Part 5

“Ah! little think the gay licentious proud Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround; They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; Ah! little think they, while they dance along, . . . . . . . . . how many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Of misery. Sore pierc’d by wintry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty.”—THOMPSON.

With some difficulty we prevailed on the female part of the family to give us proper directions to the source of the meandering Wye, {79} and rapid Severn. The latter they only understood by the name of _Halfren_, its original British name; it is likewise called in Latin _Sabrina_. From the top of Plinlimmon we, for the first time, discovered the shaggy summit of Cader Idris, and the spiral head of Snowdon. There is nothing particularly engaging in the character of this mountain, except to its giving rise to no less than six or eight rivers, and on this account has frequently been celebrated by the Poet. Though its summit commands a circle of many miles diameter, yet the prospect by no means answered our expectations. We descended into a swampy bottom, which afforded us unpleasant walking for two or three miles, when a most delightful and well-cultivated valley unexpectedly enlivened our spirits. The sun was making

—“a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car Gave signal of a goodly day to-morrow,”

just as we entered this interesting vale: the hay-makers, in the coolness of the evening, were returning to their homes,

“Each by the lass he loved.”

In short, the whole valley breathed delicious fragrance: add to this, innumerable cataracts rushed from the mountain’s summits, occasioned by the late copious rains.

From hence a good turnpike-road soon conducted us to the romantic town of

MACHYNLLETH,

considered as the center of the woollen manufactory in this part of the country, principally of the _strong cloth_, or _high country cloth_. {81} The situation of Machynlleth, (or as it is pronounced by the Welch, _Mahunthleth_) is extremely romantic, stupendous mountains forming a natural rampart round the town. We here visited the neglected Mansion, where Owen Glendwr assembled the States of the Principality, in 1402, and accepted from their hands the crown of Wales. Part of the house is now allotted for the purpose of a stable, the remainder is turned into a butcher’s shop:—

“_Sic transit gloria mundi_!”

In fine, the only evident remains of its ever having been celebrated in the annals of history, is a spacious door way. The town itself, in many parts, bears the appearance of antiquity; the streets are considerably wider than Welch towns in general, and the market-place is well built.

As we entered Machynlleth, being the first town in North Wales, we were in a manner instinctively induced to reflect on the various incidents that had befallen us from our first sallying forth on our pedestrian excursion. We took a retrospect on all our little troubles, with equally as much delight, as the sailor, who, by the blessing of Providence, has escaped the most imminent dangers: all our past imaginary dangers (for imaginary evils are frequently worse than real ones) were overbalanced with reflections on the many hours of pleasure that were flown unheeded by: these reflections brought to my recollection some interesting lines in Bowles’s Sonnets, which I involuntarily exclaimed aloud,

“Fair scenes ye lend a pleasure long unknown To him who passes weary on his way; The farewell tear, which now he turns to pay Shall thank you; and whene’er of pleasures flown, His heart some long-lost image would renew, Delightful haunts! he will remember you.”

The sublimity of the walk from hence to _Talylyn_, literally “beggars description.” Having crossed a bridge of eight arches, thrown over the river Dovey, high mountains closed us on every side, shook into every possible form of horror; huge masses of rock hung over the road, and it seemed necessary to remember their firm basis, to soften the terror they inspired; whilst other mishapen fragments lie scattered at the side of the road. The transparent Dyflas, whose clear surface reflected the tremulous picture in all its colours, forms one continued cataract for five or six miles, overflowing with the innumerable tributary torrents, which hurry themselves down from the highest summit of the surrounding rocks; whilst to give effect to the whole prospect, the shaggy head of Cader Idris towers the majestic sentinel of the scene, whose “cloud cap’d” summit the eye aches in surveying. To our great disappointment, the weather prevented our ascending this celebrated mountain giant. Cader Idris is esteemed, in height, the second mountain in all Wales, rising two thousand eight hundred and fifty feet above the green of Dolgelly. {83}

If the weather proves favourable to ascend Cader Idris, travellers may be very comfortably accommodated with beds at

TALYLYN;

a small village, situated at the foot of the mountain; and where they will likewise meet with a conductor, in every respect suited for this Alpine excursion. Mr. Jones, the landlord of the Blue Lion, used all his influence to persuade us, by largely expatiating on the comforts of his accommodations, to detain us till the weather wore a more favourable aspect, but knowing the uncertainty of his conjectures, we determined to make Barmouth our head quarters. Quitting therefore our officiously polite landlord, we soon arrived at the Pool of Three Grains, which, though of inferior size, yet is generally credited to be unfathomable; it abounds in fish, and derives its name from three immense stones, or rather fragments of rock near it, which the common people confidently assert, and believe, the giant Idris took out of his shoes as he passed this pool.

Having ascended several hills, a quick descent of three or four miles, soon brought us to

DOLGELLY;

surrounded with “a tempestuous sea of mountains,” and watered by the rapid current of the river Avonvawr, over which is thrown a large and handsome stone bridge, at the entrance of the town.

In the neighbourhood of this romantic spot, and indeed in many parts of Merionethshire, the manufacture of strong cloth has long been carried on. {84}

We were reluctantly necessitated to leave this interesting town of Dolgelly, much sooner than we wished, had we obeyed our own inclinations. No one can picture to themselves a more picturesque situation than that of Dolgelly:—an enclosed vale, encircled with the craggy and subject mountains of Cader Idris, forming an amphitheatre,—watered by the Alpine torrent of the Maw,—and richly clothed with wood. But necessity has no law; the best Inn was pre-occupied, and no comfortable accommodations could be found, and though drenched with rain, we were compelled to quicken our pace to the well-known bathing place of

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, and sometimes projecting so far over the road, as seeming 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. In respect to the bathing, little can be said to recommend it; the machines are not drawn into the water, and by this palpable inconvenience, you are under the disagreeable necessity of walking a considerable way in, before the water is sufficiently deep for “plunging headlong in the briny flood.” During our stay here, two gentlemen perceiving that the water was very much alloyed by a fresh water stream disemboguing itself into the sea, at Barmouth, persuaded Mrs. Lewis, the obliging landlady of the Cors-y-gedol Arms, to remove the machines farther from the town; and from them we were informed, that though the salt water was purer, yet they found it impossible to draw them sufficiently deep for good bathing: the machines being stationary on the sands, the ladies likewise find it remarkably inconvenient, being equally compelled to walk in. The folly of this method seems to be more striking, as the objection might be so easily obviated. The lower class here, as in many other parts of Wales, indiscriminately dress and undress on the sands, and pay very little distinction to their sex.

The board and lodging is regulated on the same excellent plan here as at Tenby, with very little difference in respect to the expence. The town itself is very dirty, and so irregularly built, on the declivity of a rock, that the windows of one house not uncommonly look down on the neighbouring chimney. 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; though one hovel 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 passed the two lodges at Tal-y-bont, leading to Cors-y-gedol, the seat of Sir Thomas Mostyn. It is practicable to go by the sands, but we were given to understand, by Mrs. Lewis, that the turnpike was, if any thing, shorter, the scenery more pleasing, and the guides necessary for crossing those dangerous sands, in general, most complete villains.

Harlech, though formed by 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, and defended by a deep foss on the east side; below it is a marsh of considerable extent, occasionally overflowed by the sea; from the top of the walls to this 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; beginning with the founder, in the true characteristic style of a Welchman, run 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 Maclegwynn; Gwynead made Caer Dugoll (Shrewsbury;) Caer Gyffin (Aber Conway;) Caer Gollwyn (Harleck) supposed to be buried in Cirester, and reigned thirty-four years.” Whether this information is correct, I will not take upon me to assert; but meeting with a Welchman, in this part of the country, capable of writing, rather surprised us, and induced me to transcribe this short paragraph.

The double gate-way, with four strong towers, is still very perfect; and the whole in sufficient repair, to form a conjecture of its ancient extent and grandeur. It was originally supposed to have been a Roman town, a conjecture founded on the great number of coins, and other pieces of antiquity, which have been found here, and in the neighbourhood.

In 1408 it was taken by the Earl of Pembroke; and afforded likewise shelter to Margaret of Anjour, after the battle of Northampton, 1460, and was the last in North-Wales, which held out for the King, being surrendered to General Mytton, 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 relick 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 twitted or sharp, but plain, and cut even.”

In 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 Cambden: suffice it to say, that the air and grass was 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 again returning to our obliging landlady at the Cors-y-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 Caen, 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 saunter.

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 enquire for, as a proper ciceroni 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 stile, she trip’d 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 enquiries 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 now soon reached the falls 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 bason, 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 steeps 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 vallies, watered by some foaming river; these literally surcharged

“With weighted rains, and melted Alpine snows.”

Such is the true characteristic of the Welch scenery: the finest verdure, and the most enchanting vallies 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, only to render it more enchanting to the inquisitive pedestrians, for these landscapes are only accessible to their steps: 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 for our admiration. The computed measurement of this fall is estimated 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 the imagination can better conceive, than the pen describe.

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 wrapt admiration, which loathes to be disturbed by the mutual exchange of our 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 stunning cataract, throws its troubled waters over a rocky bed, till it unites itself with the Moddach below.