifeless canvass, would have delighted the
connoisseurs of Somerset House.
The variety of costume, the colour of the horses, the general sensation
of delight which lighted up the features of the gay group; the
picturesque cottage and bridge, the broad rushing stream, the waving
woods, with now and then a glimpse of the sterile mountains, peeping
above the beautiful fertility, formed a landscape which Salvator Rosa
himself would have been delighted to delineate.
[Picture: View from Carreg y Saeth]
Penetrating through a woody maze, a glen upon our right, and huge wild
masses of rock towering above our heads, we passed Cravnant, a house
situated in the deep shade of the lonely wood. The rocks now assumed a
wild and threatening aspect upon our left, as we emerged into a more open
track, and entered upon the domain of Dolwreiddiog, a little beyond which
commences perhaps the wildest scenery in North Wales. Descending by a
rocky path, we came to
LLYN Y CWM BYCHAN,
or, the lake of the little hollow, on the opposite margin of which, the
wild and dismal Carreg-y-Saeth, the rock of the arrow, rears its black
head in fearful grandeur. Cwm Bychan, is a grassy dell, surrounded on
all sides by the most frightful sterility; which, while we gazed with
wonder on the sublimity of the scene, made us shudder at the utter
desolation it presented. A poor cottage stands at the further end of the
valley, from which, having obtained a plentiful supply of milk, we
dismounted, and, fastening our steeds to the gates, we seated ourselves
under the shade of two trees, upon the inviting grass, which, like the
smiles of the world, proved but too treacherous; many a scream and laugh
announcing that the boggy soil had paid no respect to the garments of
either sex. Stones were therefore procured, and, having ranged them in a
magic circle, the whole party seated themselves to partake of the good
cheer, which a sturdy Welshman had borne upon his shoulders, and who now
advanced into the middle of the ring. Knives and forks began to play
with astonishing celerity. Fowls, ham, tongue, &c., vanished as if by
enchantment, and mirth and good humour added zest to the repast.
Our lunch being concluded, we again mounted our horses, and commenced an
ascent up a dank, cheerless hollow, called Bwlch Tyddiad. Nothing can
exceed the wildness of the scenery by which we were surrounded. Huge
masses of rock, riven by the thunderbolt, or loosened by the frost, lay
scattered in every direction, while towering upon either side, the
herbless mountains frowned, barren, black, grey, and terrible.
Our horses, accustomed, I presume, to such excursions, picked their way
with the greatest care and safety, and my “gallant brown” cleared every
impediment, as if he had been foaled amongst the Alps, and loved them
better than the verdant plain. Drawing nearer to the top of the cliff,
the shepherds had made a stair-like path of flat stones, along which our
Cavalcade proceeded with caution; when suddenly we halted upon hearing
the distant halloos of travellers ascending the opposite side of the
mountain, and presently three persons, one of whom was leading a wearied
animal by the bridle, became distinctly visible. A shout of recognition
from our party roused all the echoes of the surrounding hills. The
figures, as they became more distinct, seemed magically transported with
myself into the heart of the Sierra Morena, where Cardenio, Don Quixote,
and Sancho Panza, appeared to me in their proper persons; for never was
description better realized than in the figures that now presented
themselves. The first was a handsome, well formed man, with light brown
hair, which hung in plentiful thickness upon his shoulders; his untrimmed
beard, joined by overhanging mustachios, and the two being united to the
upper growth by a pair of whiskers, the luxuriance of which showed they
were permitted to grow in uninterrupted freedom. His throat was bare,
and his dress negligent. The second figure that attracted my attention,
was a very tall and extremely thin young man, with a serious cast of
features that would have done honour to the knight of the woful
countenance. In his hand he led a jaded hack, which in the ascent seemed
to have yielded up three parts of its existence. Here then was the
Rosinante of Cervantes in a breathing form; while, by his side, a short
good-humoured little man, with a large portmanteau buckled on his back,
walked like a faithful squire, and made an admirable substitute for the
immortal Sancho; and, as he turned his eyes from precipice to glen, it
required no great stretch of imagination to think they were wandering in
search of his beloved Dapple. We met upon a patch of green moss; and
here our hamper was again unpacked, to cheer the hearts of these
toil-worn travellers.
By their advice we ascended to the summit of the mountain, the view from
which was grand and extensive. To the eastward, a vast country lies
beneath, bounded by Cader Idris, the two Arrenigs, and a long range of
mountains. Immediately under the lofty eminence upon which we rested,
was a small round lake and the pass Ardudwy, which exceeds even the
celebrated Llanberis in rugged grandeur. The way by which our new
companions ascended was both laborious and dangerous; but they would not
have sacrificed the prospect now presented to them on any account. North
and south the eye glances over the summits of wild mountains, and to the
west the Carnarvonshire chain, cut in two, as it were, by a high
mountain, immediately before us, forms the shore of a noble sheet of
water, resembling a spacious lake, where the sea stretches its arm into
the Vale of Maentwrog, out of Cardigan Bay. The declining sun gave us
warning that it was time to quit these wilds, and make the best of our
way to the foot of the mountain.
The return is extremely hazardous on horseback. The ladies of the party
therefore, resigning their steeds to the conduct of some mountaineers,
and the gentlemen leading their horses by the bridle, commenced the
descent. But as I could not from lameness advantage myself by like
caution, and feeling confident in the tact, strength, and docility of my
favourite, I led the way, without experiencing the slightest symptom of
uneasiness.
When we had proceeded about half way down, a circumstance occurred that
occasioned some unpleasantness. A horse had broken loose from one of the
leaders, and at full speed came galloping down the steep and rugged
descent. The animal conducted by the tall, thin gentlemen before
described, started as his fellow quadruped rushed by him, and, freeing
himself from control, dashed after him at an alarming pace, leaving his
late master, with eyes starting out of their sockets, and mouth wide open
with affright, his arms spread out, and his whole frame in convulsions of
terror, upon the top of a large stone, ludicrously bewildered. My steed,
evincing the truth of the proverb, “evil communications,” &c., for a
moment lost his presence of mind, and despising my efforts to restrain
him, bounded over sundry perilous rocky fragments in desperate pursuit.
However, by divers forcible arguments, I at length succeeded in
convincing him of his error, and he returned to his duty.
The two runaways were soon out of sight, and as we concluded they had
broken their necks, we moved rather solemnly to the bottom of the hollow,
where our fears were dissipated, by finding them quietly browsing in the
green meadows, where we had before seated ourselves at pic-nic. All here
remounted; the sun’s rays still lingering upon the heights of
Carreg-y-Saeth, but the pool below looked black and cheerless. As we
proceeded, the beautiful calm light of evening, the cool and refreshing
air, “the shard borne beetle, with his drowsy hum,” the forest flies and
midges dancing in the clear ether, the murmuring of mountain streams, and
the joyous notes of our little party, uniting with the sharp tones of our
horses’ shoes, clinking against the rocky fragments, formed a combination
of pleasing sounds and images in this romantic solitude, which I shall
ever remember with feelings of interest and delight. After riding about
three miles, surrounded by every charm that could make the time pass
pleasantly, we arrived at the place of parting. A road branching to the
right led directly to Harlech, a distance of about two miles; and here,
with a feeling of regret, I hardly ever before experienced, I took leave
of my kind conductor, and his agreeable friends, a man being appointed to
walk with me as far as Harlech, for the purpose of taking back his
master’s horse.
Slowly and sadly I pursued my solitary ride, nor did I once address my
attendant, until I arrived at the inn, where, dismounting, I committed to
his charge my gallant supporter throughout the day.
CHAPTER V.
Harlech.—The Inn.—The Castle.—Anecdote of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion.—Road
to Maentwrog.—View.—A Persevering Cobbler.—The Oakeley Arms.—Angling
Stations.—Road to Tremadoc.—Tan y Bwlch.—Port Madoc Breakwater and
Mountain Scenery described.—Tremadoc.—Tan yr Allt.—Pont Aber Glas
Lyn.—Beddgelert.—The Inn.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,
Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!
’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,
And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:
See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,
In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;
Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,
Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,
Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,
Waves the dark wand and chants the thrilling spell.”
PRIZE POEM, T. S. S.
HARLECH.
THE Blue Lion Inn, built by Sir R. W. Vaughan, for the accommodation of
travellers and tourists, is most delightfully situated. A carriage road
from the north leads round to the front, which faces the sea; and forming
a semicircle, permits the vehicles to drive, through a gate on the south
end of the house, again into the high road. Great taste is displayed in
the erection of this pleasant building; the parapet wall, with its
circular turrets, in which seats are placed for the accommodation of
visitors, and the terrace with its neat shrubberies. I must also
acknowledge, that the kind attention of the landlord and his servants
deserves the highest commendation.
The view from the terrace is indescribably beautiful. The sea lies
stretched beneath; the majestic ruins of Harlech Castle stand upon a
rocky base, frowning in solitary grandeur upon the right; and beyond, the
long line of Carnarvonshire hills projects, like Cambria’s lance,
forbidding the waves to make further inroads upon her territories.
Pwllheli and Port Madoc are distinctly visible from this spot; and the
lovers of fine prospects may remain at the Blue Lion for a week, without
wishing to stray further than the terrace in search of the sublime and
beautiful. The continual variety of light and shadow, with which the
mountains are alternately robed, the freshness of the air, and the solemn
majesty of the ruined fortress, form altogether a volume for the mind to
peruse with intense and unwearied interest.
HARLECH CASTLE.
[Picture: Harlech Castle]
The present castle was built by Edward the First in 1283, upon the ruins
of one erected by Maelgwn Gwynedd, Prince of North Wales, in 530. It was
seized by the Welsh hero, Owen Glyndwr, during his struggle for freedom
against Henry the Fourth, and was retaken, about four years afterwards,
by an army sent by that monarch into Wales. After the defeat of Henry
the Sixth at Northampton, this castle afforded a retreat for his queen;
but being hotly pursued by the Lord Stanley, she was compelled to fly
from hence with great precipitation, leaving her jewels and other
valuables behind her.
In 1468, this place was in possession of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion, a man
of singular strength and beauty, and of unconquerable bravery. Being a
firm friend to the Lancastrian line, the Earl William of Pembroke was
despatched to reduce the fortress; and after encountering incredible
difficulties, marching through the very heart of the British Alps, he at
length invested the castle, and committed the management of the siege to
his brother Sir Richard Herbert, a man equal in size and prowess to the
British commandant. The reply of the Welshman, when called upon to
surrender, deserves to be handed down as a specimen of bravery and
loyalty. He had never acknowledged the sovereignty of Edward; and for
nine years had defied his threats. His answer was in keeping with the
line of conduct he had adopted: “Tell your leader,” said he to the
messenger, “that some years ago I held a castle in France against its
besiegers so long, that all the old women in Wales talked of me: tell
your commander, that I intend to defend this Welsh castle now, until all
the old women in France shall hear of it.”
Famine, however, at last subdued him; but he yielded only upon honourable
terms, Sir Richard pledging himself for his safety. The king at first
refused to subscribe to the conditions; but Sir Richard, with a spirit
that cannot be sufficiently applauded, instantly informed his majesty
that he must take his own life first; for if he lived he would certainly
replace the Welsh chieftain in his strong hold again. The king was too
well acquainted with the value of Sir Richard’s services and scrupulous
honour, to persist in his unjust intentions. He, therefore, ratified the
conditions, and pardoned the chief. But the brave Englishman was soon
after recalled from his military command.
In the civil wars of Charles I. Harlech Castle was the last that held out
for the king, under the command of William Owain, who surrendered on the
9th of March, 1647.
Upon the side which faces the sea, the castle must have been impregnable;
the walls are scarcely distinguishable from the rocky base, the whole
being a continued surface of dark grey masonry; and the north and south
sides appear nearly as inaccessible. The gateway upon the eastward side
is situated between two immense rounders, resembling those of Conway and
Carnarvon. The form of the castle is a square, each side measuring
seventy yards, and at each corner is a round tower; but the turrets that
were once attached to them the unsparing hand of Time has destroyed.
Before the entrance is a deep fosse, cut in the solid rock; across which
a drawbridge was constructed for security and convenience.
The principal apartments are on the eastward, or entrance, side of the
inner court. The banqueting hall is opposite; the windows of which look
out upon the green surface of the sea; and, on the right of the court,
there formerly stood a small chapel; the ruins of which are still
visible, the pointed windows remaining entire. It is impossible to
conceive a finer view than is obtained from the towers of Harlech Castle.
With a clear atmosphere, the monarch of the Welsh mountains may be
distinctly seen, towering above his subject hills. The promontories of
Lleyn, and Cricaeth Castle, are likewise objects of considerable
interest; the latter forming a head to a long neck of land that juts into
the sea from the Carnarvonshire coast, backed by a chain of noble
mountains. This castle likewise owes its foundation to Edward I.
Harlech is one of those places the traveller leaves with regret, and a
feeling that he can never see any so beautiful again; and from this place
to the village of Maentwrog, the road increases in beauty every mile.
The Bay of Cardigan, expanding to the ocean, lies beneath, on the left;
upon the right, wild rocks and woody hills alternately diversify the
prospect, and, approaching the northern extremity of the bay, the Traeth
Mawr and Traeth Bâch, two arms of the sea (the former running up to Port
Madoc, and the latter into the Vale of Maentwrog), are noble objects.
The Traeth Bâch, bounded by mountains upon either side, prepares the
tourist for the heavenly quietude which reigns eternally in the bosom of
this earthly paradise; and about two miles from the village, near a farm
house called Cemlyn, one of the most beautiful views of the valley lies
stretched before him. A woody dingle opens on the right, down which the
Velin Rhyd rushes impetuously, mingling its bright waters with the
smoothly meandering Dwyryd, which commingling, flow gracefully into
Cardigan Bay.
[Picture: The Vale of Maentwrog]
In front, and upon the right of the vale, lies the little picturesque
village of Maentwrog, reposing at the foot of a lofty mountain. Fine
green meadow lands enrich the centre of the valley, through which the
river, like a silver serpent, “drags its slow length along.” Upon the
opposite side is seen the mansion of Tan y Bwlch, backed by a mountain
forest, and ornamented by a noble terrace in front, with pleasure grounds
and walks, which the eye loves to rest upon.
The road to Festiniog, at the extreme point of the landscape, winds up
the enclosing hills that fill up the back ground. To be appreciated, the
view must be seen: the most glowing description would fall incalculably
short of the reality.
At this spot I was accosted by a very inquisitive personage.
“Fine evening, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Walking far to-day, sir?”
“Yes.”
“A great many gentlemen come from London to see this valley, sir.”
“I suppose so,” (trying to shake him off, but it would not do.)
“You come from London, I think, sir.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Only because a great many London people come this way, sir.”
“But do not many other travellers come this road, who are not Londoners?”
“Oh, yes, sir! but I took you for a Londoner by the cut of your coat.
You’ve come a long way to-day, sir?”
“I have, but how should you know that?”
“By the condition of your boots, sir.”
This was a hit I did not anticipate; for, truth to say I was nearly
bootless, at least the _soles_ had nearly left their _bodies_, upper
leathers I mean, and stood mortally in need of regeneration; and, as I
had not provided myself with a second pair, thinking they would prove
cumbersome in my knapsack, his remark was felt from toe to heel.
“You’ll want these repaired, I dare say, sir, while you remain at the
Oakeley Arms—comfortable inn—capital beds, sir.”
“Why I think I shall, my friend; perhaps you can recommend me to a
cobbler, in the village yonder,” (pointing to Maentwrog.)
“I am a boot maker, sir, in the village, and have cobbled, as you are
pleased to call it, the soles of all strangers in need, for the last
twenty years. My father performed that office before me; and I may say
my all (awl) of life depends upon the gentlemen who visit our beautiful
valley.”
“You are not employed then by the inhabitants of your native village?”
“I _was_, sir; but a new comer, who wrote over his door ‘leather cutter,’
cut me out; for I never found business enough to set up a shop, and so,
sir, I am obliged to watch for customers, to keep up my trade. Those
boots of yours, sir, will give me dinners for half the week, if you will
only let me give them welts, soles, and heel-taps. You’ve got a fine
foot, sir.”
This piece of gross flattery did not prevent my telling him to follow me
to the inn, and receive the reward of his perseverance and industry.
THE OAKELEY ARMS. TAN Y BWLCH.
I was tired, and gladly resigned my dilapidated boots to the care of my
_soles’_ physician; who, with a most respectful bow, promised to let me
have them by eight o’clock on the following morning.
Oh the comforts of a clean room, clean sheets, and a good bed! These I
experienced at the Oakeley Arms; and I arose refreshed, and eager to
commence my walk; but I was doomed to disappointment, for on drawing up
the blind of my window, a dark and dismal morning presented itself, the
rain falling in torrents, and the lovely valley transformed into a gloomy
gorge of rolling clouds. What’s to be done? thought I; jump into bed
again, answered my careful spirit. I obeyed the suggestion, and slept
another hour, when I again awoke, and on inspection found the day still
melancholy and tearful.
I descended to the breakfast room, and by the time I had finished that
necessary meal the sun shone out gloriously. Having discharged my bill,
and paid the loquacious cobbler for repairing my boots, I proceeded to
view the grounds of Tan y Bwlch, the seat of Mrs. Oakeley. The name
signifies “Below the Pass;” it is situated on the side of a hill which
overlooks the vale.
From the terrace of this mansion you command one of the most romantic
views in Wales. Harlech Castle is visible upon the right; the
Merionethshire mountains tower in the distance, and the entire valley,
from Festiniog to Traeth Bychan, watered by the river Dwyryd, is
interesting beyond description. Lord Lyttleton tells us, in his
observations upon this valley, that an honest Welsh farmer, who died
there at 105 years of age, had by his first wife thirty children, ten by
his second, and four by his third. His eldest son was eighty-one years
older than his youngest, and 800 persons, descended from his body,
attended his funeral.
I should be doing injustice to the worthy landlord of the Maentwrog Inn,
whose house I used upon my second visit to this delightful valley, did I
not speak in praise of his attention to the comforts of all travellers.
Good beds, civil waiters, excellent fare, and cheap charges, render this
one of the very best inns in Wales. And hear, ye lingering tourists! you
may have bed and board for the inconsiderable sum of one guinea per week,
which I think a very considerable temptation to remain at it a month, for
there is sufficient in the neighbourhood to interest the most phlegmatic
of Adam’s progeny. From hence may be visited the following interesting
places. The village of Festiniog, three miles, where there are two good
inns, the Pengwern Arms, and the Newborough Arms, where post horses and
cars are always in readiness; there is also a good boarding-house kept by
Miss Owen. The Falls of Cynvael, two and a half; the slate quarries,
five and a half; the cataracts of the Rhaiadr Du and Ravenfall, two
miles; Llyn Llyanyrch, three and a half, where the trout are excellent;
Cwmorddin Pool, lies to the northward, about four and a half miles, to
which the tourist may be conducted by the railroad. There is a house at
each end of the lake where the angler will find accommodation from the
hospitable owners for a trifling remuneration. Llyn Mannod contains very
large trout, and is six miles from Maentwrog, and Llyn Morwynion is about
the same distance.
[Picture: The Raven Fall, near Maentwrog]
I proceeded along the lower road by the north side of the salts, as the
inhabitants of the valley call the arm of the sea, which here has the
appearance of a lake begirt with mountains, craggy cliffs, and shadowing
woods. Here I bade adieu to the delightful valley of Festiniog, and
after walking about four miles along a pleasant road, a noble sheet of
water met my eyes, which appeared to be hemmed in by inaccessible
mountains, differing in form from those I had left behind, being more
conical, and some shooting upwards like pyramids into the clouds.
As I proceeded I discovered it to be the Traeth Mawr, which, as the sea
is hidden from us by a breakwater, has the appearance of a broad lake.
Upon this breakwater, which extends across the bay, is a railroad which
conveys slates from the quarries at Festiniog to Port Madoc, where it is
calculated ten thousand tons are shipped annually. Port Madoc receives
its name from the late William Alexander Maddocks, Esq., of Tan-yr-allt,
as does the town of Tremadoc.
The extraordinary efforts of this enterprising man caused him to be
looked up to as the Prince of the soil. He redeemed, by constructing an
embankment of nearly one mile in length from north to south, across the
Traeth Mawr, at the eastern extremity of Cardigan Bay, a tract of more
than 2,700 acres of land. This enterprise was completed in 1811, and
cost upwards of £100,000; so that, with the lands previously recovered,
no less than 7000 acres have been regained, 6000 of which are cultivated.
The view from the breakwater is perhaps the finest in North Wales for
distant mountain scenery. When the tourist has reached the centre of it,
let him turn his back upon the sea, and upon his right he will perceive a
hill, called Plâs Newydd, from which a range of Alpine scenery stretches
up to the monarch of Snowdonia, who towers pre-eminent in the distance.
Upon his left another range, commencing with a hill called Moel y Gêst,
leads up to the same grand object, and the extraordinary variety
displayed in the formation of these wonderful masses with the varying
lights and shadows that adorn them with sunny crowns or misty mantles,
produces a sublimity of effect I never before experienced. A bridge
joins the breakwater to the quay at Port Madoc, under which the tide
rushes with great impetuosity, covering a vast extent of ground at the
flood, which is left nearly dry at the ebb. Proceeding along the road,
in a short time the tourist obtains a peep at the little town of
Tremadoc; but before reaching it he perceives the church, an elegant
building, with a tower and lofty spire, which forms a principal object in
the landscape. The archway, under which the church is approached, is a
beautiful specimen of workmanship, and does equal credit to the taste of
the founder and execution of the builder. Divine service is read here in
the English language every Sunday, which is a great accommodation to the
English families, residing in the neighbourhood, as there is no other
church within twenty miles where it is so performed.
TREMADOC,
or the town of Madoc, is built quadrangularly, and in the centre of the
square is a column with a pedestal, round which are twelve steps. On the
eastern side is a commodious market house, above which are the assembly
rooms. A market is held here on Fridays, and the Barmouth and Carnarvon
coach passes through three times a-week.
Having refreshed myself with a luncheon of cold meat and a salad, I
trudged off, in spite of wind and weather, which threatened a speedy
commencement of hostilities. Large masses of vapoury clouds were driving
over head; the swallows skimmed the surface of the river, and brushed the
standing corn with their swift wings, as they flew along in the pursuit
of their prey; and the wind blew loud and shrilly, as in the month of
November. At a short distance from the town, upon the Beddgelert road,
is a lofty hill, the base of which is planted with fir trees, through
which a path winds up to the mansion of Tan-yr-Allt, the late beautiful
residence of Mr. Maddocks. I had not proceeded far when I was compelled
to seek shelter in a hollow, of which there are many at the feet of the
enormous precipices which overhang the road.
The transient storm having passed away, and sunshine once more lighting
up the valley, I again pushed forward. The Merionethshire mountains upon
the right, decked in their countless hues of rock and heather, over which
the departing storm swept with its rolling clouds, in dark magnificence,
formed a noble subject for the artist’s pencil. The road is elevated
above the meadows which enrich the centre of the vale; and the river,
which flows through them, having risen above its banks, and spread itself
over a considerable tract of country, resembled an extensive lake.
About half way between Tremadoc and Beddgelert, is a small dingle upon
the left of the road, with a neat lodge at the entrance, and a path
leading up to the shrubbery, beneath which a mountain stream flows
rapidly, and empties itself into the Dwyryd. As I proceeded, numerous
falls dashed down the mountains, and plunging into hollows underneath the
road, emerged again upon the other side, I was several times forced to
take shelter from the heavy showers under fallen blocks of rock; and
once, as the storm abated, and I looked anxiously out to see if it was
clear enough to pursue my journey, a glorious rainbow stretched across
the valley, its points resting upon the mountains on either side. I now
proceeded at a rapid pace, and the river became more deep and narrow, and
the circling eddies, as they floated down the stream, announced that I
was approaching the fall of a great body of water when suddenly—whizz,
whirr, clash, splash, dash, astounding and astonishing—
ABER GLAS LYN
with all its world of horrors, burst at once upon the view. I felt a
tremulous sensation within, me; a contraction of the muscles of my
throat; an hysterical sob and a desire to weep.
“White foaming, thundering, falls the boiling flood;
Rocks clash, and echo mocks the horrid din,
While man appalled, stands breathless, in amaze,
And, filled with awe, exalts his thoughts to Him,
Who was, who is, and aye must be supreme!”
Just above the bridge is a semi-circular rock, which forms a salmon leap,
over which the salmon, at spawning time, first lodge themselves at the
height of five or six yards. Proceeding through the pass, at every step
new wonders met the eye. The late heavy rains had swollen the mountain
waterfalls, and caused a terrific torrent to roar and struggle through a
narrow channel; for the mountains, forming this southern end of the vale,
approach so near to each other, that they only afford a contracted flow
for the river, and a narrow road, while their rocky sides rise so
perpendicularly, that their summits are scarcely farther distant from
each other than their foundations. The rushing river was a pure sheet of
white; furious, uncontrollable; nothing but the immense blocks riven from
the mountain’s craggy sides could withstand its dreadful impetuosity. A
few stunted fir and larch trees at the commencement of the pass were seen
starting from the dark clefts upon either side, which threw a deeper
shade upon this awful valley.
[Picture: Pont Aber Glaslyn]
Cradock calls this pass “the noblest specimen of the _finely horrid_ the
eye can possibly behold. The poet,” he continues, “has not described,
nor the painter pictured so gloomy a retreat. ’Tis the last approach to
the mansion of Pluto, through the regions of Despair.” I could have
stopped for hours to admire this splendid example of the sublimity of
Nature, but time pressed, so I pushed on to Beddgelert which is not more
than a mile and a half from the bridge. A solitary mountain ash which
grows about half way up the pass, is the sole bright thing in this abode
of terror, and looks like Beauty in desolation. Emerging from the pass
there is a stone which is called the chair of Rhys Gôch o’r Eryri; a
famous mountain bard who lived in the time of Owen Glyndwr. He resided
at the entrance into the Traeth Mawr Sands, from whence he used to walk,
and sitting upon this stone compose his poems. He died in 1420, at the
advanced age of 120 years; he was a gentleman of property, and was buried
in the ancient priory at
BEDDGELERT.
Some are of opinion that this word should be written Celert, or Cilert,
Bedd-Cilert, or Cilert’s Grave; supposing that a monk or saint of that
name was buried here. Another celebrated bard was entombed at this
place, named Davydd Nanmor, who died about the year 1460.
The Goat is an excellent inn, and every attention the traveller can
desire is paid with the greatest celerity. Twenty post horses are kept
at this inn for travellers, and eight or ten ponies for the accommodation
of those visitors who wish to ascend Snowdon with ease and safety.
At nine o’clock, I strolled from the inn to the bridge. It was a lovely
evening; there was no moon, but the clear sky displayed its burning host
in beautiful array. No breath of air disturbed the silent slumbers of
the peaceful woods. The lull of rippling waters alone struck upon the
ear, yielding a solemn tone like the deep swell of the organ, breaking
upon the deepest solitude.
In such a situation how indescribable is the feeling which takes
possession of us! What language can express, what tongue can utter it!
My very breathing seemed to disturb the excessive sweetness of nature’s
melody.
In a field near the church yard are two grey stones overhung with bushes,
pointing out the grave of “Gelert,” Llewelyn’s hound.
CHAPTER VI.
Departure from Beddgelert.—Vortigern’s Hill.—Snowdon.—Llyn
Gwynant.—Gwrydd.—Public Houses.—Lake Fishing.—Pass of Llanberis.—The
Lakes.—The Castle of Dolbadarn.—View of the Lakes.—The Church of
Llanberis.—Story of little John Closs.—Capel Curig.—Moel Siabod.—Castle
of Dolwyddelan.—Falls of Benglog.—Llyn Ogwen.—Llyn Idwal.—Route to
Llanrwst.—Falls of Rhaiadr y Wennol.—Bettws y Coed.—The
Church.—Monuments.—Pont y Pair.
“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,
And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;
And gazed on fatal Moel y don,
But thought of those once there undone?
When Saxons and their foreign band,
Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”
T. J. LLEWELYN PRICHARD.
ON the following morning I quitted the inn, where every attention was
shown that a traveller could desire, and proceeded over the Ivy bridge,
through which the Gwynant flowed, deep and smooth as glass, without an
obstruction to ruffle its clear waters, that glided along, kissing its
verdant banks, like the stream of a happy life. Quietude reigned in this
region uninterrupted. About half a mile from Beddgelert, a rocky
eminence projects into the road, called Vortigern’s Hill, or Dinas Emrys,
a magician, who was sent for to this place by Vortigern, when he found
himself hated by his subjects, and fled from their just anger to this
secluded spot. Passing this memorable place, a round clump of rock
attracts the eye, rising as it were in the centre of the valley, and
called Moel Wyn. Looking backward, Moel Hebog, the Hawk Hill, rises
majestically and closes up the entrance to Beddgelert. Moel Siabod
towers in front, and, as we pursued our delightful path about two miles
and a half from Beddgelert, an opening of the hills upon the left
displayed a deep gorge, and the base of Snowdon, whose high peak, rising
in the unclouded skies, held up the holy symbol of Christianity, as if in
adoration of the Creator. At length I reached Llyn Dinas, a lake of
about three quarters of a mile in extent, through which the Gwynant runs;
it is surrounded by lofty mountains of a deeper tint than is usually seen
upon the Welsh hills. A beautifully situated cottage here at the far end
of the lake, belonging to Mr. Sampson, nestles among the protecting
woods, and forms a delightful object. The river which feeds the lake,
winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which form a miniature
park between the cottage and the lake. Following up the course of the
stream, I left Llyn Dinas behind me, and proceeded by a gradual ascent
through the most delightful scenery I ever beheld, until I caught
glimpses through the plantations of
LLYN GWYNANT,
and after a while beheld it stretching beneath me upon my left hand. The
valley forms a bowl among the hills. The bottom is a small grassy plain,
dotted with trees, which has obtained the appellation of Beauty sleeping
in the lap of Terror. The mountains that surround the vale have a wild
and rugged appearance. As I proceeded along the road towards the head of
the valley, a horn was sounded from the mountain, and I perceived a Welsh
girl standing upon a projecting eminence: bare headed and bare footed was
this nymph of Cambria; her cheeks were swelled out with her occupation,
and she looked like a female Boreas, bursting with the wind she was
sending forth by degrees to alarm the world.
[Picture: Snowdon, from the Pass of Llyn Gwynant]
She eyed me with glances of curiosity all the while, and I thought she
could perhaps give me some information about the valley, which might be
interesting; so quitting the direct road, I scrambled up the hill side,
and asked her the meaning of her sounding the horn so loudly? But she
either did not, or would not, understand me; and after vainly
endeavouring to extract anything from her, I quietly sat myself down,
delighted by the splendid view beneath me.
Having nearly reached the extremity of this valley, I gazed, from my
elevated situation, upon the dark and perpendicular rocks on the opposite
side; and towering in the air immediately over the centre of the valley
was a hawk with expanded wings, apparently motionless. Presently it rose
a little higher, but without the slightest visible exertion, then stooped
again, mounted once more, and, as fast as the eye could follow, swept
round the huge buttresses of sharp ridged cliffs, that hang over the
entrance of the Pass of Llanberis.
As Llyn Gwynant is gradually shut out from the lingering gaze of the
traveller, (who, it may be said, during the whole of the ascent, should
turn his eyes behind him,) and he at length looks forward in the
direction of Llanberis, a new scene of grandeur bursts upon him. He has
left beauty behind in its loveliest form;—but the sublime and wonderful
now call forth all the springs of admiration.
Snowdon again appears in all his splendour! Mountains that by comparison
looked like hillocks rise round his regal waist, in groups numerous and
picturesque. The deep black crags that form the western side of the
valley make a magnificent fore-ground, and open here like nature’s gates,
to disclose the secrets of her bosom. The accompanying etching gives an
admirable idea of this imposing scene. About a mile from hence is a
place called Gwrydd, where there is a small public house, with a sign
signifying nothing. Here I resolved to “rough it” for a day, intending
to fish the lakes, situated immediately above this spot, as nature’s
cisterns to water the pleasant valleys.
The public house possesses a small parlour, carpeted, with half a dozen
hair-bottomed chairs, and a mahogany table. A silent but most
importunate monitor urged me to discover what food this mountain chalet
could produce. “Eggs and bacon,” was the expected reply to my question;
and I soon had the pleasure of seeing this humble, but most grateful,
fare placed before me, and in spite of the indifferent style of the
cooking, I partook of it eagerly, having that incomparable sauce “a good
appetite.”
After I had repaired my broken rod, I ascended the mountain at the back
of the house, and arrived at a large oval lake, in which the black and
sterile rocks that form inaccessible ramparts on one side are reflected
in its generally unruffled surface. The scene is wild and desolate, such
as Despair herself would select for her abode. There are plenty of fish
in this lake, but they are all small and extremely shy. I remained upon
its margin until the shadows of night gave me warning to attend to my
safety, and make the best of my way to my lodging, where I speedily
ascended by a ladder-like staircase to a kind of cock-loft, which was
divided into two compartments, one for the accommodation of the family,
man, wife, children, and servants, the other fitted up for travellers.
Sleep soon overtook me, and I should have continued to sleep, I have no
doubt, until breakfast time, had I not been awakened by a trifling
accident
“At the mid hour of night, when stars were weeping,”
and ghosts of the mighty walk upon the hills, with a variety of other
interesting objects that poets and nursery-maids have described
infinitely better than I can pretend to do, I was visited by a dream in
which the ghost of a lobster popped his head out of a salad bowl, and
demanded upon what authority I had presumed to make mince-meat of his
body, when a loud crash roused me from my slumber, and I found myself,
with my knees doubled up to my chin, upon the floor; the bedstead having
broken in the middle, and deposited me in this unenviable position. I
need not say that for the remaining part of the night I was wholly left
to waking reveries, and uncontrollable desires for the blessings of
daylight, which at last greeted my longing eyes, and hurrying on my
clothes, I descended, and walked forth to scent the morning air in the
direction of Llanberis. The mists rolled like troubled lakes in the
valleys, and the black bleak rocks looked cheerless and forbidding. The
breeze was keen and piercing, and I started at a round pace to get myself
warm by exercise. Having reached the summit of the roadway, I plunged at
once into the pass of Llanberis, wild and gloomy. The precipices on my
left looked truly terrible, like the shadow of death wrapped in a vapoury
shroud. This pass is above four miles in length, and is a fine specimen
of rugged grandeur. Not a single tree enlivens with its verdure this
tremendous chasm. Range above range of rocks tower over the traveller
upon either side, bearing various tints of black, brown, green, and
purple, according to the disposition of the sun’s rays, and the distances
of the ponderous masses. The rocks on both sides are nearly
perpendicular; and, about two miles down the pass, the tourist will
perceive some prodigious masses of rock upon his right hand that have
fallen from the overhanging cliffs, which, when he pauses to look upon,
will strike a feeling of terror into his heart, as he inwardly exclaims,
“could any one have witnessed the descent of this tremendous mass?” The
accompanying sketch gives a most accurate description.
[Picture: Pass of Llanberis]
We soon obtained a view of the lakes that spread themselves before
us—viz.: Llyn Peris and Llyn Padarn, with the romantic castle of
Dolbadarn upon its rocky promontory. On issuing from a pass on our left,
as I was informed, is a valuable copper mine, and a stream of water
conveyed over the road, by the aid of a wooden conduit, into the lake,
which stream was for the use of the mine.
At length, I reached the inn, called Victoria, ordered breakfast, and
procured an admittance to the Castle of Dolbadarn. This ancient fortress
is supposed to have been built by one Padarn Beisrudd ab Idwal, for the
purpose of guarding the mountain pass which I had just quitted. A single
round tower is all that remains of the castle, although traces are left
of a much more extensive building. Here Owen Gôch was imprisoned twenty
years by his brother Llewelyn, the last Prince of Wales of the British
line; and an ode is still extant, written by Howel Voel, wherein his
captivity is affectionately lamented.
The view from the castle is truly sublime, comprising the two lakes, and
the tremendous range of mountains, that seem to admit of no outlet from
the vale. But the most beautiful prospect is from the lake in front of
the promontory on which the castle stands, and is reflected in the smooth
waters beneath, while the majestic Snowdon towers in the distance.
Returning to the Victoria, I partook of the refreshments provided, and
then retracing my steps, I visited the little rustic church of Llanberis,
which, for its simplicity, is well worthy of attention. Upon entering
the doorway, there is a small stone font placed upon a pedestal which is
approached by three stone steps: it resembles a small washing tub, and
its cover is much like a copper-lid. Advancing into the interior, the
music loft is upon the left, under which is a dilapidated screen,
opposite to the font. A doorway in the centre of the screen leads into
the body of the church, where ancient oaken benches are ranged upon
either side, and the pulpit and communion table are immediately in front.
The old arched roof is held together by iron pins, which project on each
side of the timbers, and the whole interior is whitewashed. The only pew
in the church adjoins the communion table, both of which have suffered
materially by the worm and time. The few monuments in this simple
structure are upon small slate slabs, about the size of a school-boy’s,
and are hung up on the wooden beams.
On leaving the church, there is a monumental slate slab on the left of
the path, bearing the following inscription and verses:—
Underneath
Lieth the remains
Of John, the son of
Robert Closs, who was
Interred Decr. 1st,
1805, aged 7 years.
Ar ben mynydd dydd-y-daith oî howyder
A che dodd y maith
Gadewais (gwelais goeg waith)
Drueni’r Byd ar unwaith.
Oerfel fu uchel a chos, i angau
Llyn ingol i’mddangos
Mantell niwl mewn tywyll nos
A dychryniad dechreunos.
Upon returning to my inn at Gwrydd, I discovered that the landlady was
sister to little John Closs; and from her I learnt the story of his
melancholy fate. It is as follows:—
John was a pretty boy, about seven years of age, with fair hair and blue
eyes, of a sweet temper, adored by his parents, and loving them most
affectionately in return. Indeed little John Closs was the talk of the
parish, and held up as a pattern of filial love and reverence to all the
children in the village. His uncle had a small farm at Nant Bettws; and
John’s father having sent him to reside there for a few months, the fond
mother would often cross the mountain to see her son and her sister,
returning home in the evening of the same day. Little John got tired of
living away from home, and one night, after his mother had quitted the
cottage to return to Llanberis, he wept so bitterly, and prayed so
earnestly to be permitted to follow her home, that the good people at
Bettws permitted him to try and overtake her, which they considered he
might easily do, as she had not left the house ten minutes before he
started.
The mother reached Llanberis in safety; but the poor boy lost his way in
a snow storm on Moel Einion, and was not heard of for more than a week
afterwards; when, one day, a man crossing the mountain, found the child
stretched on the ground in a slumbering position, his face towards the
earth, buried in his hands, and quite dead.
The following morning, I proceeded towards Capel Curig, but this road is
very uninteresting. The tourist is, however, amply gratified, if it
happen to be tolerably clear weather, on his arrival at an ancient stone
bridge which crosses a stream that tumbles over some black rocks on the
right, and winds its way in graceful variety, forming a pleasing spot to
rest upon. Looking back towards Llanberis, the mountain scenery is very
fine; and I here took my farewell look of Snowdon arid Snowdonia.
CAPEL CURIG,
is in the parish of Llandegai. It derives its name from a man who was
canonized, and founded a chapel in this mountainous region. He was the
son of Llawdden Lluyddog, of Edinburgh. There are here two lakes, and
some tolerable fishing may be had, if you take a boat; but from the banks
it is quite useless to attempt it. From this spot, excursions may be
made to Llanberis, and
MOEL SIABOD,
from the summit of which a magnificent view is obtained of the mountains
of Snowdonia, of nine different lakes, and the sea beyond Carnarvon. The
distance from the inn to the apex of the mountain does not exceed three
miles and a half.
DOLWYDDELAN CASTLE,
situated about five miles from Capel Curig, and on the eastward side of
Moel Siabod, deserves notice. It is built upon a lofty rock, which on
one side is inaccessible. There are two square towers, and a court in
the middle. It is surrounded by mountains, and must in ancient days have
been a fortress of considerable importance. It is said, Llewelyn the
Great was born in the castle; and this fact is sufficient to interest the
stranger who is capable of appreciating and feeling reverence for a hero,
who so long struggled with unwearied assiduity and unconquerable bravery
for his native land, and who fought and died in the sacred cause of
liberty.
Within four miles of Capel Curig is an oval lake, of about three miles in
circumference, called Llyn Ogwen which must by no means be overlooked.
The scenery around is delightful and the waters are well stored with
excellent trout of fine flavour, and surpassing all others in that
respect, in the Carnarvonshire lakes.
At the western end of this lake, are the Falls of Benglog, (being three
in number and upwards of one hundred feet in height) from whence the
waters take their course through Beavers’ Hollow, a wild and romantic
glen, rocky and barren.
Powell, in his History of North Wales, says, “In Tevi, above all the
rivers in Wales, were, in Giraldus’s time, a great number of castells,
which may be Englished beavers, and are called in Welsh avanc, which name
onlie remaineth in Wales at this day, but what it is, very few can tell.
It is a beast not much unlike an otter, but that it is bigger, all hearie
saving the taile, which is like a fish taile as broad as a man’s hand.
This beast useth as well the water as the land; and hath a voice, sharp
teeth, and biteth cruellie till he perceives the bones cracke. * * * * He
that will learn what strong nests they make, which Giraldus calleth
castells, which they build upon the face of the water with great bowes,
which they cut with their teeth, and how some lie upon their backs
holding the wood with their fore feet, which the other draweth with a
crosse stick, the which he holdeth in his mouth, to the water’s side, and
other particularities of their natures, let him read Giraldus in his
Topographie of Wales.”
In this stream are found the fresh water muscle, which the country people
call _cregyn diluw_, i.e. _shells_ _of the deluge_, supposed to have been
brought into it by Noah’s flood.
On the left of the lake are the Crags of Trivaen, huge shattered ridges,
which overhang the pool and keep it in continual shadow, while the sides
of Braich-ddu slope gradually to the lake’s margin. The Francon
Mountains, in the distance, are astonishing, and altogether this lake
scene may be considered the finest in Carnarvonshire.
A gentleman, in the winter of 1831, was driving along the road which
skirts the borders of the lake, when upwards of a thousand tons of rock
fell from the heights of Benglog, a little below the Falls, into Nant
Francon, a short time after he had passed them, and he beheld one portion
roll into the valley and river, while the other rested upon the road he
had just travelled, rendering it impossible for any carriage to proceed
by that route, until the obstruction was removed.
A mile distant from Llyn Ogwen is another lake, well worthy of being
visited, which lies in a deep hollow of the Glyder Mountains, called
LLYN IDWAL,
where the gloomy horror of the scenery is most appalling; particularly
the terrific chasm of Twll Du, or the Black Cleft. This spot derived its
name from the following crime which was perpetrated here.
Prince Owain Gwynedd, who reigned in the twelfth century, had a favourite
called Nevydd Hardd, to whose care he intrusted his son Idwal, and who
betraying his trust, commanded his son Dunawt to destroy the young
prince, a crime which he too faithfully obeyed, perpetrating the cruel
deed at this place. But, being discovered, Nevydd and his posterity were
degraded from the rank of nobles to bondsmen, and Rhun, the son of
Dunawt, who again became possessed of the property of his ancestors,
granted the ground upon which the Church of Llanrwst now stands, as an
expiatory gift for the foul crime imputed to his father. The grave of
Idwal is still pointed out by the inhabitants, close to the lake.
The scenery around is well calculated to inspire fear in the timid, as
being adapted to the committal of atrocity of any kind. Bleak, black,
desolate, and stern, it thrills the beholder with an indescribable
sensation of terror.
The lake is well stored with fish, of a darker colour than those in the
Ogwen, and of a less delicate flavour. These lakes are in the parish of
Llan Tegai, so called from its patron saint Tegai, the son of Ithel Hael,
a nobleman of Armorica, brother to Credivael and Flewin, who built
Penmynydd and Llanflewin, in Anglesey, about the year 636. _See
Rowland’s Mona Antiqua Rest_. _p._ 189.
After a delightful day’s ramble amongst this wild and sublime scenery, I
returned to the inn at Capel Curig, and on the following morning took the
road to Llanrwst, which in a short time becomes particularly interesting.
The dark and comfortless sterility is exchanged for a delightful valley,
with luxuriant woods, which stretch to the summit of the hills upon
either side; and near the two mile stone is one of the most picturesque
cottages imaginable, placed on the side of a hill above the bridge, which
crosses the river Llugwy, and gives additional beauty to the romantic
dell.
Half a mile beyond is an Observatory, which stands upon the highest point
of a towering cliff, a portion of whose summit is clothed with purple
heath, and the remainder presents a face of grey barren rock, while
beneath a forest of rich foliage creeps from its base far up the craggy
sides.
Within a mile of this place are the celebrated waterfalls, called
RHAIADR Y WENNOL,
i.e. the Cataract of the Swallow—a fall of about sixty feet in width.
The river, at the top of the first fall, flows in an unbroken sheet, but
soon becomes dispersed in various streams that dash and struggle through
the impending masses of rock, charming the ear with their complicated
roar. At the second fall, it rushes in a collected volume into the
boiling vortex, from whence, at the third, it is dispersed in spray. A
small wicket gate by the road side, leads to a footpath through the
grounds to the Falls, where the visitor cannot fail to find an adequate
reward for his digression. The old oak trees that overhang the ravine
are beautifully grouped. On one side, a large rock rises perpendicularly
nearly 500 feet, and the earth is clothed with velvet moss and decked
with wild flowers. Fancy would picture just such a retreat, for a
wandering sylph! while the rays of light, darting through the greenwoods,
remind us of the flittings of Sir John Wynne’s ghost, which was said to
haunt this glen for many years, but is now laid at rest in the depths of
the Lower Fall. Journeying onward, I reached the village of
BETTWS Y COED,
which, being translated, is the Station in the Wood; and a most
delightful station it is. The Shrewsbury and Holyhead road runs through
it, and the junction of the Llugwy and the Conwy rivers is at no great
distance. The church is a venerable structure, and contains an old
monument, erected to the memory of Gruffydd, the son of David Gôch, who
was a natural son of David, the brother of Llewelyn, the last Prince of
Wales. He died in the fourteenth century, and a stone statue of him is
in a recess on the north side of the church, with this inscription: “Hic
jacet Gruffydd ap Davyd Gôch, agnus Dei miserere mei.”
At about a mile from Bettws is an iron bridge of one arch, which carries
the Holyhead road over the river Conwy. Its span is 105 feet, and it is
called the Waterloo Bridge, from its having been erected in the year that
tremendous battle was fought. But the principal object is
PONT-Y-PAIR,
the Bridge of the Caldron. It has four arches, and the natural rock
supplies it with piers, that seem to defy the efforts of time or the fury
of the waters. Immediately above the bridge is the fall and salmon-leap.
The river rolls and plunges into a deep reservoir below. The grandeur of
the scene during the floods, I was informed, surpasses imagination, and
unfortunately for me, the heat of the sun had dried them up, when I
visited this celebrated spot.
For this bridge the inhabitants are indebted to one Howell, a mason, who
resided at Penllyn in the year 1468; and having occasion to attend the
assizes at Conway, he was unexpectedly prevented from passing the Lleder
by the fury of the flood. That a similar disappointment might not occur
to others, he erected a wooden bridge across that river, and trusted to
the generosity of travellers to remunerate him. The success of this
attempt encouraged him to erect the bridge at Bettws y Coed, which is now
called Pont y Pair, but he died before it was completed.
Upon the right of this bridge is Carreg y Gwalch, or the Rock of the
Falcon, well clothed with trees, through which the bald cliffs peep, like
a body of sharp shooters from a brush wood anxious to escape detection.
In this rock is a recess called the Cave of Shenkin, a celebrated outlaw,
who found shelter here from the unremitting efforts of justice during the
reign of Edward IV. It is blocked up by a piece of rock.
CHAPTER VIII.
Gwydir Castle.—Llanrwst Shaking Bridge.—Inn.—Town Hall.—Free
Schools.—Alms Houses.—Rhaiadr y Parc Mawr.—Llyn
Geirionydd.—Taliesin.—Trevriw.—Slate Quarries.—Conway.—The Suspension
Bridge.—The Castle.—Local Customs.—Excursion to the Orme’s Head.
“On a rock whose haughty brow
Frowned o’er old Conway’s foaming flood,
Rob’d in a sable garb of woe,
With haggard eye, the poet stood.”
GRAY.
WITHIN half a mile from the town of Llanrwst is
GWYDIR CASTLE,
the property of Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, a family mansion of no very
attractive appearance. It is situated on the right of the road which
winds between it and a lofty wood-clad precipice, called Carreg y Gwalch,
or the Rock of the Falcon. It was built by John Wynne ab Meredydd, in
1555, and has lately undergone some alteration. The breakfast parlour
contains a curious carving of the arms of the Gwydir family, supported by
Julius Cæsar and Augustus; the former holding his commentaries in one
hand, and his sword in the other; the latter, his sword only. The dining
room has some specimens of carving, that are worthy of observation; but
throughout the mansion there is very little of what belonged to it
originally. The chairs, panelling, and even tables, being coloured for
the purpose of giving the apartments the appearance of antique splendour,
which, until lately, they wanted.
The drawing-room is spacious and lofty, and is lighted by a double row of
windows, which gives it a heavy look: this unusual arrangement was caused
by the removal of the dormitory, to give height to this room. Over the
fire-place is a finely executed carving of Julius Cæsar in oak. At the
N.W. end of the room, a piece of tapestry represents a vintage, and at
the S.E. another specimen of needlework commemorates the landing of
Charles the Fifth at Grenada.
The coronation chair of George the Second is shewn in this apartment, and
the footstool used by Queen Caroline on her trial at Westminster Hall.
There is a centre table, very richly ornamented with carved work; and
another, which in shape exactly resembles the slab and pedestal of a
tombstone, so that the visitor naturally enough walks up to it, expecting
to see the customary “Hic jacet,” &c.
The cradle of Sir Richard Wynne, bearing the date of 1634, completes the
list of curiosities contained in this room.
The garden, which is extensive, contains some valuable plants and shrubs,
and the terrace is a pleasant promenade, sloping from which are beds of
beautiful flowers, of various classes and descriptions. After satisfying
the housekeeper with a trifling gratuity, I proceeded to Llanrwst, but
halted upon the bridge to take a view of the Conwy, (over which beautiful
river its arches expand) and the town to which it leads. I was here
accosted by an old man, who asked me, “if I should like to feel the
bridge shake?” As I answered in the affirmative, he desired me to place
my back against the side over the centre arch, and striking the opposite
parapet rather heavily with his own, a tremulous motion was distinctly
felt; on this account it is called the Shaking Bridge. It was built in
1636, from a plan of the celebrated Inigo Jones, and cost £1000, which
was defrayed by the counties of Denbighshire and Carnarvonshire, which it
unites.
LLANRWST
is built upon the Denbighshire side of the river. The Three Eagles is
the most commodious inn in the town; and, being rather fatigued, I threw
my limbs upon a sofa, and resigned myself to the drowsy god, first taking
especial care to order a substantial repast to be in readiness for me on
my return from the land of Nod. My last waking recollection was the
words of Mr. Lover’s favourite song,
“There’s no use at all in my going to bed,
For its dhrames and not sleep, that comes into my head.”
Dreams, however, did not picture my slumbers, and I awoke to the
unrivalled delight of a weary and hungry traveller—an excellent hot
dinner.
The following morning I employed in paying my respects to the different
gentlemen to whom I had letters, and in gaining what information I could
respecting the objects most worthy of notice in the town and surrounding
neighbourhood.
The church and chapel adjoining were the first subjects to engage my
attention. In the former there is nothing interesting, excepting an
oaken screen, exquisitely carved, which was taken from the Abbey of
Maenan, the gallery for the singers being above it. On the opposite side
is the
GWYDIR CHAPEL.
This beautiful structure was erected in the year 1633, by Sir Richard
Wynne, of Gwydir, from a design of Inigo Jones, and was for many years
the burial place of the illustrious family of Gwydir. At the sides of
the chapel, fixed in panels of wood, are several engravings on brass,
illustrative of the personages who are interred below; and in the east
corner is a tablet of white marble, containing the following remarkable
pedigree, comprising a period of 500 years.
“This chapel was erected A.D. 1633, by Sir Richard Wynne, of Gwydir,
in the county of Carnarvon, Knight and Baronet; Treasurer to the High
and Mighty Princess Henrietta Maria, Queen of England, Daughter of
Henry the Fourth, King of France, and wife to our Sovereign Lord King
Charles; where lieth buried his father Sir John Wynne, of Gwydir,
Knight and Baronet, son and heir to Morris Wynne, son and heir to
John Wynne, son and heir to Meredith Wynne, which three lie buried in
the church of Dolwyddelen, with tombs over them. This Meredith was
son and heir to Evan, son and heir to Robert, son and heir to
Meredith, son and heir to Howell, son and heir to David, son and heir
to Griffith, son and heir to Cradock, son and heir to Roderick, Lord
of Anglesea, son to Owen Gwynneth, Prince of Wales, and younger
brother to David, Prince of Wales who married Emma Plantagenet,
sister to King Henry the Second. There succeeded this David three
princes; his nephew Leolinus Magnus, who married Joan, daughter to
King John,—David, his son, nephew to King Henry the Third,—and
Llewelyn the last Prince of Wales of that house and line, who lived
in King Edward the First’s time. Sir John Wynne married Sydney, who
lyeth buried here, daughter of Sir William Gerrard, Knight, Lord
Chancellor of Ireland, by whom he had issue, Sir John Wynne, who died
at Lucca, in Italy, Sir Richard Wynne, now living, Thomas Wynne, who
lyeth here, Owen Wynne, now living, Robert Wynne, who lyeth here,
Roger Wynne, who lyeth here, William Wynne, now living, Maurice
Wynne, now living, Ellis Wynne, who lyeth buried at Whitford, in the
County of Flint, Henry Wynne, now living, Roger Wynne, who lyeth
here, and two daughters, Mary, now living, married to Sir Roger
Mostyn, in the County of Flint, Knight, and Elizabeth, now living,
married to Sir John Bodville, in the County of Carnarvon, Knight.”
Beneath this is a superb engraving of Dame Sarah Wynne, one of the
daughters of the old Chevalier Sir Thomas Myddelton, of Chirk Castle, and
wife of the above-mentioned Sir Richard Wynne; she died June 16th, 1671.
This piece of engraving was executed by one William Vaughan, in a style
of elegance hardly to be met with, and may be justly reckoned among the
first productions of the age in which he lived.
On the south side are two stately pyramidal columns of variegated marble,
decorated with martial insignia; one to the memory of Meredith Wynne, the
other to Sir John Wynne and Sydney his wife; on their pedestals are Latin
inscriptions on black marble which have been thus translated:—
“To the Memory of Meredith Wynne, a descendant of Owen Gwynedd,
Prince of Wales, who under happy auspices, founded the House of
Gwydir, removed and endowed the Church of Sant Gwyddelen, during the
third Tournean expedition, in the fifth year of Henry the Eighth. He
died in the month of March, 1525.”
“To the Memory of John Wynne of Gwydir, Knight and Baronet, with
Sydney the daughter of William Gerrard, Knight, Chancellor of the
Kingdom of Ireland, the wife of his youth, to whom she bore eleven
sons and two daughters; they lie here waiting the appearance of
Christ in Glory.”
Between the above monuments is a small tablet of white marble to the
memory of John Wynne ab Meredith with a Latin inscription to the
following effect:—
“John Wynne ab Meredith,
an inheritor of his Father’s virtues, a just and pious
man, to whom Euna, his wife, brought five
sons and two daughters. He died
the 9th of July, 1559.”
On the floor is a stone effigy in armour, with the feet resting on a lion
couchant, of Howel Coetmore ap Gruffydd Vychan ap Dafydd Gam, alias Gôch,
natural son to David, Prince of Wales, from whose descendants according
to tradition, Gwydir was purchased by the Wynnes.
Near to the effigy of Howel Coetmore is the under-part of a stone coffin
in which Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, surnamed the Great, the son-in-law of King
John, was buried at the Abbey of Conwy; to the coffin is fixed a piece of
brass with this inscription:—
“This is the coffin of Leolinus Magnus, Prince
of Wales, who was buried at the Abbey of
Conwy, which upon the dissolution
was removed thence.”
On going from the chapel to the church, you pass over a large square flag
of free stone, having on its sides a Latin inscription thus translated:—
“To the Memory of the Sons of John Wynne of Gwydir, Knight and
Baronet, who died during their father’s life time; John, Knight, was
buried at Lucca, in the free State of Italy, in the year of his age
30, of our Lord 1613. Robert, who had entered into holy orders, in
the year of his age 24, of our Lord 1617. Thomas, Roger, Thomas, in
their minority.—Death! a vapour! Behold! we have existed.”
In the chancel, between the reading desk and the communion table, is a
flag of free stone on the remains of Margaret Vaughan, heiress of
Caergai; she was esteemed the Sappho of her age; many of her poetical
productions are still extant.
The gallery over the reading desk is said to have been removed here from
the Abbey of Aberllechog, or Maenan Abbey, upon the dissolution of that
religious house.
[Picture: The Coffin of Leolinus Magnus]
Under the reading desk in the Church, in a pew belonging to Kyffdy, is a
Latin epitaph to the memory of Griffith Lloyd, of Bruniog, Rector of this
parish; this is said to have been written by himself, and has been much
admired for its singularity: it runs thus:—
“Once the undeserving School-master,
Then the more undeserving Lecturer,
And last of all, the most undeserving Rector of this Parish.
Do not think, speak, or write any thing evil of the dead.”
There is a Market Hall, Town Hall, Free Schools, and Alms Houses. The
latter were erected by Sir John Wynne, in 1610, and received the name of
Jesus Hospital. He endowed them for the reception of twelve poor men, by
ceding the rectorial tithes of Eglwys Vâch, which are valued at £200 per
annum. Within a mile of Llanrwst there is a spring, which is much
esteemed for its healthful qualities. The water is soft, and a drop of
sal-volatile mixed with a cup of it turns it white as milk, while oil of
tartar causes it to assume a pearl colour. If during the tourist’s visit
to Llanrwst there should chance to fall much rain, I would advise him by
all means to view the cataract called
RHAIADR Y PARC MAWR,
in the valley of Nant Bwlch yr Haiarn, near Gwydir, but otherwise the
minuteness of the stream occasions no extraordinary effect from this
fall, which is about one hundred feet in height. The chief object of
interest, however, in this vicinity, is the celebrated lake, called
LLYN GEIRIONYDD,
upon the borders of which once lived the chief of the Welsh bards,
Taliesin. At the eastern side of the lake is a mound, upon the summit of
which there is a kind of hollow, and in it are the remains of an ancient
edifice, which was probably the residence of Taliesin, in the reign of
Maelgwn Gwynedd, King of Britain. Taliesin when an infant was found by
Prince Elphin by the side of a wear belonging to his father, Gwyddno
Garanhir, Lord of Cantrev Gwaelod. The Prince fostered the infant, and
had it liberally educated; and, at a proper age, introduced him to the
court of his father, Gwyddno. Upon this occasion, Taliesin presented the
king with a poem, the subject of which was his own history, and another
to the prince, which he called Dyhuddiant Elphin, or the consolation of
Elphin, a translation of which is in Evan’s Specimens of Welsh Poetry.
Taliesin had an opportunity of being serviceable to his benefactor; for
once, when the Prince was imprisoned by his uncle, Maelgwn, in the castle
of Dyganwy, the magic of his muse effected his release. This celebrated
bard was the preceptor of Merddin ab Morvryn, and to him the lovers of
poetry are indebted for five new metres, while the historian and
antiquary are equally benefited by his accurate description of the
manners and customs of the Ancient Britons.
I quitted Llanrwst on the following morning, and took the road to Conwy;
two miles and a half brought me to the pretty village of
TREVRIW,
which presents an animated scene. It is situated upon the banks of the
beautiful river Conwy, which is navigable up to this point for vessels of
fifty tons burthen, that supply the town and neighbourhood with coals,
lime, groceries, &c., &c., and return laden with slate, supplied from the
adjacent mines and quarries. A number of small boats, called coracles,
used by the fishermen, are seen studding the delightful stream, while the
larger vessels, towed against the wind or sailing before it, present a
pleasing picture. From this place to Conwy there is nothing particularly
to attract attention, until you arrive within a mile of that celebrated
town, when, from the brow of a hill, is obtained a view of the venerable
fortress erected by the first Edward, and the strongly fortified walls,
completely encompassing the town, and strengthened by massive towers.
They are coeval with the castle, and are built in the form of a Welsh
harp, like those of Carnarvon; but here there are no environs, and the
town presents the same appearance as when the chivalric monarch first
fortified it.
CONWY.
The town derives its name from Cyn (chief) and Wy river.
The principal inn is the Castle, which affords every accommodation the
traveller can desire. The Wynnes are celebrated here, as in all parts of
North Wales. In the interior of the town stands Plâs Mawr, which was
erected in 1585, and is still a remarkable structure; its founder was
Robert Wynne, of Gwydir, the uncle of Sir John Wynne, the historian.
Over the grand entrance is inscribed, in Greek characters “_bear and
forbear_,” over which in Roman characters, “J. H. S. X. P. S.” (Jesus
Hominum Salvator et Populi Salus.) The Old College is in Castle Street,
and the Church is built from the remains of the ancient Cistercian Abbey,
which was founded here by Llewelyn ab Iorwerth, 1185. It contains a rich
baptismal font of gothic structure, with a tablet to the memory of
Nicholas Hookes, of the town of Conwy, who was the forty-first child of
William and Alice Hookes, and who was himself the father of twenty-seven
children.
During my short stay in Conwy, I endeavoured to discover the best view of
the town, which, I think, is from the eastern side of the river, about
midway between the chain bridge and the mansion of Dyganwy. Nothing can
be more interesting. The variety of small craft, sailing and anchored,
before its warlike screen; the castle, with its towers and turrets,
rising in hostile grandeur upon its rocky base; the bridges, and lovely
scenery beyond of purple hills and thriving villages; and the bright
waters sporting with the luxuriant foliage of its woody margin, create a
sensation of delight in the pursuer of picturesque scenery which he has
probably seldom before experienced.
[Picture: Conwy Castle]
Another delightful view may be obtained by ascending the rock which
overhangs the lodge of the suspension bridge upon its eastern side. This
very beautiful specimen of art has however lost a great portion of its
attraction since the completion of the more wonderful structure of the
Tubular Bridge, which, like a mighty conqueror, looks proudly conscious
of its own importance, and compels the former to take a secondary
position in the estimation of the visitor. It consists of only one span
of 400 feet, and two abutments of masonry, which are in perfect harmony
with the venerable appearance of the Castle. But the chief object of
interest is the Castle, which surpasses in picturesque grandeur any
building of the kind I ever beheld. I thought Carnarvon Castle the most
beautiful of ruins, but it is not, in my opinion, to be compared with
Conwy. The solidity of its structure, and its expansive site, resembling
the fortresses of Syria and the Holy Land, give to its exterior all that
the most romantic imagination could desire. Its foundation is a rock of
slate, and its works are impregnable. Nothing but famine could, at the
time it was erected, have had power to subdue it. Its walls are from ten
to twelve feet in thickness, and it had formerly a deep and broad moat,
on the west and north-west sides; which, with the sea washing its base on
the east and south, formed insurmountable barriers to the assailants.
It was evening when I first entered this noble ruin. The porteress very
ungraciously left me to my meditations after admitting me, locking the
gate after her, and leaving me like a state prisoner in the royal
fortress. I confess I was little pleased with the manners of my
conductress, and the solitary situation in which I was placed, and
sensations arose within me like those which a school boy feels when
passing a churchyard at midnight. The sun had set, and the deep shadows
of eve were darkening into night, as I stood alone in the court yard, and
flitting visions arose before me of those who had crossed its space in
distant by-gone ages—“the plumed troops,” and courtly dames, and all the
glitter of the olden times. As I thus stood amongst the ruins, a deep
drawn sigh, close by my ear, made my heart leap into my throat, as I
turned to discover from whence it proceeded. But all was solitude
around. The huge festoons of ivy, unruffled by a breath of air hung in
funereal grandeur on the walls. As I passed into what had been the
banqueting hall, the darkness increased. It was a noble apartment, and
measured 130 feet in length, and thirty in breadth, in height twenty.
Nine windows looked southward, up the river, and two into the courtyard.
In the recesses were stone seats, capable of accommodating twelve
persons; and, as I seated myself in one of these, my delusion of other
days came over me. Here sat the first Edward, the hero of Palestine;
here was the monarch besieged, and almost reduced by famine; here Hotspur
and King Richard held a conference; and the latter, putting himself into
the power of Northumberland, was betrayed by him, and sent a prisoner to
the usurper, Bolingbroke.
“Life’s but a walking shadow—a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more!”
As I made this apt quotation, another deep and heavy sigh, and a rustling
in the ivy, startled me, and the bird of solitude, the lonely owl,
flapped his heavy wings, and flew past me to a remoter corner of the
ruined hall. I arose, and walked to a small chamber, where there was an
open ornamented casement, and which, as I was afterwards informed, bears
the name of the Queen’s Oriel; from which there is a pleasant prospect of
part of the ruin and scenery beyond.
I then proceeded to the terrace, at the south-western extremity, which is
on the surface of the rock, and the prospect from this spot, interesting
at all times, is doubly so by moonlight. The suspension and tubular
bridges beneath, the ocean on the left, and this fertile valley on the
right, with the sparkling Conwy meandering through it, compose a scene of
unexampled beauty.
In the year 1290, when Edward was engaged in a dispute with the King of
France, and was determined to revenge himself upon that potentate, in
order to obtain supplies, he made the experiment of taxing his
newly-acquired Welsh subjects; which they resented by hanging Roger de
Pulesdon, who had been appointed to collect the tax; and by defeating the
English forces, who attempted to enforce them. Alarmed at a revolt,
which was now rising into importance, and which threatened to wrest from
him his new dominions, Edward entered North Wales, to conduct the war in
person. Having proceeded in his march to Conwy, he crossed that arm of
the sea with a part of his forces, and retiring into the castle with
them, awaited the arrival of the remainder. In his passage he lost many
waggons, and other carriages loaded with provisions, which were
intercepted by the Welsh, who came down in multitudes from the mountains,
and invested the castle upon the land side, while a sudden rise in the
Conwy, which prevented his troops from crossing the river and rendering
him assistance, made his situation extremely alarming. He was surrounded
by water and the enemy, cut off from his army, and threatened with
famine. The good fortune of Edward, however, returned to him in the hour
of need. The river subsided, and his forces being able to cross to his
relief, the Welsh again retired to the mountains, and the English monarch
passed his Christmas holidays without interruption at the castle.
In 1665, the Earl of Conwy, under pretence of its being for his majesty’s
service, stripped the castle of all its furniture, iron, and lead, and
shipped them off to Ireland, otherwise it might have remained as firm and
entire at the present day, as when it was first erected. If these Goths
were aware of the ignominy they attached to their shields by acts so
disgraceful, they might perhaps have permitted beauty and grandeur to
remain undefiled by their sacrilegious touch.
The young men still keep up many of the ancient local customs; amongst
which, on Nos Calanmai, or, the eve of the first of May, they hang on the
houses of their sweethearts bunches of rosemary and ribbons.
At the door of a prude they tie a penglog, or part of a horse’s skeleton.
There is likewise a custom preserved called Stocsio. Upon Easter Sunday,
a great number of boys and men assemble on Pentwthil, with wands of
gorse, to proclaim the laws and regulations which are to be observed upon
the following morning. The last married person is sought to perform this
office, who, mounted on a heap of stones, issues his mandate, while the
rest listen with silent attention. He decrees that all men under sixty
years of age are to appear in the street before six o’clock on the
following morning; and all under forty, before four; and all under twenty
are commanded not to go to bed at all, under penalty of being put into
the stocks. The orator then descends, amidst loud cheering, and the
assembled parties separate; the younger branches to form plans of
amusement, and the graver to secure their carts, waggons, and
wheelbarrows, with chains and locks, to prevent their being seized upon
the following day; a very necessary precaution, as every vehicle,
unchained, or otherwise unsecured, is sure of being pressed before dawn
of day into the service of the light-hearted youths, who are not over
careful of their neighbours’ property during the uproarious period of
their festivity. Early in the morning, the stocks are placed at one end
of the street, and a party, marching to the inspiring music of a drum and
fife, parade the town, in order to convey to the place of punishment all
seceders from this ancient law of custom. When they arrive at a house
where a rebel resides, the storming party endeavour, by all practicable
means, to gain admittance; such as climbing in at the windows, forcing
open the back door, &c., and they generally secure the culprit; who, if
he be caught in bed, is allowed sufficient time to dress himself, and
then hurried away to the stocks, amid the exulting shouts of the
assembled multitude. His feet being secured, one of the party gives him
a severe lecture upon the sin of idleness, and of breaking old
established customs. Then taking his right hand, he puts questions to
him; such as, whether he would rather kiss the mistress or the
maid?—whether he prefers buttermilk or strong ale?—and the more
satisfactory his answers are to the party, the more thickly his hand is
plastered with mud, until at length he is released, and with loud
cheering, permitted to join the forces, as they march off in search of
another rebel.
There is a pearl fishery at Conwy, and many poor families are supported
by gathering the muscles which contain these gems. The fish is called by
Linnæus _mya margaritifera_. The produce is transmitted to London in the
pure natural state, and easily finds a market amongst the jewellers, who
purchase them by weight, but in the neighbourhood of Conwy the purposes
they are appropriated to are unknown. It was my good fortune to meet
with a brother tourist at the Castle Inn; who after acquainting me with
the above facts, offered to conduct me in the morning to Llandudno, which
offer I thankfully accepted; and, before the sun had finished his draught
of mountain dew, we had crossed the bridge, and were pursuing our course
to the appointed spot. The tide was at low ebb, and a pleasant walk of
three-quarters of a mile upon the hard sand brought us to
DINAS GONWY,
“The fort of the Conwy.” By the English, it is called the Gannoc, and by
the common people in the neighbourhood “Y Vaer dre.”
The ruins of an ancient castle are to be seen at a short distance,
situated upon two hillocks, near the shore. From thence we crossed by
Eglwys Rhôs, where Maelgwn Gwynedd is said to have taken refuge to avoid
the yellow fever, which was committing great havoc in all parts of
Europe. Gloddaeth, the residence of the Hon. Lloyd Mostyn, is sweetly
situated near this place. It was built by his ancestors in the reign of
Elizabeth, and is celebrated for the Welsh manuscripts contained in the
library, now removed to Mostyn. The grounds are most tastefully laid
out, and the tourist will find himself amply rewarded for his pains while
viewing the extreme beauty of the scenes around.
LLANDUDNO
Is built at the foot of a huge mass of rock which projects into the sea,
called the Great Orme’s Head. The old church is dedicated to St. Tudno,
who lived in the beginning of the sixth century. There is a curious old
screen in the church of great antiquity: it is made of wood, and supposed
to have been brought from the chapel at Gogarth.
On an eminence above the village is Dinas, which, as its name implies,
was a fortified post of the Ancient Britons. A wall of great thickness
encircles the summit of the hill, and within the area are great numbers
of hollow circles, edged with stones about twelve feet in diameter. This
fortification is exactly similar to that on Conwy town mountain, on
Penmaen Mawr, and in many other places; and it answered the same purpose:
not for a constant residence, but only as a place of refuge on the
approach of an enemy.
Near this place is a _maen sigl_, or rocking stone, called _Cryd Tudno_,
or St. Tudno’s Cradle. It is an immense stone, which is so equally
poised that a very slight degree of pressure will enable a person to put
it in motion.
The greater part of the inhabitants of Llandudno derive their livelihood
from the copper mines, which have been carried on in every direction.
The discovery of rude implements in old closed up shafts, such as hammers
of stone, and chisels of bones thoroughly impregnated with copper, is an
evidence of their having been worked at a very remote period.
This village has become, within the last few years, a favourite resort
for sea-bathing, and is rapidly increasing in population and importance.
We arrived at the Castle, in Conwy, greatly fatigued, and equally
delighted with our day’s journey. The following morning we proceeded by
railway to Bangor.
CHAPTER IX.
Bangor.—Inns.—The Cathedral.—Penrhyn Castle.—The Britannia and Menai
Bridges.—Carnarvon.—The Castle.—Rhyl.—Holywell.—St. Winefred’s
Well.—Basingwerk.—Flint.—Chester.—Conclusion.
“When the heathen trumpet’s clang
Round beleaguer’d Chester rang,
Veiled nun and friar grey
March’d from Bangor’s fair Abbaye;
High their holy Anthem sounds,
Cestria’s vale the hymn rebounds,
Floating down the silver Dee,
O Miserere Domine!”
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
BANGOR.
This town derives its name from Ban Cor, which means the high choir.
We stopped at the Penrhyn Arms, a most commodious inn, which is capable,
it is said, of making up one hundred beds nightly. It occupies a
commanding situation, and from the back premises embraces a noble
prospect;—the Straits, the Shore of Anglesey, the Bay of Beaumaris,
Penrhyn Castle, Puffin Island, Penmaen Mawr, and the Great Orme’s Head,
with the ocean in the distance.
There are other excellent inns in the town, namely the Castle, the
Liverpool Arms, and the Albion; the latter is extremely comfortable, and
the landlord civil and obliging, as I most willingly testify from
experience. There is no place in Wales so well calculated for a tourist
to make his head quarters as Bangor. The various spots he may visit by
appropriating a day to each, would supply him with gratification for a
month at least.
Near the spot where the London road branches off from the Chester, is the
grand entrance to Penrhyn Castle, the property of Col. the Hon. D.
Pennant, M.P. The lodge is a beautiful specimen of substantial
architecture; it is protected by a corresponding gateway, massive and
imposing. The park wall extends circularly seven miles, and is thirteen
feet high. To describe the magnificence of the interior of the castle I
feel would prove a vain effort, and I earnestly recommend all tourists
who take this route not to quit the neighbourhood without seeing it, or
they will be reproached for slighting one of the grandest treats old
Cambria can afford them.
THE CATHEDRAL
Was founded by Maelgwn Gwynedd, King of Wales, of whom I have had
occasion to speak before, as the patron of Taliesin, the celebrated Welsh
bard.
The original edifice, which was erected in 525, was destroyed in 1071,
and rebuilt shortly after, but was again reduced to ruins by Owen
Glyndwr, and for ninety years was neglected, until Bishop Dean restored
the choir, and the body of the tower was rebuilt by Bishop Skeffington,
in 1532, which still remains in a perfect state of preservation. The
free school was founded in 1557, by Dr. Jeffrey Glynn, upon the site of
an ancient parish church, built by King Edgar, within about 400 yards of
the present cathedral, and is considered an excellent preparatory
seminary for Oxford and Cambridge.
The remains of an ancient castle, built by Hugh Lupus, Earl of Chester,
in the reign of Henry the Second, are still visible upon a rock opposite
to the free school, and some pieces of scoria, found on the spot, lead us
to suppose arrows were manufactured there. At the back of the Friar’s
School is another hill, and on the top of it are the remains of a British
encampment.
The town, within the last twenty years, has been extended to nearly four
times its original magnitude, and possesses an appearance of cleanliness
particularly gratifying.
The great lions of Bangor are the Menai and Britannia Tubular Bridges.
THE MENAI BRIDGE.
The principal opening between the supporting pillars is 560 feet in
breadth, through which the vessels pass with all their canvas set,
without the least danger of their masts touching the overhanging bridge.
There are four stone arches upon the Anglesey side, and three upon the
Carnarvon, which complete the roadway, and have each a span of fifty
feet. The length of the bridge is 800 feet, and its height is 100 feet
above the surface of the Menai at high water. The weight of the bridge
and its suspending chains, between the pyramids is six hundred and
thirty-nine tons, nineteen hundred and nine pounds; and that of the iron
work from one extremity of the chains to the other is estimated at 2130
tons, 1800 consisting of wrought, and three hundred and thirty of cast
iron.
The first stone of this astonishing work was laid by W. A. Provis, Esq.,
on the 10th August, 1820; and on the 20th April, 1825, the first main
chain was thrown across the strait. This important step being completed,
three of the workmen, in the height of their enthusiasm, ventured to walk
along the chain from pier to pier; and a cobbler no less daring and
enthusiastic, seated himself in the centre of the curve, and, while
suspended at the fearful height, with sky above and the deep water of the
strait gliding beneath him, drove the last sparable into one of those
convenient comforts called clogs.
The view from the centre of the bridge beggars description. Waving
woods, barren precipices, distant mountains, Bangor, and Beaumaris,
Penrhyn Castle, Penmaen Mawr, the Great Orme’s Head, the ocean, and the
strait, are objects that dazzle and astonish from the exquisite beauty of
their natural arrangement.
But even this, the noblest specimen of hanging bridges in the world, is
eclipsed by the monster
BRITANNIA TUBULAR BRIDGE,
which crosses the Straits about a mile above it on the Carnarvonshire
side. Fully to appreciate this monster work of human ingenuity, the
traveller should ascend the Britannia Tower, which rises from a rock in
the centre of the Straits, and gaze upon the glorious panorama which
surrounds him. Upon the Carnarvonshire side he will behold the mountains
of Snowdonia veiling their lofty summits in the clouds. Along their
sides, and through their mighty bulks, the railroad train now rolls its
dragon form, shaking their rocky ribs, and awakening their echoes in its
swift and thundering course; beneath him are the Menai Straits, through
which the imprisoned waters of the Irish Sea and St. George’s Channel
vibrate everlastingly backwards and forwards, at the same time
successively rise and fall, occasioning an endless succession of aqueous
changes. Upon the shores of Anglesey a rich and fertile country studded
with villas, surrounded by luxuriant woods, and waving corn, presents
itself, forming a pleasing contrast to the wild grandeur of the Snowdon
Hills, and exhibiting an example of the perfection of cultivation,
cheerful labour, and undisturbed tranquillity.
It was originally intended to carry the Chester and Holyhead line across
the Suspension Bridge, and to detach the trains at each end of the
bridge, leaving the carriages to be drawn over by horses, but the
government objected to this arrangement, considering that it would be
proved to be a public inconvenience. A bridge of two cast iron arches,
to be supported on piers of masonry, was next proposed: this second
project was objected to by the masters of the Carnarvon harbour, upon the
plea that it would seriously interfere with the navigation of the
Straits. At length Mr. Robert Stephenson offered to construct a mode of
transit which should entirely do away with all objections. He had come
to the conclusion that a tube, or tunnel of wrought iron, sufficiently
large for the passage of trains, would be the most plausible plan, as it
would neither endanger the navigation nor cause any delay to the railway
carriages in crossing over the Straits. His plan was adopted, and the
stupendous work of art which now awakens the astonishment of the
beholder, will bear the name of Stephenson down to remote posterity,
attached as it is to one of the brightest ornaments of the nineteenth
century.
From Bangor the traveller can proceed by rail to
CARNARVON,
which is one of the best towns in North Wales, the transit is performed
in less than half an hour, and he will reap unqualified pleasure by
examining the numerous interesting objects which render that celebrated
place so remarkable.
The present town of Carnarvon is sprung from the ruins of the ancient
Roman city of Segontium, which name the Welsh had changed into the apt
one of Caer yn Arvon, or the Fortress in Arvon, the district bordering on
Môn, the Welsh name for Anglesey. The site, which for the natural
strength of its position, was admirably chosen by our first Edward, is
bounded on the one side by the Menai, and by the estuary of the Seiont on
the other, and on the third and part of the fourth by the creek of the
Menai.
The castle is the chief object of attraction, and excites the admiration
of all who gaze upon its time-worn but majestic walls. The entrance to
it is beneath a huge tower, upon the front of which is carved the statue
of Edward, the founder, who grasps his dagger as if menacing his newly
acquired and most unwilling subjects. Unlike the towers of Conwy Castle,
which are round, those of Carnavon are polygonal, hexagonal, and
octagonal, and the tourist should notice especially the Eagle Tower,
which is the loftiest of them all, and which at one time possessed a
double interest, created by the popular belief that Edward the Second was
born within its walls; unfortunately, however, there are records in the
national archives which prove that the Eagle Tower was not finished until
that unhappy monarch was thirty years of age.
The castle covers about two and a half acres of ground, and forms an
oblong irregular square. The walls, which are at present exactly in the
same state as they were in the time of Edward, are defended by thirteen
great towers, the masonry of which is about seven feet nine inches in
thickness, and have within them a series of galleries with narrow œillets
or slips for the discharge of arrows. The walls of the Eagle Tower are
about nine feet six inches in thickness, and the view from its summit, of
the Menai and Anglesey on the one side, and Snowdonia on the other, is
extremely fine. The mutilated eagle upon the tower is supposed to be
Roman, and that Edward found it at Old Segontium.
Near the steep bank of the Seiont, at a short distance from the castle
are rather extensive remains of an ancient Roman fort, which, it would
seem, was intended to secure a landing place in the event of an attack.
A little above this, and about a quarter of a mile from the Menai, is the
site of the ancient Roman station Segontium, of which some fragments of a
wall are the only visible remains, but underground the relics are more
numerous; at the depth of a few feet occur foundations of buildings,
broken pottery, ashes, and so forth—while numerous coins (some of them
gold) and other Roman remains have, at various times, been exhumed.
According to Mathew of Westminster, Constantius, the father of
Constantine the Great, was interred here, and the same historian further
asserts that Edward found the body and caused it to be honourably buried
in the Church (it is supposed) of St. Publicius, or Llanbeblig.
Having gratified his curiosity, the traveller may once more take the
rails for Bangor, and, accompanied by pleasing visions of past greatness,
return to his inn well satisfied with his day’s excursion.
After remaining three days in this interesting neighbourhood, I took my
departure from Bangor towards Chester. The tourist who may be inclined
to follow my track, and has sufficient time to spare, should leave the
train at
RHYL,
A pretty watering place at the termination of the beautiful Vale of
Clwyd, and near the mouth of the river from which it derives its name.
The town is neat, and is yearly increasing in importance. From hence the
visitor will obtain a view of the Great Orme’s Head, the Puffin Island,
and the wide expanse of the Irish Sea. The sands are extensive, and
admirably adapted for sea bathing; the hotels are both commodious and
excellent.
I may mention that Rhuddlan, St. Asaph, and Denbigh, are within easy
distance from Rhyl, and will afford a pleasant day’s excursion. Quitting
Rhyl, a short ride conveys the traveller to
HOLYWELL,
So celebrated for its miraculous spring. The church of this place is
dedicated to Saint Winefred, and stands at the foot of a steep hill, but
it is so far removed from the upper town that the bells cannot be heard
by the people above, for which reason a very ancient custom is continued,
namely, a ringer is employed to go about the town with a large bell slung
around his shoulder, and a cushion fastened to his knees, against which
the bell beats as he walks, to summon the inhabitants to the house of
prayer; but the chief object of interest to visitors in this town is St.
Winefred’s Well, from which it takes its name of Holywell. The Roman
Catholic clergymen of ancient days, knew well how to impose on the
credulity of the ignorant laymen, when they were desirous of enriching
their establishments, as well perhaps as they do at the present period,
and for this purpose they invented amongst other absurd fallacies the
ridiculous fable of St. Winefred, which is carved upon a pendant
projection over the fountain, with the arms of England at the bottom.
ST. WINEFRED.
The legend is told thus:—Winefred was a beautiful and devout virgin, of
noble birth, and it is supposed lived in the early part of the seventh
century, under the guardianship of her uncle, the good Bueno, who had
founded a church here, and was conspicuous for his great piety. A young
prince of the country, of the name of Caradoc, saw the damsel, and was
enamoured with the beauty of her person, and resolved to attempt her
virtue; seizing an opportunity, when all but the fair Winefred were at
prayers, he declared to her his passion. She fled from his presence, but
before she could reach the sacred edifice, which stood at the foot of the
hill, even, as at the present day, the prince overtook her, and in a
paroxysm of rage and disappointment, he struck off her head, which
bounded down the hill, through the door of the church, to the foot of the
altar. Bueno raised up the head, and instead of a pool of blood, which
appeared for a moment, a fountain of clear water gushed forth. His
horror was great, when he found that the beautiful features, and golden
hair of the head he gazed upon, were those of his beloved niece. The
saint, for such Bueno afterwards became, took up the head, and with
devout prayers, joined it to the body, and to the wonder of all present
it immediately re-united, the place of separation being marked only by a
white line encircling the neck. The cruel Prince Caradoc fell dead on
the spot where he had committed the atrocious act. Winefred lived
fifteen years after this event, and founded a nunnery at Gwytherin,
Denbighshire, of which she became abbess, and died there.
The well is an oblong square, about twelve feet by seven, and the water
passes into a small square court, through an arch under which, it is
said, the Roman Catholics used to swim as an act of penance. Innumerable
are the miracles said to have been performed through the intervention of
the saint, and as countless is the list of devotees who have paid their
homage at her holy shrine, standing up to their chins in the water, and
pouring forth their prayers for hours together.
Putting aside all superstitious notions, the waters of the well possess
many sanative properties. Katherine of Arragon, the wife of Henry the
Eighth, was a benefactress to this building, and here her arms appear,
viz.: three pomegranates in a shield surmounted by a crown, the badge of
the House of Grenada. Isabel, Countess of Warwick, left to St. Winefred,
in 1439, her gown of russet velvet. In the church there is a bell which
was christened in honour of the saint, and at the ceremony a string of
virgins took hold of the rope, bestowed a name upon the bell, whilst the
priest sprinkling holy water baptised it, and put it into petticoats;
after which the ladies gave a grand feast, and made great presents, which
the priests received on behalf of the bell.
There are several good inns in the town, the principal ones are the White
Horse, the King’s Arms, the King’s Head, and the Red Lion. About a mile
eastward of Holywell, situated in a beautiful meadow, are the ruins of
Basingwerk Abbey, formerly a building of considerable importance. It is
surrounded by groves of tall trees, and commands a fine view of the
Cheshire shore. The next place on the Chester line of railway, to which
the traveller should direct his attention, is
FLINT,
At which place his historical recollections will be awakened by the
ancient castle, which is situated upon a rock in the marsh at the bottom
of the town.
The castle is a square building, with a large round tower at three of the
corners, and a fourth a little disjoined from the others, and much larger
than the rest. This is called the double tower. It was formerly joined
to the castle by a drawbridge, and is of great thickness. Here the
unfortunate Edward the Second received from exile his imperious favourite
Piers Gaveston, and here it was that the equally unfortunate Richard the
Second was betrayed by the Earl of Northumberland into the power of
Bolingbroke. Northumberland had met Richard at Conwy, to which place he
had retired after his return from Ireland, and they were journeying
together when, amid the recesses of the mountains, near Penmaen Rhôs, the
king descried a large body of soldiers with the Percy banners. The
unhappy monarch attempted to escape, but Northumberland seizing the
bridle of his horse, compelled him to proceed towards Rhuddlan Castle,
where they dined, and in the evening conducted him to Flint. Upon the
following morning Richard was astonished by the appearance of a numerous
army, commanded by Bolingbroke, in full march along the sands, which
speedily surrounded the castle. Richard descended from the keep to meet
his rival, who fell upon his knees, and for a short time assumed a
respectful appearance, but he soon discarded the mask, and “with a high
sharp voice,” says Stowe, “badde bring forth the king’s horses; and then
two little naggs, not worth fortie franks, were brought forthe. The king
was set on the one, and the Earl of Salisbury on the other, and thus the
duke brought them from Flint to Chester.”
HAWARDEN
Is six miles from Flint, and lying two miles on the right of the Queen’s
Ferry Station; it is a neat and comfortable town, consisting of one
street of about half a mile in length, and wears a cheerful aspect. The
Glynne Arms will receive the visitor, and afford him every attention and
comfort he can possibly desire. Hawarden Park is one of the most
picturesque and beautiful domains in the principality. Its lofty trees
and velvet grass, its swelling knolls and solitary glens, cannot fail to
awaken the most pleasing emotions in the breast of the tourist, while the
ivy-clad ruins of the ancient castle give a solemnity and grandeur to the
scene indescribably interesting. In the year 1280 a general insurrection
took place among the Welsh, under their prince, Llewelyn, and his brother
David, for the recovery of their liberties and ancient form of
government. It was commenced by David, on the 22nd of March, Palm
Sunday, in a stormy night, which favoured his design so well, that he
surprised this castle, put the garrison to the sword, and took Roger De
Clifford, the Justiciary of Chester, prisoner. After the death of
Llewelyn, and the subjugation of Wales, he suffered for this in a most
exemplary manner, being condemned to four species of punishment, viz., to
be drawn by a horse to the place of execution as a traitor to the king
who had made him a knight; to be hanged for murdering Fulk Trigald, and
other knights, in this fortress; for his sacrilege in committing those
murders on Palm Sunday, his bowels were to be burnt, and finally his body
was to be quartered and hung in different parts of the kingdom, because
he had in different parts conspired the death of the king. In 1495 this
castle belonged to Margaret, Countess of Richmond, the mother of Henry
the Seventh, and that monarch honoured it with his presence for some
time, in order that he might here enjoy the pleasures of the chase.
During the civil wars it suffered the usual vicissitudes of fortune. It
was besieged in 1643 by the King’s troops, when it was garrisoned by one
hundred and twenty men of Sir Thomas Myddelton’s regiment.
The remains of the castle consist of a fine circular tower, or keep,
situated upon the summit of a mount, a few walls, and the foundations of
some rooms. On all sides it was surrounded by deep chasms and fosses,
and from its extensive plan and broad foundations it has the appearance
of having been erected at different periods. The modern mansion of
Hawarden Park belongs to Sir S. R. Glynne, Baronet, a member of
parliament, and lord-lieutenant of Flintshire. It is a stately
structure, with antique-looking windows and turrets, and commands a view
of the city of Chester and the entire course of the silvery Dee from that
station to the Irish Channel. Leaving this most interesting and lovely
place, and casting many a lingering look behind, I once more reached the
railway station, and after a short ride of seven miles, arrived at the
far-famed city of
CHESTER.
This city still bears marks of its Roman origin. The laying out of the
streets is Roman; the two principal thoroughfares crossing at right
angles in the centre of the city. Its fortifications are reasonably
supposed to be on a Roman basis. Remains of Roman masonry have been
discovered, and the usual vestiges of the Romans have, at different
times, been turned up—such as coins, fibulæ, inscribed tiles, stones, and
altars. In 1653 a votive altar to Jupiter was dug up, which had been
raised by an officer of the twentieth legion, called the Victorious. In
fact, the city was named in honour of this legion, Legecestria; and after
the Romans ceased to occupy it, the Britons called it Caer Lleon vawr ar
Ddyvrdwy: or, “the camp of the great Legion on the Dee.” In the time of
the Romans Chester was the termination of the celebrated Watling Street,
the great military road which extended from Dover across the island.
It was in this city that the Welsh, in the year 1300, acknowledged the
sovereignty of the English, the homage of the freeholders being received
by the infant Prince of Wales, afterwards Edward the Second. In the year
1506, Chester was afflicted with that remarkable disease the sweating
sickness, which carried off ninety-one householders in three days; and a
few years afterwards made such ravages that the streets of the city were
overgrown with grass.
In 1558, a circumstance occurred in Chester which was of the greatest
importance to the Protestants of those days. Dr. Henry Cole, Dean of St.
Paul’s, is said to have been entrusted with the commission issued by Mary
to empower the Lord Deputy of Ireland to prosecute those who refused to
observe the ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion. The Doctor, on
his way to Ireland, stopped at Chester, and having put up at the Blue
Posts Inn, in Bridge Street, was visited by the Mayor, to whom he
communicated the business in which he was engaged: opening his cloak bag,
he took out a leathern box, observing, with exultation, “he had that
within it, which would lash the heretics of Ireland.” The hostess, Mrs.
Elizabeth Mottershead, overheard this by accident, and, having a brother
in Ireland, who was a Protestant, she became alarmed for his safety, and
took the opportunity, while the Doctor was attending the Mayor down
stairs, to open the box, take out the commission, and leave in its place
a pack of cards, with the knave of clubs uppermost. The Dean arrived in
Ireland on the 7th of December, 1558. Being introduced to the
Lord-Deputy Fitzwalter and the Privy Council, he explained the nature of
his embassy at greater length, and then presented the box, containing, as
he thought, the commission. His Lordship took it, and, having opened it,
beheld, with considerable surprise, the pack of cards with the knave on
the top. The Doctor was thunderstruck; and, in much confusion, said that
he certainly had a commission, and that some artful person must have made
the exchange. “Then,” said his Lordship, “you have nothing to do but to
return to London, and get it renewed: meanwhile we will shuffle the
cards.” The Doctor was obliged to follow this unwelcome advice, but
before he could reach Ireland a second time the Queen died, and her
sanguinary commission became useless. The woman, whose presence of mind
and dexterity had thus providentially interposed, was rewarded by
Elizabeth with a pension of forty pounds a year.
During the civil war in the reign of Charles the First, Chester stood
several sieges, which lasted about three years. The inhabitants, who had
sided with the king, endured great privations, but at last, when the
siege was converted into a blockade, they surrendered on honourable terms
to the parliamentary army. The city is situated on a dry rock above the
stream of the Dee, which flows round it on two sides. The neighbouring
district is a rich but level plain, presenting, however, some interesting
views from the ancient walls of the town, which form one among the many
remarkable features of Chester. These walls, which are now used as a
healthful and favourite promenade, are especially interesting, as being
the only perfect military work of the kind remaining in England, and the
circuit of them is somewhat more than a mile and three quarters. They
command many interesting prospects, and amongst them may be mentioned the
views towards the forest hills, from the eastern point, towards North
Wales and the Dee from the opposite side, and a fine view of the bridge
and the river, with the surrounding country, from the south-east angle.
At the sides of the walls are the remains of several ancient towers, and
at the north-east angle is one which bears the name of the Phœnix Tower,
remarkable from the circumstance of Charles the First having witnessed a
part of the battle of Rowton Heath, from its leads, in 1645.
The four principal gates of the city are the terminations of the four
principal streets, named respectively Eastgate Street, Northgate Street,
Bridge Street, and Foregate Street. These four streets, as described by
Pennant, are excavated and sunk many feet beneath the surface. The
carriages are driven far below the level of the kitchens, on a line with
ranges of shops, over which, on each side of the streets, passengers may
walk from end to end, secure from wet or heat, in galleries, (or _rows_,
as they are called,) purloined from the first floor of each house, open
in front, and balustraded. The back courts of all these houses are level
with the rows, but to go into any of these four streets it is necessary
to descend a flight of several steps: the rows certainly form the most
remarkable peculiarity of Chester, and the opinion of Mr. Ormerod is that
they were first erected as galleries from which the citizens might defend
themselves against those sudden inroads of armed cavalry, to which they
were so much exposed in ancient times, in consequence of their position
on the frontier of the English and Welsh.
The most remarkable feature of Chester is its Cathedral, which was
founded within the site of the Benedictine Abbey of St. Werburgh. It is
a spacious irregular building, composed of the red sandstone of the
country, and was built, or rather rebuilt, during the reigns of Henry the
Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth. In the cloisters, and buildings adjacent,
occur some interesting specimens of Norman architecture, and the early
decorations of the pointed style. The western front, and some other
detached parts, exhibit equally beautiful specimens of the enriched
Gothic, and the space occupied by the entire range of the conventual
buildings furnishes a magnificent idea of the grandeur of the
establishment.
The old Norman castle was removed in 1790, to make room for the modern
castle, which is, indeed, a noble structure, and contains the county
courts, the gaol, the barracks, and the armoury. The citizens of Chester
were formerly as celebrated as those of Coventry for their dramatic
performances, founded chiefly on scripture history. They are attributed
to one Randall, a monk of Chester Abbey, and are said to have been first
performed between 1268 and 1273.
* * * * *
My task is done, and I must now quit this lovely land—never perhaps to
see it more. But let me hope the sketches I have given of its various
charms will induce others to take the path which I have pursued with so
much pleasure. It leads through the most interesting portion of the
country. For the artist, there is an inexhaustible store of beauty. The
geologist and mineralogist will find the lore they thirst for, in almost
every hill and valley, through which they pass. The smoke-dried citizen
may have the London _blacks_ blown from his garments by the healthful
mountain breeze, and drink huge draughts of the pure air until he feels
intoxicated with pleasure, while he is enabled to supply himself cheaply
with a valuable stock of delightful recollections that will enable him,
at any time, to raise a visionary paradise around him—to banish painful
thoughts; for, in fine, pain must give place to pleasure, gloom to
sunshine, and sickness to invigorating health, in the enchanting
principality of NORTH WALES.
LIST OF FLIES, USED IN NORTH WALES.
FEBRUARY.
1. Red Fly.—Middle of February, until the middle of October. Fine days.
2. Dark Dun.—Middle of February, and continues through the Season. Fine
days.
MARCH.
3. Blue Dun.—Beginning of March to the end of April. Gloomy and wet
days, from 10 to 3.
4. March Brown.—Middle of March, to the end of April. Dark gloomy days,
from 11 to 2.
5. Light Dun.—Beginning of March, and continues through the season.
Gloomy days.
6. Oak, or Down-head Fly.—Middle of March and continues through the
season. Gloomy and wet days.
7. Hofland’s Fancy.—Woodcock’s Wing—brown cinnamon body, red legs, and
two fibres of red hackle for tail. Will do for Tal y Llyn, and if
dressed larger, for Llyn Ogwen.
APRIL.
8. Greentail.—Beginning of April for about ten days. Warm bright
mornings from 6 to 11.
9. Gravel Fly.—Latter end of April to end of May. Fine days.
10. Small Stone Fly.—Middle of April to the end of May. All weathers,
and at any time of the day. Does best in smaller brooks, and in rapid
streams in rivers.
MAY.
11. Marlow Buzz, or Coch y Bonddu.—All the season, but particularly in
May, June, and July. Gloomy and wet days.
12. May Fly.—All May and June. Gloomy and wet days.
13. Horse Flesh, or the Cabin Fly.—May, June, and July. All weathers.
14. Brook Fly.—The first of May to the latter end of September. Hot
weather.
15. Iron Blue.—About the 7th of May to the middle of June. Will never
kill except the wind is from the North or East.
16. Sand Fly.—About the middle of May, and continues for three months,
all weathers, after 7 at night.
17. Green Drake.—About the 20th of May for 9 or 10 days, from 10 in the
morning until dusk.
18. Gray Drake.—From the 27th or 28th of May, to middle of June, from 6
or 7 in the evening to sunset.
19. Orl Fly.—Latter end of May to the latter end of June, from 4 o’Clock
in the morning until 7 in the evening. Hot weather.
JUNE AND JULY.
20. Red Spinner.—Middle of June to the latter end of August. In the
evenings of very hot days, from seven o’clock, as long as you can see.
21. Hazle Fly.—About the latter end of June for nine or ten days. Wet
and gloomy weather.
AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER.
22. Red Ant.—About the 10th or 12th of August, to the latter end of
September. Warm days, from noon until four.
23. Black Ant.—Same in every respect as Red Ant.
24. Little Pale Blue.—Middle of August to the latter end of September,
from 10 in the morning till 3 in the afternoon. Rough cold days.
INDEX.
Aber Glas Lyn, 88.
Ardudwy, Pass of, 65, 71.
Arran Vowddwy, 50.
Arrenig Vawr, 50.
Bala, 51.
Bangor, 128, 129.
Basingwerk Abbey, 139.
Bardsey Island, Bards of, 64.
Barmouth, 60, 62.
Battlefield, 21.
Berwyn Mountains, 29.
Beddgelert, 89.
Bettws y Coed, 106.
Brynkinalt, 25.
Britannia Tubular Bridge, 132.
Butler, Lady, and Miss Ponsonby, 35.
Bwlch Tyddiad, 69.
Cader Idris, 54, 55, 60, 71.
Carnarvon, 133, 134.
Carreg y Gwalch, 107.
Capel Curig, 100.
Car, Jaunting, in Wales, 52.
Cardigan Bay, Scenery and Views of, 78, 79.
Carreg y Saeth, 68.
Cave of Shenkin, 107.
Ceiriog, River of, 24.
„ Vale of the, 29.
Chester, 143–147.
Chirk, 24, 26, 29.
Closs, John, Story of, and Monument, 99.
Conwy, 118, 119–125.
Corwen, 43.
Constantinus, 135.
Constantine, 135.
Cors y gedol Hall, 63.
Cricaeth Castle and Promontory, 78.
Crogen Castle, 28.
Cwm Bychan, Llyn y, 68.
Cwmorddin Pool, 83.
Cynvael Falls, 83.
Dee, Vale of the, 32, 39, 43.
„ Aqueduct and Viaduct, 32.
Dinas Brân, Castell, 39.
Dinas Gortin, 65.
Dinas Gonwy, 126.
Dinas Llyn, 92.
Dolbadarn Castle, 97.
Dolgelley, Vale of, 53–55.
„ Town of, 56.
Dolwyddelan Castle, 101.
Drws y Nant, 53.
Dwyryd, Valley of the River, 82.
Edeyrnion, Vale of, 47.
Edward First, his Wars in Wales, and Strongholds built by, 75, 78, 119,
134.
Einion, Gallantry of Davydd ab Ivan ab, 76.
— Howel ab, 40.
Eliseg, Pillar of, 43.
Festiniog, 83.
Flies used in North Wales, 149.
Flint Castle, 139.
Gelert, Llewelyn’s Hound, 90.
Geirionydd Llyn, Antiquities of, 116.
Glan y Llyn, 53.
Gloddaeth, the Mansion of the Hon. Lloyd Mostyn, 126.
Glossary, Welsh, ix.
Glyndwr, Owen, 43, 44, 56, 59, 75.
Gôch, Owen, his imprisonment, 97.
Gôch, Gruffydd, Tomb of, 114.
Gwydir Castle, 108.
„ Chapel, 111.
Gwynant Llyn, 92.
Gwynedd, Owen, 29, 103.
Hawarden, 141.
Harlech Castle, 74, 75.
Herbert, Sir Richard, 76.
Howel, Coetmore, 114.
Holywell, 136.
Idwal, Llyn, and Cleft of Idwal Du, 103.
Iorwerth, Llewelyn ab, Tomb of, 114.
Kymmer Abbey, 58.
Llan Tegai Parish, 104.
Llandudno, 126.
Llangollen Road Station, 22.
Llanberis Pass, 96.
„ Church, 98.
Llandrillo, Village of, 46.
Llangollen, Vale and Town of, 34, 34.
Llanrwst, 110.
Llewelyn, Prince of Wales, 97, 141.
Lloyd, Griffith, the Rector of Llanrwst, 115.
Llugwy River, 105.
Llyanyrch, Llyn, 83.
Madoc, Port, 84.
Mannod Llyn, 83.
Maentwrog Village, 80.
Mawddach River, 62.
Menai Bridge, 130.
Moel Siabod, 101.
Mortimer, Roger, Earl of Wigmore, 28.
Morwynion, Llyn, 65.
Nannau Park, 59.
Offa’s Dyke, 29.
Ogwen Llyn, and Falls of Benclog, 101, 102.
Orme’s Head, the Great, 126.
Padarn Llyn, 97.
Peris Llyn, 97.
Pedestrians, Fashionable in Wales, 23.
Penrhyn Castle, 129.
Pembroke, William Herbert, Earl of, 76.
Pistyll y Cain, and Falls of the River Mawddach, 58.
Pistyll Rhaiadr, 27.
Pont y Pair, Bridge of the Caldron, 107.
Pwllheli, 64.
Rhaiadr y Wennol, 103.
Rhaiadr y Parc Mawr, 116.
Rhaiadr Du, 58.
Rhys Gôch o’r Eryri, 89.
Rhyl, 136.
Richard the Second, 121, 140.
Scott, Sir Walter, Note to his “Marmion,” 60.
Segontium, 135.
Shrewsbury, 21.
Snowdon and Snowdonia, 92, 94.
Taliesin, the Bard’s Abode, 116.
Tan y Bwlch, 82.
Tegid, Llyn, 50.
Tevi, River, 102.
Tommen y Bala, 51.
Traeth Mawr, and Traeth Bâch, Arms of the Sea, 78.
Trevriew, Village of, 117.
Tremadoc, the Town of, 86.
Trivaen, the Crags of, 103.
Trout Fishing in Wales, 19, 58, 83, 95, 149.
Tudor Trevor, Family of, 25, 40.
Tudno, St., Cradle of, 127.
Valle Crucis Abbey, 40.
Vortigern’s Hill, 91.
Wellington, Duke of, 25.
Winefred’s Well & Legend, 137.
Wnion, the, River of, 54.
Wynne, Account of the family, 111.
* * * * *
JOHN MORGAN; PRINTER, OSWESTRY.
MAP OF NORTH WALES.
[The book contains a large folding map of North Wales, which the
transcriber could not scan as a single piece. It’s produced as four
parts below.—DP.]
NORTH WEST NORTH WALES.
[Picture: Map of North Wales, North-West]
NORTH EAST NORTH WALES.
[Picture: Map of North Wales, North-West]
SOUTH WEST NORTH WALES.
[Picture: Map of North Wales, South-West]
SOUTH EAST NORTH WALES.
[Picture: Map of North Wales, South-East]
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Tourist's Guide through North Wales" ***
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