Chapter IV (1)

Then let me near this fountain lie;
And let old Time in silence fly,
Stealing my youth away!
Far from the riot of the mean,
Oh! let me o’er this fountain lean;
Till Death has drawn the darksome skreen,
That hides eternal day.

Mr. Bingley ascended this mountain from the Blue Lion, kept by Jones, before mentioned, who acts as guide: from this spot Mr. Bingley declares himself capable of attaining the summit in two hours, from which he describes the views to be more varied, if not so extensive, as from Snowdon.

“In descending,” he says, “I took a direction eastward of that in which I had gone up, and proceeded along that part of the mountain called Mynydd Moel. The path in this direction is sufficiently sloping to allow a person to ride even to the summit. A gentleman, mounted on a little Welsh poney, had done this a few days before I was here.”

“About two miles from Dolgelly is the pretty village of Llanettyd,
and from hence, a road through the vale to Maentwrog, which vale is
seen to much advantage from the bridge. From this village likewise a
path leads to Y Vanner, or Kymmer Abbey, founded in 1198, by Meredith
and Griffith, lords of Merioneth, and sons of Cynan ap Owen Gwynedd,
prince of North Wales. The monks were of the Cistercian order, and
the abbey was dedicated to St. Mary.

“The approach to Barmouth was formerly over a prodigious mountain,
surmounted with great difficulty, and passed with apprehension of
destruction. The magistrates of the county, however, bent on
improvement, agreed with an undertaker to form a road out of the
steep rocks jutting out from the sea, and to guard it with a wall.
The labour was astonishing, the price two guineas a yard. It is now
a most charming road, exhibiting romantic boldness of scenery.

“A stone bridge of several arches conducts over Wnion, which here
flows many hundred feet wide. On the right, at a mile distant from
the town, on the bank of the river, are the ruins of Kymmer Abbey.
Two miles from Dolgelly is Nanneau Park, once the residence of Hawel
Sele, an inveterate enemy of Owen Glyndwr, the ancient seat of the
family of that name, now of Sir William Vaughan, Bart. The road is
by a steep ascent, and the house stands on very high ground. Sir
Robert Vaughan erected a new and handsome mansion. In the upper part
of the park are the remains of a British post, called Moel Orthrwn,
or the Hill of Oppression. Returning towards Barmouth, you regain
the road at Llan Ettyd, where the tide flows to a considerable
height. Brigs are built here of 200 tons burden.

“From Llan Ettyd to Barmouth is ten miles of most excellent road,
winding round the hill opposite to Dolgelly, on a shelf of rock,
through hanging woods, across a handsome stone bridge over the
Mawddach, when it joins the Wnion. The expanse of water here is
considerable at high tide, having the appearance of a large lake,
enveloped by mountains. The vivid summit of Cader now assumes the
appearance of a volcano. The road follows the inequalities of the
shore, till it occupies a narrow shelf of the perpendicular rock of
Barmouth. Here is a fine view of the river falling into the
beautiful bay of Cardigan.”—NICHOLSON.

BARMOUTH.

It is advisable for all travellers, pedestrians not excepted, to leave Dolgelly at high water, as without that, the scenery loses much of its beauty; if convenient, it is certainly preferable to hire a boat at the Stoves; the charge is three shillings and sixpence; by this you will save a walk of eight miles, and both from your situation, and from being more at your ease, will better admit of your observing the surrounding scenery, with which you cannot fail to be highly gratified.

This short excursion of eight miles is truly grand, awful, and sublime; and, though many parts of this striking valley are richly cultivated, yet, by the side of the road, enormous mountains, formed into the most capricious shapes, shoot into the clouds, sometimes projecting so far over the road, as seemingly designing to impede our farther progress: the wide expanse of the ocean in front, with the arm of the sea running up the country in the centre of the valley; in fine, the _tout ensemble_ claimed our highest admiration.

Barmouth, though considered as a bathing-place, is very inferior to Tenby, yet its situation for grandeur of rocks has been frequently compared, by many Tourists, to Gibraltar; and by others esteemed not unlike St. Kitts, in the West Indies. The vast sand-banks, formed by the tides, immediately in front of the town, are the only barriers which protect it from the inundations of the sea. The shore is extremely level, and affords, for many miles, excellent riding.

Barmouth is the only port in the county of Merioneth: but the entrance to it is difficult. The town is built on ledges of rock, one rising above another, so that the inhabitants of one street look down upon the chimnies of that which is before them.

The board and lodging is regulated on the same excellent plan here as at Tenby, with very little difference in respect to the expense. We could not avoid observing the number of pigs, which are esteemed in this part of the country far superior to any in England, lying in every corner of the street; and these pigs, I rather imagine, consider themselves, during the night, inmates of the peasant’s cottage: yet these hardships, if they may be distinguished by that name, the inhabitants of the hovel suffer without complaint, and deem themselves perfectly happy as long as they possess a pile of turf to keep off the inclemency of the winter’s blast, a small strip of ground well stocked with potatoes, some poultry, and a fat pig: one hovel, however, protects them all. Though, to appearance, their situation is most miserable, yet it has no effect on their tempers and dispositions; their hospitality, and indeed kindness, towards strangers in distress, is an interesting trait in their character: to instance this I am induced to mention an anecdote which took place at Hubberstone, not long ago. A lady anxiously waiting the arrival of her husband from Ireland at the miserable village of Hubberstone, soon interested even the meaner inhabitants of the place in her behalf; who, willing to render her situation as comfortable as possible, seemed to vie with each other in producing the most delicious fruits, and the choicest garlands of flowers, to present them to the unhappy consort; and, not content alone with this, she was generally greeted in the streets, with the phrase, “There goes poor Mrs. L—.” The lady, at last, impatient for the arrival of her husband, determined to sail for Ireland. The faithfulness of the little group that accompanied her to the shore can better be imagined than described; the last farewell, with tears of artless innocence, and the beseeching that Providence “who governs the waves, and stills the raging of the sea,” to grant her a prosperous voyage, all this seemed to come so thoroughly from the bottom of their hearts, that we cannot avoid feeling ourselves interested in their behalf.

The road from hence to

HARLECH

is stony and uninteresting; to the left, an unbounded view of the wide ocean; and, in front, the steep mountains of North Wales rose in endless perspective. About four miles from Barmouth, we past the two lodges at Tal-y-bont, leading to Corsy-Gedol, the seat of Sir Thomas Mostyn. It is practicable to go by the sands; but we were given to understand that the turnpike was, if anything, shorter, the scenery more pleasing, and the guides necessary for crossing those dangerous sands, in general, most complete villains.

Harlech, anciently called Twr-Bronwen, though formed by King Edward I. into a borough, can now be esteemed little more than a dirty village: the present castle, one of the most entire in Wales, is founded on a very high rock, projecting in the Irish sea. It consists of a square building, each side measuring about seventy yards, having at every corner a round tower. From each of these issued formerly a round turret, all now destroyed, except one or two. These fortifications, fosses, and situation on the verge of a perpendicular rock, rendered it almost invulnerable.

This castle is one of the strongest and handsomest in Wales. It is in the possession of the Crown, and in time of war has a small garrison for the defence of the coast. From the top of the walls to the marsh the height is very considerable, and from thence the bay of Cardigan is seen to great advantage: in addition to this, the shagged summits of Cader Buchan and Snowdon, in Caernarvonshire, being enveloped in clouds, appear scarcely visible.

At the public-house we accidentally met with a well-informed man, who minutely delineated every part of the castle; and, beginning with the founder, in the true characteristic style of a Welshman, ran through his pedigree several generations: this, however, did not interest us cursory pedestrians; and, with little persuasion, we soon induced him to write down, in as concise a manner as possible, any information he was acquainted with respecting the castle: “The founder of Harlech castle, A.D. 552, was Maelgwyn; Gwynedd; made Caer Dugoll (Shrewsbury); Caer Gyffin (Aber Conway); Caer Gollwyn (Harleck); supposed to be buried in Cirencester, and reigned thirty-four years.” Whether this information is correct, I will not take upon me to assert; but meeting with a Welshman in this part of the country capable of writing, rather surprised us, and induced me to transcribe this short paragraph.

In the year 1408 it was taken by the Earl of Pembroke; and afforded likewise shelter to Margaret of Anjou, after the battle of Northampton in 1460; and was the last in North Wales which held out for the King, being surrendered to General Mytton in 1647.

In a garden near this castle was dug up, in the year 1692, an ancient golden torques, of a round form, an inch in circumference, and weighing eight ounces. This curious relic of British antiquity, exhibited in a drawing by Mr. Pennant, still continues in the possession of the Mostyn family. As we had not an opportunity of examining the original, this account can only be gathered from the information of former authors, who represent it as “a wreathed bar, or rather three or four rods twisted together, about four feet long, flexible, but bending naturally only one way, in form of a hat-band: it originally had holes at each end, not twisted or sharp, but plain, and cut even.”

In the year 1694, the prodigious phenomenon of fire or kindled exhalation, which disturbed the inhabitants of this neighbourhood, is both singular and extraordinary: sixteen ricks of hay, and two barns, were burnt by a kindled exhalation, or blue weak flame, proceeding from the sea: this lasted about a fortnight or three weeks, poisoning the grass, and firing it for the space of a mile. It is extraordinary, that it had no effect on the men who interposed their endeavours to save the ricks from destruction, even by running into it. For a more accurate account of this singular phenomenon, I refer my readers to the Philosophical Transactions, No. 208, and likewise to the Addenda in Camden: suffice it to say, that the air and grass were so infected, that it occasioned a great mortality of cattle, horses, sheep, and goats. The various conjectures that have been formed, to account for this kindled exhalation, seem to be very unsatisfactory; something similar to this, both in the appearance and in the effect, happened in France, in the year 1734.

As from the unfavourableness of the weather, we had not contemplated the rich scenery between Barmouth and Dolgelly, with that nice investigation which it deserved, we determined, by returning to our obliging landlady at the Corsy-Gedol arms, to seize the opportunity of again admiring its beauties; and, by taking a more circuitous route to the vale of Festiniog, pay that attention to the falls of Doll-y-mullin, Moddach, and Cayne, which they so deservedly require.

This second saunter we found by no means tedious: the scene seemed perpetually changing at every unexpected curvature of the road; and the rude features of the mountains appeared to assume new forms, as the winding presented them to the eye in different attitudes; whilst the shifting vapours, which partially concealed their minuter grandeur, assisted the illusions of the sight. Amidst new woods, rising in the majesty of foliage, the scattered cottage, with its bluish smoke curling high in the air, was frequently rendered interesting by its neat simplicity; and served to constitute the romantic beauties of this picturesque ramble.

This pleasing scenery varied little till we arrived within two miles of Dolgelly, when several gentlemens’ seats burst upon our sight; and leaving that enchanting spot to the left, at the Laneltyd turnpike, a different object presented itself to our view. For four miles we walked by the side of a hill, the most translucent stream attending us the whole way; for, though the road was situated so much above it, yet the sandy bottom, with the finny tribe, in considerable numbers sporting in this transparent element, were easily descried. On each side the mountains rose to a considerable height, with the craggy summit of Cader Idris claiming the pre-eminence. We soon arrived at the small ale-house, (Traveller’s Rest), where we met the labourer of Mr. Madox, whom we were recommended to inquire for, as a proper cicerone to the water-falls in his vicinity. Having finished our scanty but wholesome repast, we repaired with an old woman (the labourer being confined to the house by indisposition), to the fall of Doll-y-mullin. There appeared to be something singular in the appearance of this “mountain elf:” destitute of shoes and stockings, in the true Cambrian style, she tripped it, occasionally singing, and sometimes discontented with the world, herself and every thing, uttering a most dismal groan. This excited our curiosity; but, to learn much of her situation we soon found impracticable; her knowledge of the English language was very trivial; and, as she seemed not much inclined to give us any information respecting the adjacent country, we found it useless to make inquiries concerning her condition in life.

Our surly conductress first led us through Mr. Madox’s grounds; to the left of the Tan-y-bwlch road, by a most delightful walk cut through the wood, we soon reached the Fall of Doll-y-mullin, the roaring of which had a long time announced its vicinity. This cataract, though considered only as a prelude to the grand Falls of the Cayne and Moddach, is still worthy the attention of the passing traveller: for, though the river precipitates itself not more than fifty feet, yet, the projection and situation of the rocks, and the thick oak carelessly throwing its broad brown arms across the troubled waters, is singularly pleasing. We had hitherto only contemplated this scene from the foot of the fall; but how noble the effect when we began to wind up the steep ascent, and paused at every basin, which the water had formed in the excavated rock!

By a retrograde saunter we soon gained the Tan-y-bwlch road; and, passing over the romantic bridge of Pont ar Garfa, beautifully entwined with the rich drapery of ivy, we ascended a steep path over the slaty mountain of Tylyn Gwladys, two miles in extent.—Sublimity, indeed, gave place to elegance: behind us, the huge steep of Cader Idris, lifting high above the rolling clouds its shaggy head, of which, at intervals, we caught a glance through the thick mist which enveloped it; in front, Snowdon, conscious of pre-eminence, rose in the distant perspective: these were the boundaries of our view. On the opposite side a barren mountain, dignified by the name of Prince of Wales, appeared scarcely accessible, but to the steps of the enthusiast. This formerly afforded a vast quantity of ore, but it has lately so much failed, as not to produce even a sufficiency to remunerate the miners. While traversing these barren mountains, it is not less singular than interesting occasionally to meet the most delicious valleys, watered by some foaming river; these are often literally surcharged

“With weighted rains, and melted Alpine snows.”

Such is the true characteristic of the Welsh scenery: the finest verdure and the most enchanting valleys are discovered in the bosom of sterility; where natural cascades, precipitating themselves from their rude pinnacles, alone disturb the silence which reigns in that asylum. These render it more enchanting to the inquisitive pedestrians, for these landscapes are only accessible to their steps: and the distant swell of the cataract had now long proclaimed our proximity to the object in pursuit. The Falls of the Cayne and the Moddach are at no great distance from one another, being only separated by a thick wood. Crossing a small bridge, above fifty feet from the water, formed only by the trunk of an oak, which has accidentally fallen across the rapid torrent, our conductress very judiciously selected the latter as the first object of our admiration. The computed measurement of this fall is estimated at between seventy and eighty feet, dividing itself into three distinct parts, each finely broken by the projected rocks. The quantity of water is very inconsiderable; but the whole is admirably presented to the eye in one view. The first fall, about twenty feet, precipitates itself into a deep pool, thirty feet diameter; from thence over a second ledge, thirty feet high; and, lastly, it discharges itself into a pool of considerable dimensions. The declivities of the rocks are luxuriantly clothed with wood; the oak more particularly spreading its gigantic arms across the foaming torrent: a variety of trees, indeed, profusely embellish the whole of this glen, which are finely contrasted with the dark brown rocks; constituting so finished a picture, and representing such a variety of colours, that their beauties can be better conceived than described.

We now returned to the Fall of the Cayne, infinitely superior to any in Wales, being two hundred feet perpendicular, uninterrupted by rocks, and not intercepted by the thick wood which encircles it. For a considerable time we both of us gazed with that rapt admiration, which loathes to be disturbed by the mutual exchange of ideas; and, stunned with the continual uproar, and never-ceasing tumultuous motion of the sparkling foam, we silently admired the grandeur of the landscape. On each side the horrific crags seemed to bid defiance to the goat’s activity. The Cayne, after this stunned cataract, throws its troubled waters over a rocky bed, till it unites itself with the Moddach below.

“The feelings, with which we view objects of the above description,” says the author of the Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature, “oppose the theory of Mr. Burke, who confines sublimity to objects of terror, those of Lord Kaimes, and Dr. Gerard, who make it to consist in magnitude, and Dr. Blair, who places it in ‘force,’ are equally erroneous. The idea of Longinus, were we to associate sublimity in poetry with that of the material world, (which we are, however, not authorized to do,) is far from being correct. He defines it ‘a proud elevation of mind.’ When applied to material objects, this is neither cause nor consequence; for the experience of every man, from the proudest of princes to the humblest of peasants, proclaims, that the effect of all sublimity is astonishment, blended with awe: and when, at one moment, did pride and awe unite in the same bosom? The difference between sublimity of writing, and sublimity in objects, has not been sufficiently distinguished by the several writers on the subject of taste. No objects are beautiful or sublime, but by virtue of association. If they were, the Vale of Aylesbury would be beautiful to him, who had long resided in the Vale of Clwyd: and the Cliffs of Dover and the Peaks of Scotland would be equally sublime to the native of Crim Tartary and the peasant of the Tyrol. The opinions of many philosophers, in respect to the pleasure we derive from objects, which excite our pity, are equally false. The Abbé du Bos, Fontenelle, Hume, Akenside, and Burke, are all in error. We must refer to principles; and the principle in this argument resolves itself into the conclusion, that misfortune elicits sympathy, after the same manner that magnets affine, and planets gravitate. But actual final causes we have no power to define; though we frequently presume to do so. Man, indeed, has the faculty of judging, limitedly, of effects; but vain, proud, and arrogant as he is, he can only reason hypothetically, when he would treat of final causes and of final consequences.”

With reluctance we left this romantic situation; and, according to the directions of our conductress, soon found ourselves in the turnpike-road to Tan-y-bwlch, understanding that Mr. Warner’s route to Pen-street afforded indifferent walking. Stupendous mountains attended us some way; and, to borrow a description from a celebrated author, they “looked like the rude materials of creation, forming the barrier of unwrought space.” The sun was now making a “golden set:” the mountains were thrown together in noble masses, appearing to scale the heavens, to intercept its rays, and emulous to receive the parting tinge of lingering day. We were watching with admiration the mild splendour of its light, fading from the distant landscape, when we perceived the rich vale of Festiniog suddenly open itself to our view: we observed the busy group of haymakers, who had completed their day’s labour, returning to their homes:

“While heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice
Of happy labour, love, and social glee.”

Pleased with this rustic scene, we caught the cheerful song, which was wafted on the gentle breeze. With pleasure we anticipated a saunter through this vale, early the ensuing morning: for one tint of sober grey had now covered its various coloured features, and the sun had now gleamed its last light upon the rivulet which winds through the bottom.

TAN-Y-BWLCH.

The “rich-hair’d youth of morn” had not long left his saffron bed, and the very air was balmy as it freshened into morn, when we hurried from our inn to enjoy the luxuries of the vale of Festiniog, so well celebrated by the pen of Lord Littleton: “With the woman one loves, with the friend of one’s heart, and a good study of books, one may pass an age there, and think it a day. If one has a mind to live long, and renew his youth, let him come and settle at Festiniog.” These are the sentiments of Lord Littleton, in which seemed to be verified the situation of Mr. Oakley, who has selected this spot for his residence. Tan-y-Bwlch hall (for by that name is Mr. Oakley’s seat dignified) is environed by a thick wood, which climbs the steep mountains behind his mansion. We followed the meandering and translucent waters of the river Dryryd, till we arrived at the village of Maetwrong, situated about the middle of this paradise. Passing through the village we observed a small but neat cottage, which was rendered interesting to the wayfarer, by its neat simplicity. A large old fashioned chimney corner, with benches to receive a social party, formed a most enviable retreat from the rude storms of winter, and defied alike the weather and the world:—with what pleasure did I picture

“A smiling circle, emulous to please,”

gathering round a blazing pile of wood on the hearth, free from all the vicissitudes and cares of the world; happy in their own home, blessed in the sweet affection of kindred amity, regardless of the winter blast that struggled against the window, and the snow that pelted against the roof. On our entering, the wife, who possessed “the home of happiness, an honest breast,” invited us to take a seat under the window; which, overlooking the village, and the dark tower of the church, offered the delights of other seasons. The sweets of a little garden joined its fragrance to the honey-suckle, which enwreathed with rich drapery the windows; and here too lay the old family Bible, which had been put aside on our first entrance. We regretted our not having had an opportunity of seeing the husband, whom I make no doubt

“Envied not, and never thought of kings,
Nor from those appetites sustain’d annoy,
That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy;
Each season look’d delightful as it past,
To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.”

“About a mile east of this village,” says Mr. Evans, “are two remarkable waterfalls, called Rhaiadr Du, on the river Cynvel, one about three hundred yards above, and the other below a rustic bridge thrown over the river, to which it leads. The upper fall consists of three steep rocks, over which the water foams into a deep black bason, overshadowed by the adjoining rocks. The other is formed by a broad sheet of water, precipitated down a rock forty feet high, and darkened by the numerous foliage around it, almost to the edge of the stream. Between the cataract and the bridge is a tall columnar rock, called the pulpit of _Hugh Llwyd Cynvel_, and situate in the bed of the river, from whence, sage tradition says, a magician used to deliver his nocturnal incantations.” There are few objects in Wales more worthy to be visited, than these waterfalls.

From Festiniog, a pleasant excursion may be made to Tremadoc and Cricceath, and from thence to Pwllheli and Bardsey island. Tremadoc, which is situate at the mouth of the Traeth Mawr, in the promontory of Llyn, is about eight miles from Pont-Aber-Glaslyn: its situation is low, being three feet below low water mark, built on land reclaimed from the sea, by the spirited exertions of William Alexander Madocks, Esq. of Tany-yr-alt.

The town, which is an oblong square, contains a handsome market-house, over which are assembly-rooms: a church, a good inn, the Tremadoc Arms, and a bank. The reclaimed land consists of about two thousand acres, which, in less than three years, was covered with vegetation; it now produces excellent crops of wheat, barley, clover, &c. &c.

Mr. Madocks, after having succeeded in this arduous undertaking, set about the still more difficult one of throwing an embankment across the mouth of the Traeth Mawr; as an inducement for the accomplishing of which, a grant was made to him from the crown, in 1807, of the whole of these sands, from Pontaber-glasllyn to the point of Gêst.

The length of the embankment, from north to south, would be about a mile; its breadth at the base one hundred feet, at the top thirty. The whole of this has been completed to within one hundred yards in the centre, and it is to be hoped this noble work will still be accomplished: funds only seem now necessary for its completion: strong chain cables extended across the opening, and hulks then sunk and filled would soon allow them to finish the embankment. After seeing those in North Holland nothing is to be despaired of. Long faggots, from seven to ten feet, straw, rushes, and sand are the best sea-walls, sloping them gradually for the rise of the tide. Those in Holland seemed constantly to have been increased by the action of the sea, instead of having been diminished.

CRICCAETH

is a small borough and market town. Its population is now about four hundred: it, jointly with Caernarvon, &c. sends a member to parliament.

Its ruined castle is not unworthy of attention; it stands on an eminence projecting into the sea, and the entrance to it by land, being only along an isthmus, defended by a double foss and vallum, it must formerly have been strong. The gateway is between two towers, or bastions, externally round, but square within; the facings of which are ascribed to Edward the 1st.; the other towers are entirely square. There have been two courts, but neither of them large, nor indeed has the whole castle been a building of any other than small extent.

It is now in a ruinous state. The view from the ruins over the bay to Haerlech is beautiful. In the neighbourhood of Pwllheli are several respectable family seats; and the country in its vicinity is generally better cultivated than the rest of the promontory: the town itself is irregular and unpleasant; but it carries on a good coasting trade, and vessels of considerable burthen are here built. The petty sessions for the district of Llyn are held here; it is likewise contributory to Carmarthen, in sending a member to parliament. Along the coast to Bardsey Island, a considerable trade in fishing is carried on: herrings frequent this coast in great abundance, and are very fine: some are cured here, and quantities sold to the Irish. Here likewise are taken both john dories and smelts; the former of which was rejected by the fishermen on the score of its ugliness.

The sail from hence to Bardsey Island is both tedious and dangerous. Passing the bay called Hell’s Mouth, of which, Mr. Bingley says, “I never saw a place which presented so favourable an appearance, and that was at the time so much dreaded by the mariners as the present. It is at the very end of the promontory, and from point to point is supposed to measure about eight miles; it is also nearly semicircular. None but strange vessels, even in the most boisterous weather, ever seek for shelter here; and when they are so unfortunate, they are soon stranded and never again return. ‘We remember, (says Mr. Jones, in one of his letters,) more misfortunes to have happened in this bay, and more inhumanity shewn to the sufferers, than we have ever heard of any where else on the Welsh coast.’ My pilot, who had been long acquainted with every part of these coasts, informed me, that, from whatever point of the compass the wind blew out at sea, on account of the surrounding high rocks, it always came into the mouth of this bay; and from whatever quarter the tide flowed, the upper current here always sets inwards. From these circumstances, the common tradition is, that the place obtained the appellation of _Hell’s Mouth_.

“The whole coast, from the Rivals round the end of the land, nearly to Pwllheli, is terminated only by high and steep rocks, inhabited in the summer by a variety of sea-fowl.” Mr. Bingley, having failed in his attempt to land in Bardsey, gives the following account of that island, from the letters of the Rev. — Jones, vicar of Aberdaron, to whose parish it belongs.

ISLAND OF BARDSEY.

“This island, which is the property of Lord Newborough, is somewhat more than two miles long, and one in breadth; and contains about three hundred and seventy acres of land; of which nearly one-third is occupied by a high mountain, that affords feed only for a few sheep and rabbits. Its distance from the main land is about a league. Towards the south-east and south-west it lies entirely open, but on the north and north-east it is sheltered by its mountain, which to the sea presents a face of perpendicular, and in some parts overhanging rocks. Among these precipices the intrepid inhabitants, in the spring of the year, employ themselves in collecting the eggs of the various sea-fowl that frequent them. This is usually done bare-footed, to prevent them from slipping from heights, whence they must be dashed to pieces; and their concern for their safety while seizing these eggs, is infinitely less than that of the beholder, sitting securely in the boat below.

Nor untrembling canst thou see,
How from a craggy rock, whose prominence
Half o’ershades the ocean, hardy men
Fearless of dashing waves do gather them.

“These poor fellows do not often meet with accidents, except by the giving way of pieces of the rock. In this case they are irrecoverably lost. The men who venture without ropes are accounted by the natives the most bold climbers: those who are more cautious fix a rope about their middle, which is held by some persons on the top of the rock. By this they slip down to the place where they think the most eggs are to be found. Here, untying it from their body, they fasten it to the basket that is to contain the eggs, which they carry in their hand. When this is filled, they make a signal to their companions to draw them up. In this manner they proceed from rock to rock, ascending or descending as they find it necessary. They adopt the same modes in collecting samphire, with which the rocks also abound.

“On the south-east side of the island, the only side on which it is accessible to the mariner, there is a small but well-sheltered harbour, capable of admitting vessels of thirty or forty tons burthen. In this the inhabitants secure their own fishing-boats. The soil is principally clay, and produces excellent barley and wheat; vetches, peas, and beans, are said to succeed sufficiently well; but to oats it is not so favourable. Trees will not grow here, the keen westerly winds immediately destroying the young plants. Indeed, except a small quantity of fine meadow land, all the lower ground of the island is of little value. No reptile is ever seen in this island, except the common water lizard. None of the inhabitants ever saw in it a frog, toad, or snake of any kind.

“Till about fourteen years ago, no sparrows had been known to breed here: three nests were, however, built, during the same spring, and the produce has since completely colonized the place.

“There are here but eight houses, although the number of inhabitants is upwards of seventy. Two or three of the principal of these rent the island of Lord Newborough. They pay for it a hundred guineas a-year, and have their land tythe free, and are also freed from taxes and rates of every description. They keep about twenty horses and near thirty cows. All the former, though greatly overstocking so small a place, are absolutely necessary, on account of the great labour required in carrying up the sea-weeds from the coast for manure.

“The sheep are small, and on the approach of a stranger, as Mr. Jones informs me, they squall not much unlike hares. Their activity is very remarkable. In the year 1801, Mr. Jones had one of them on his farm, at Aberdaron, that had twice ventured through the sea, though the channel is three miles across, and regained the island. The inhabitants train their dogs to catch them; but if the sheep once gain the rocks, they bid defiance to every attempt for the time, as, rather than suffer themselves to be seized, they will plunge from thence into the sea. At the time of the year when the females usually drop their offspring, the inhabitants watch them every day, and before they are able to follow their dams, they mark them in the ears: they then suffer them to range at liberty. Without this attention, from the extreme wildness of the animals, the owners would never be able to distinguish their respective property. Some few of the sheep of the island, from having been rendered tame when young, are more easily managed: these alone submit to be folded in the evening.

“Curiosity induces many persons to visit this island almost every summer; but the grandest sight the present inhabitants ever witnessed, was a visit of the proprietor, Lord Newborough, and several persons of distinction, in the whole to the number of about forty. This company embarked in fishing-smacks from Porther, near Carreg Hall, in the parish of Aberdaron. On their arrival in the island, marquees were immediately pitched. The whole company dined in the open air; and at the conclusion of their repast, all the inhabitants were assembled. The ensuing scene reminded a gentleman of my acquaintance, who was present, of what he had read respecting the inhabitants of some of the South Sea islands. They were drawn up into a circle, and Lady Newborough adorned the heads of the females with caps and ribbons, whilst Lord Newborough distributed hats among the men. The nominal king and queen of the island were distinguished from the rest by an additional ribbon.”

Mr. B. concludes by giving the following history of Bardsey: “The Welsh name of this place is Ynys-Enlli. During the violent struggles between the Welsh and English, it was styled by the poets the sanctuary or asylum of the Saints, and it was sometimes denominated the Isle of Refuge. Some of these poets assert that it was the cemetery of _twenty thousand saints_! {144}

“The reputed sanctity of this island induced the religious to resort to it, from many very distant parts of the country. It has been asserted by several writers, that Roderic Moelwynog, prince of North Wales, first founded here a monastery, some time in the eighth century. He might, perhaps, rebuild or enlarge it, but there are good grounds, from Welsh manuscripts, for supposing that there was a religious house in this island of a much more early date. There is an old legend yet extant, written in Monkish Latin, which assures us that the Almighty had entered into a particular covenant with Laudatus, the first abbot of Bardsey, in return for the piety of his monks. This granted to all the religious of the monastery of Bardsey, the peculiar privilege of dying according to seniority, the oldest always going off first. By this privilege, it is stated, that every one knew very nearly the time of his departure. The following is a translation of it:—‘At the original foundation of the monastery of this island, the Lord God who attendeth to the petitions of the just, at the earnest request of the holy Laudatus, the first abbot, entered into a covenant with that holy man, and miraculously confirmed his promise, unto him, his successors, the abbots and monks for ever, while they should lead holy and religious lives, that they should die by succession, that is, that the oldest should die first, like a shock of corn ripe for the sickle. Being thus warned of the approach of death, each of them, therefore, should watch, as not knowing at what exact hour the thief might come; and, being thus always prepared, each of them by turns should lay aside his earthly form. God, who is ever faithful, kept his covenant, as he formerly did with the Israelites, inviolable; until the monks no longer led a religious life, but began to profane and defile God’s sanctuary by their fornications and abominable crimes. Wherefore, after this, they were permitted to die like other men, sometimes the older, sometimes the younger, and sometimes the middle-aged first; and, being thus uncertain of the approach of death, they were compelled to submit to the general laws of mortality. Thus, when they ceased to lead a holy and religious life, God’s miraculous covenant also ceased: and do thou, therefore, O God, have mercy upon us.”

The ancient building is now entirely destroyed; but, about the ground where the monastery stood, a great number of graves have very lately been discovered, lined with white stone or tile, and distant about two feet from each other. All the religious duties of the inhabitants are now performed in the parish church of Aberdaron. Sometimes, however, in stormy weather, they are under the necessity of interring their own dead in the island.

At Pwllheli good accommodation will be found at the Crown and Anchor inn; but if proceeding farther in the Llyn, the traveller must depend solely on the hospitality of individuals.

PWLLHELI.

The market-days at this place are Wednesdays and Saturdays: its population is rated at about thirteen hundred. The beach here is excellent; and so much resorted to in the summer season that it appears probable it will grow into notice as a sea bathing-place. Several hundred acres of land in the vicinity of the town, which used to be overflowed by high tides, have been reclaimed by embankments on both sides of the town. It is governed by a mayor, two bailiffs, and a recorder.

Returning from Pwllheli, towards Criccaeth, the country wears the most beautiful aspect. The richly wooded scenery is relieved by shaggy rocks and partial views of the sea, being caught through the opening glades passing Llanstundwy, situate on the river Dwyfor, which after heavy rains overflows its banks and greatly incommodes it. I left the road, and proceeded by Trefan Hall, the handsome mansion of Mr. Roberts, to a cromlech, about a mile distant, called Coeten Arthur, or Arthur’s Quoit, which the said Arthur, as report says, threw from a mountain near Beddgelert. It is handsome and in high preservation: the top stone is nearly three feet in thickness. But a still finer cromlech is about a mile from this, at a farm called Ystim Cegid; the flat stone of this is about eighteen inches in thickness, and is about thirty-six feet in circumference: its form is triangular, and its supporters of that height, that will allow a man on horseback to go under it; this also is called Arthur’s Quoit. From hence to Criccaeth the road is dull and uninteresting: near the ruins of the small chapel of Bettws, is Chewilog, an old mansion, formerly belonging to the ancestors of Sir Howel, surnamed y-Fwyall, from his remarkable dexterity in the use of the battle-axe, which weapon he used with such effect in the battle of Poictiers, that the capture of the French monarch is, by many, ascribed to him; at all events, his conduct on that day drew down upon him the regards of the Black Prince to such extent, that he not only bestowed upon him the constableship of Criccaeth castle, but likewise knighted him; and, in perpetual memorial of his good services, it was directed that a mess of meat should, at the expence of the crown, be every day served up before the axe with which he had performed such good service. After the mess had been brought before the knight, it was taken and distributed among the poor. Eight yeomen attendants were constituted to guard the mess, who received each eight-pence a day pay, and were termed yeomen of the crown: these were continued on the establishment till the reign of Queen Elizabeth; and it is by many conceived, and by no means improbable, that the yeomen of the crown, which we do not read of in history till the reign of Henry the VIIth, are indebted to these for their origin. After the death of Sir Howel, the mess was still carried before the axe, and bestowed on the poor for the repose of his soul. Besides the above honours conferred upon him, he was constable of Chester castle; had Dwyfor, and others, the king’s mills, to farm; with a grant of the wiers and fisheries on the coast, and many other offices of great trust and profit.

Between Criccaeth and Penmorva, you pass Stumllyn, formerly the seat of the Wynnes, now the seat of — Jones, Esq. of Machynlleth. Near Clenenney, on Bwlch Craig Wenn, is a fine Druidical circle, consisting at present of thirty-eight stones; and about a mile from this, above Penmorva, is another. On Llysdin farm some small urns, containing human bones and ashes, have lately been discovered. At a small distance is Brynkir, which Lord Lyttleton took up his residence at when he visited this part of the principality. This part of the country was formerly the seat of dreadful feuds, and appears to have been inhabited by a most ferocious and irascible set of beings. They were of two clans, one descended from Owen Gwynedd, prince of North Wales; the other was derived from Collwyn ap Tangno. The history of Evionedd, or Eifionydd, is during that period one of revenge, perfidy, and slaughter; and to such extent was it carried, that Meredith ap Jevan preferred taking up his residence in Dolwyddelan castle, at that time surrounded by robbers and freebooters, to residing in this district, giving to his friends the following decisive reason: “If, (said he), I live in my own house in Evionedd, I must either kill my own kinsmen, or submit to be murdered by them.” He, therefore, rather chose to fight with thieves and outlaws than with his own immediate relatives.

“They would quarrel,” says Sir John Wynne, “if it was but for the mastery of the country, and the first good morrow. John Owen, ap John, ap Meredydd, and Howel ap Madoc Vychan, fell out for no other reason. Howel and his people fought valiantly: when he fell, his mother placed her hand on his head, to prevent the fatal blow, and had half her hand and three of her fingers cut off, by some of her nearest kindred. An attempt was made to kill Howel ap Rhys, in his own house, by the sons of John ap Meredith, for no other reason than that their servants had quarelled about a fishery. The first set fire to the mansion with great bundles of straw:—the besieged, terrified with the flames, sheltered themselves under forms and benches, while Rhys, the old hero, stood sword in hand, reproaching his men with cowardice, and telling them he had often seen a greater smoke in that hall on Christmas even.

“These flagitious deeds seldom met with any other punishment than what resulted from private revenge, and too often composition was made for the most horrible murders. There was a _gwerth_, or price of blood, from the slaughter of a king, to the cutting off one of his subject’s little fingers.” _Williams’s Caernarvon_.

PENMORFA,

the Head of the Marsh, is a wood-clad village, romantically situated in a nook, between some high rocks at the end of a tract of meadows, on the western bank of Traeth Mawr.

The church contains a monument to the memory of Sir John Owen, a valiant commander in the army, and a staunch supporter of Charles I. Being tried with the Earl of Holland, Lords Loughborough, Goring, and other noble supporters of the royal cause, after the death of the king, he exhibited a spirit coinciding with his former noble daring; and, on being condemned to lose his head, he bowed to the court, thanking them for the honour they intended him. On being asked by a member what he meant, in his usual blunt manner he replied, “I think it a great honour for a poor gentleman of Wales to lose his head with such noble lords:—by G—, I was afraid you would have hanged me.”

Great intercession being made for the other noble personages, and no one applying or interesting themselves on behalf of Sir John, Cromwell, as related by some authorities, and Hutchinson and Ireton, as stated by others, interfered for the worthy knight, whose life was spared: after a few months confinement, he was allowed to retire to Clenenney, where he died.

Mr. Williams, rector of Llauberis, from whose work, recently published, on the history, antiquities, &c., of Caernarvonshire, I before quoted, says, in speaking of the situation of Penmorva, and the meadows lying between it and Traeth Mawr, “they were formerly subject to the overflowing of the higher tides, till an embankment was made by W. A. Madox, Esq.; a gentleman to whom this part of the country is greatly indebted for numerous and great improvements, particularly for the erection of an embankment, about a mile in length, in order to reclaim some thousand acres of land; and which now forms a safe and convenient road between the counties of Caernarvon and Merioneth, across the Estuary of Traeth Mawr; whereas, formerly, many lives were lost in going over those dangerous sands. Tremadoc, a new town, which bears the name of its founder, is about a mile distant from Penmorva, and contains from eighty to a hundred houses. Here is a handsome new church, a market-place, a comfortable inn, and a great number of good shops: near the town are several good houses, built by the same gentleman, particularly Tan-yr-Allt, Morva Lodge, &c.: all of which, as well as every thing in or about this little town, evidently prove the individual who planned and conducted the whole, to be a person of cultivated mind, improved taste, and superior judgment and ability. A market has been established here; and the fairs, which used to be at Penmorva on the following days, March 6, May 14, August 20, September 25, and Nov. 12, have mostly deserted that place, and are held at Tremadoc.—Here is an excellent salmon fishery, a good shore for bathing, and a safe harbour for vessels under 120 tons burthen. It is greatly to be lamented, that the beneficial improvements by the before-mentioned public-spirited gentleman, W. A. Madox, Esq. and carried by him to such a state of forwardness, should not be completed. In the year 1625, Sir John Wynne, of Gwydir, conceived the great design of gaining this immense track (Traeth Mawr,) as well as the lesser one (Traeth Bach,) from the sea, by means of an embankment; and for that purpose he implored the assistance of his illustrious countryman, Sir Hugh Middleton, in a letter which has been preserved, and, together with that gentleman’s reply, printed in Mr. Pennant’s tour. A bridge over Traeth Bach, and a new line of road along the sea coast to Barmouth, and a stage coach or some other more regular mode of conveyance between North and South Wales, particularly during the summer months, are still left among the desiderata of this portion of the principality.”

From Tremadoc, an excellent road of about five miles brought us to the far-famed Pont Aber-Glaslyn, or the bridge of the harbour of the Blue Lake; and not uncommonly styled the Devil’s Bridge. This last appellation has very frequently misled strangers, who, confounding it with the well-known bridge at Havod, have been much disappointed, their expectations being raised very high, from the general description of that place. Of this, indeed, we found an instance on the very spot. This bridge connects the two counties of Merionethshire and Caernarvonshire; being, from the parapet to the water, forty feet. From the description of former tourists, it did not answer our expectations; but the salmon-leap is an interesting object from the bridge: the height is about fifteen feet; and, though we observed very many attempt this surprising feat of agility, not one succeeded. Some fishermen below soon excited our curiosity, and salmon was here offered for sale at three-pence per pound.

An intelligent man here offered himself as our guide to the rich copper-mines, in the vicinity of Pont Aber-Glaslyn. This miner, having worked both here and at the Paris Mountain, confidently asserted, that one pound of this ore was now esteemed equivalent to twice the quantity produced in Anglesea. Yet for a considerable time little advantage was derived from the concern, till a company obtained a lease of the mountain from Mr. Lloyd, the proprietor: and having placed an intelligent agent in a house near the mines, entered on the concern with that spirit which merited success. Stupendous cliffs, by the road side, literally rise eight hundred and sixty feet perpendicularly, and hang in the most capricious forms over the torrent; which, straggling amongst the recesses of stone, is hastening forward to disembogue itself into the estuary of Traeth Mawr. The pass is not more than seventy feet; after much rain it is entirely inundated by the overflowings of the Glaslyn, which reflect, as in a mirror, the blackness of the impending cliffs. On the Caernarvonshire side are several lead mines; but they have not proved sufficiently rich to reward the labour of working.

The situation of our inn at

BEDDGELERT

is very romantic, and would form an interesting drawing, by taking in a small bridge of two arches below the house. It is completely encircled by lofty mountains, which may be considered as subject to the “cloud-capt Snowdon.”

Situate at the junction of three vales, its beautiful meadows form a fine contrast to the surrounding rugged scenery. The church is small, but lofty; it is supposed to be erected on the site of an ancient priory of Augustine monks, dedicated to St. Mary, and founded, according to the account of Mr. Rymer, in his Fœdera, by Lleyelyn ap Iorweth, in gratitude for the preservation of his son, and as an atonement for the rash effects of his intemperate rage, so pathetically described in the following poem: but both the Mr. Williamses, who have written on Caernarvonshire, support the opinion of its earlier establishment, looking upon it as the most ancient foundation in the country except Bardsey. Its revenues, according to the Reverend P. B. Williams’s account, must have been considerable; which he likewise accounts for as necessary, from its being on the great road from England and South Wales to North Wales, and from Ireland to England. In order to enable the prior to keep up his usual hospitality, Edward the First, after it had greatly suffered by fire in 1283, most generously, at his own expense, repaired all the damages; and Bishop Anian, about the year 1286, to obtain for it benefactions, remitted to all such benefactors who truly repented of their sins, forty days of any penance inflicted on them.

BEDDGELERT, OR, THE GREYHOUND’S GRAVE.

BY WILLIAM SPENCER.